4 Reasons Gym Class Failed Me As A Kid

I was never a fan of gym class when I was in school. I wasn't obese at the time, but I was surely technically overweight, and despite the fact that I was a cheerleader from 8th grade through high school I just generally wasn't very athletic. Why didn't twelve years of gym class help me at all?

1. Most gym teachers treated me like I wasn't as important as those who were athletes.

I don't know how it is now, but in my day once you got into junior high the gym teachers were usually also team coaches. That meant that half their time was spent coaching athletes to compete with other athletes, putting them through workouts intended to improve specific skills. The rest of their day was spent with classes made up mostly of unenthusiastic, out-of-shape kids, forcing them into some kind of activity for an hour at a time.

From my perspective, those classes seemed to be something these coaches had little enthusiasm for, themselves. Those of us who weren't participating in team sports were treated like we were either lazy or incapable of actually being athletic. Those who were already athletic were praised heavily and got a lot more activity during gym class, which is actually pretty backwards when you think about it.

Granted, the rest of us had a pretty bad attitude about even being in gym class, but that might have been helped tremendously if the classes had been conducted differently. As it was, I remember spending a lot of time standing around while more athletic kids played games or being talked down to because I couldn't do a pullup or climb a rope or generally perform as well as the proven athletes. I got the clear message that the gym teachers really didn't like me much, being all weak and unable to run a mile in 12 minutes. They certainly liked the kids who were good at those things.

And yes, before anyone comments to correct me, I'm sure I was on the other end of that equation in academic classes. I got plenty of praise from math, science, art, and English teachers, but I don't recall those teachers treating the rest of the class like their brains must just not be capable of learning. If anything, the extra praise got me less work to do, not more. But gym class felt like ultimate judgment. "Climb that rope. No, three feet isn't good enough. You get an F. Sit over there with the other losers and watch these guys show you what a winner looks like."

2. Gym class didn't actually teach me how to be more physically fit.

With the exception of the one weightlifting class I took in high school, most of the time I spent in gym class was focused on either finding a way to make us sweat for an hour or teaching us the rules to various games and sports. All the things I've learned about exercise as an adult is pretty much new to me. We didn't learn about the benefits of strength training (even in weightlifting, really -- we only learned how to do it, not why) or how to properly do cardio. We'd briefly talk about obesity in health class sometimes and why we should want to be a healthy weight, but not in enough depth to really teach any of us what to do about it beyond "eat less and be more active." I remember talking about target heart rate a bit during a semester class I took in high school on aerobics (Not aerobic activity in general, aerobics tapes. We did aerobics tapes for gym class. Seriously.), but we never learned how to actually improve our fitness level. We did activity just to do activity. Until it came time to do the President's Physical Fitness Test each year (or semester? I don't remember now.) our fitness abilities weren't regularly tested or tracked for improvements. We showed up, did some kind of calisthenics or stretches to warm up, and then played some kind of game or did some group activity for the remainder of the class. And that was it. And while for most of us who are now trying to lose weight it's a good thing to just get in the habit of moving around more, that's not all there is to being physically fit. But they didn't really teach us anything beyond "it's good to move around enough so you sweat sometimes."

News flash: learning how to keep score during flag football doesn't improve one's fitness level.

3. They tested us, but didn't make us practice for the test.

Remember the President's Physical Fitness Test? I don't know if they still do this, but back in the 80s and 90s in my area, the school system used it as a test for all students at the end of every year. I remember it consisting of a mile run, a flexibility test, situps, pullups (eventually the girls only had to do a bent-arm hang), and some other things I don't remember. I remember that the test was actually intended to be a program where awards would be given to students across the nation who scored really well on all the exercises. But that's not how it was used in the classroom. If you didn't score well enough to qualify for the award on each exercise, you didn't get a passing grade for that exercise. The only reason I got good grades in gym was that there were usually some written tests or participation points or bonuses you could get for wearing school colors to class every day that made up for my lack of performance.

You know what would have helped my performance? If we'd have actually trained to be better at the things we were tested on at the end of the year. As you know, I'm now training to racewalk a marathon. To prepare, I'm doing a lot of walking. I'm not preparing by playing a lot of raquetball because playing a lot of raquetball isn't going to help me come race day. Unless the spectators will be throwing balls at us as we go by, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case. Anyway, in gym class we were tested on our ability to do situps and run, but trained for those tests by playing frisbee golf, standing on the sidelines of basketball games, and sometimes jogging a couple of times across the gym. If they wanted us to run a mile in 12 minutes, why didn't they make us do more running? If they wanted us to be able to reach past our toes, why didn't we spend time on flexibility? (And I was actually good at that one because of all the time I spent on flexibility for cheerleading. See how that works?) If they wanted us to do pullups and pushups, why didn't we do exercises to strengthen our arm and back muscles? Or if they were going to spend most of the time teaching us to play team sports, why weren't we tested on our ability to play team sports?

4. It sucked, and I hated being there.

I always got the sense that gym classes were really meant to get kids to have a more positive attitude towards physical activity, which is an admirable goal. But even beyond being treated like useless non-athletes and tested over things we hadn't trained for, nothing about gym class was really pleasant or fun for anyone who wasn't already athletic. It wasn't fun to play team sports when nobody wanted you on their team and you spent most of the time on the sidelines or in positions where you were least likely to screw things up. Exercise is fun for me now not because the act of doing it is somehow less painful than it used to be but because I know there's a purpose to it and I can see a payoff. But that's not how it felt in gym class. The only purpose I could see to going through the motions of gym class was to preserve my GPA. I didn't see improvements, I had to do the same activities I didn't enjoy week after week, year after year, with seemingly no purpose other than keeping us corralled and moving around for an hour at a time. It didn't make me enjoy physical activity. In fact, it made me dread it. I dreaded being made to feel fat and incapable.

It's really not that I don't like playing team sports. I do enjoy them in the right context. I used to work for a company that competed in corporate league sports. Okay, I use the term "competed" rather loosely, since we never won a tournament or even harbored the delusion that we might. But we had fun. I played volleyball and softball and bowled. I wasn't especially good at any of it, but I wasn't forced to the sidelines or made fun of. And because I spent time actually playing I did get better over time. I found the things I was good at, like serving a volleyball. I was allowed to play shortstop because I was better at it than being in the outfield. Office sports were fun and I looked forward to them despite my lack of natural skill or athletic ability. Hell, I actually played hard enough that I got injured a couple of times! It's never been the sports I didn't like, it was always the environment in which I had to play them.

It's just that gym class was seemingly engineered to be discouraging. We had to do things we weren't good at in an environment that didn't make us feel like we had any hope for improving. And I was somewhat middle-of-the-pack. God help the obese kids. It must have been forty times worse for them.

I can only hope gym classes are less horrible these days. My gut feeling tells me they're not. Of all the classes I could have benefited from in school, gym was probably the one I needed most. And yet it was the one that totally failed to deliver.

I do have to say I had a few understanding, non-judgmental, encouraging gym teachers. One even fudged my mile run time one year because she didn't want my gym grade to damage my GPA and I had just barely failed the mile by a few seconds. When I got to high school and was able to select what gym classes I signed up for, things were better. I didn't dread going quite as much. But I didn't really learn more. I didn't get in better shape. And those classes didn't teach me what I needed to know about being healthy and active. They did teach me that there were certain physical activities that I enjoyed more than others. Valuable lesson, but not enough to keep me from gaining a ton of weight later in life. And when I did go to the gym as an adult, I had no idea how to really get the most out of it. No gym or health class had ever really taught me how to create a workout regimen that actually did much of anything to improve my fitness level.

It's rather sad to think that we spend all sorts of time in school learning things that aren't directly useful in our adult lives, and yet when it comes to something vital like our physical health we get a small amount of basic information on diet and fitness and spend a lot of time being herded into classes that mostly teach us to play games we won't ever play again.

20 Things I Learned in France

Back in 1997 I spent six weeks in France with one of my architecture classes. Here are a few things I learned:

1. If you want to get hit on by weird foreign guys, the easiest way to get attention is to sit down with a sketch pad and start drawing. You'll end up with more phone numbers than sketches.

2. Nothing tests your mastery of a foreign language like trying to talk your way out of an encounter with a creepy foreign guy intent on taking you out for coffee.

3. The French are great with food. The French are not great with Mexican food. French bartenders are also unclear on what goes into a margarita.

4. Duck pate is fabulous, but there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

5. Being able to lounge in the sun on the beach in Calais in June might seem like a sure thing, but it's also possible to find that the expensive bathing suit you purchased in Paris two weeks prior was totally unnecessary given the windy 40 degree weather on the beach the one weekend you're there.

6. If you get the chance to run naked into the freezing cold waters of the English Channel in the dead of night, go for it. You'll regret passing up the chance and being the chicken who held the clothes.

7. 284 steps sounds like a lot of stairs to climb. It feels like more.

8. When a group of drunk French college students and a group of drunk American college students try to teach each other good drinking games, everyone ends up way too drunk and nobody really learns anything.

9. Late night American TV means lots of infomercials. Late night French TV means lots of soft core porn. Or maybe we just stayed in the wrong kinds of hotels.

10. No matter how much you study a language, there's a good chance you'll not be familiar with the words necessary to ask for something you really need.

11. That will also be the one time you forget to bring your French-English dictionary with you.

12. Padlocking the zippers of your backpack together might look silly, but he who laughs at you will be the first to have his passport stolen.

13. Signs warning you to keep off the grass also mean don't play hacky sack in close proximity to the grass.

14. If you pack art supplies in your luggage for a long flight, make sure they're extremely secure. The last thing you want to spend your first day in Paris doing is trying to scrub conte crayon out of your clothes.

15. Looking for extra excitement while traveling abroad? Bring along a 3-year-old.

16. Walking a lot only leads to losing weight if you don't simultaneously gorge yourself on pastries and wine.

17. Watch out for air bubbles lurking in the melted butter underneath your escargot. They will explode in your face at the slightest provocation. Strangers will laugh at you.

18. She who turns her nose up at being served a big slice of Bambi is likely to find that the dinner she gets instead is a big slice of Thumper. Both are delicious.

19. It doesn't matter how nice the boat is, it will never make up for finding out that the hovercraft you bought tickets for is out of service for the day.

20. Cats can, indeed, be leash trained, and it's adorable.

10 Reasons I've Chosen to Participate in a Marathon

This time, there's no turning back (unless I want to waste the registration fee and feel really crappy about giving up). I'm officially registered to participate in the 2011 Chicago Marathon. Yes, I currently weigh over 200 pounds. No, I've never done a marathon before, or even a half marathon, and it's been a long time since I participated in a 5k or 10k race (I've done the distance recently, just not in a race context).

Yes, I do still think I will be able to complete the marathon in less than 6 hours come October.

Am I crazy? Maybe. And I have to admit that as I entered my training schedule into my BlackBerry's calendar the other night I had a moment where I felt a little crazy for even considering it. There's certainly an element of insanity to my goal. Hell, there's something a little insane about marathoning in general.

So why am I doing it?

1. For my health.

Believe it or not, this is perhaps the least compelling reason for me to take on this challenge. Yeah, it's partly about weight loss, but if all I wanted to do was get fit and lose weight there are a lot less demanding ways to do that. Still, there's no way putting in what will amount to hundreds of miles over the next 8 months (and that's not counting all the strength training, occasional yoga classes, and time on the elliptical machine) won't result in me losing weight and getting in better shape. It's what started me down this path, and had I never gotten to the point of committing to losing weight in the first place I wouldn't be ready to commit to this. Plus, having this very huge goal lurking in the future means I have a compelling reason not to skip workouts. Mostly this whole thing -- the weight loss goal, the fitness plan, the desire to complete this marathon -- is about me spending some time on myself, working through some very personal emotional issues. But the health aspect of it is a huge side benefit.

2. Because distance walking is both challenging and enjoyable.

Over the past few years I've discovered that I really, really love walking long distances. It started when I decided to try and save gas money by walking between my business and my night job. The trip was about a mile and a half each way, which at the time took me a full half hour each way to complete. But those half hour walks were something I looked forward to. It was just me, the music in my headphones, and the thoughts in my head. Those walks were therapeutic in ways I have a hard time describing in words. There's nothing quite like pounding the pavement to the rhythm of a really gut-wrenchingly meaningful song, especially when the beat is fast enough to really push my heart rate up. Walking has become like meditation to me. Active, sweaty meditation. It's the best way I've found to work through stress, deal with emotions, think through problems, and let my thoughts just wander without interruption. It is the
best excuse to spend a lot of time alone. It's physical and mental all at once, and even if I start a long walk mentally stressed and physically tired I always end up clearheaded and energized (even if I am drenched in sweat and end up falling asleep on my keyboard a few hours later).

3. Because it's totally personal.

I'm a person who likes to set goals. It's one of my favorite hobbies, and I'm good at it. I like doing research and planning out all the steps required to get to the end. In the past, however, all the goals I've set and the plans I've made involved other people in some way. Either I needed the assistance and support of others to reach my goal, I did it to please others, or my success depended on the judgment and approval of somebody else. This marathon, though, is just about me. Although I may have a partner to walk with at times or a trainer to guide me, nobody can force me to do the work or take up the slack if I don't carry through. I'm not doing this for the attention or praise of anyone else. Nobody told me I should do this. In fact, I'm guessing there aren't too many people out there who don't think I'm a little nuts for even trying. And the difference between success and failure is not subjective: either I finish while there's a finish line to cross or I don't, and my performance will be judged only by a clock. This is all about doing something I want to do because I think it will be a beneficial experience. It's time I did something for myself, just because it will make me feel good.

4. To prove that I am able to carry through.

Like I said, I'm a person who sets big goals and makes big plans. What I'm really not good at is seeing these plans through to the end. Sometimes I've settled for less than the end goal I wanted because I'd failed to do what I knew I needed to do to succeed. Sometimes I've abruptly abandoned one goal and set out in a very different direction to cover up the fact that I knew I couldn't make up for all the progress I hadn't made. There hasn't been even one time that the reason I fell short of my goals didn't boil down to me simply not carrying through. I procrastinate. I take huge risks involving unorthodox methods and shunning the involvement of others to avoid smaller risks that might mean me being criticized or held to standards I'm not sure I can meet. I make elaborate plans and ditch them the moment I realize I've fallen behind schedule or failed to make progress fast enough for my liking.

Marathon training, though, can't be like that. Either I commit and put in the time, or I find myself not prepared. I can't skip a lot of training and expect to be able to make up for lost time. I can't just wing it and expect to complete the race within the given time limit. Nobody gets a medal or certificate for almost finishing. And I'll be honest, as I'm writing this there's a very loud voice in the back of my head questioning whether I'll actually make it this time. But if I do this I will be proving to myself that I can carry through all the way to the end without somebody else pushing me along.

5. To prove I'm as capable as I like to think I am.

I grew up being told I was talented and capable of doing just about anything I put my mind to. It's a great thing to be told when you're a kid, and it's the reason I learned to dream big without doubting myself.

It's also the reason, though, I've learned to doubt myself as an adult.

I bought into all that positive reinforcement as a kid, but now that time has passed and I've consistently failed to live up to my own dreams and, often, the expectations of others, my confidence isn't what it used to be. I know I theoretically am capable of achieving big things, but my track record certainly doesn't show it. And in this instance I know that I'm theoretically capable of going from a more-fit-than-average 215 pounds to fit and prepared to racewalk a marathon over a period of 8 months. A lot of people probably scoff at that idea, but it's theoretically doable if I put in the work. But I'm tired of living in the world of dreams and theories. It's time I stepped up and proved the theory. It's time to put up or shut up.

6. Because it's reasonably huge.

I've been asked a few times why I'm going for a full marathon instead of starting with a 5k, 10k, or half marathon. The answer is simple, really. It's the longest distance event I think I can be ready for within a year.

When I was in college I participated in a charity 10k with a few sorority sisters with, as I recall, no real training. I don't remember how fast I completed it, but I completed it. I was exhausted at the end and I was sore for a while, but I did it without much trouble. After spending the last year and a half putting feet to pavement I see 10k as, well, not enough of a challenge. That's a moderately easy walk to me now. And I've walked up to about 10 miles at a time before, so a half marathon doesn't seem like a very big challenge, either. But a marathon? It's a big challenge. There is, honestly, a huge question mark lurking at the end of this process. It's a matter of going big or going home.

7. To practice following the wisdom and advice of others.

As I said, I'm big on setting goals and making plans, and not real proficient at following through. Part of the reason I often fall short of my goals is that I am far more likely to try and avoid the watchful eye and judgment of others by trying to come up with unorthodox methods of my own than to follow the lead of those who have gone before. And to be honest, the first few times I've embarked on a marathon training plan I've not totally followed the tried and true methods of training. I fell into my old bad habit of telling myself that I can ignore the experts just so that I don't have to live up to the expectations of others or put myself in a position where my progress or lack thereof could be judged or criticized.

I know I can't do that. I knew it then, I think, but I'm owning up to it now. I can't cut corners and pretend that I have better methods than those that have been developed by those who have successfully run marathons for all these years. I'm not just committing to completing a marathon, I'm committing to doing it the right way. So I will take the advice of those who know better. I will follow a reasonable plan, not trying to push for too much progress too fast and not cutting out parts that I don't like. I will work with the proper gear and take the suggested precautions so I don't risk injuring myself or burning out. I have no excuse for not doing this the right way. This is a good opportunity to practice humility and discipline, for my own good.

8. Because there doesn't have to be anything beyond the finish line.

This is an unusual type of goal for me not just because it's completely personal, but also because it doesn't necessarily carry with it a complete change in the direction of my life. This is the first goal I've set that doesn't involve making decisions and commitments that completely change the trajectory of my future. I can do this once, pat myself on the back, and decide that's enough. Sure, I could finish and decide I want to do it again, but whether or not that happens is irrelevant at this point. Each marathon I do could be the last one I decide to do, and once I decide I've done my last race I can simply stop. I've committed to getting to the finish line on October 9th, to putting in the time and effort to properly train to do so, and that's the extent of it. I don't have to give up on other commitments to make this one. I don't have to change my career goals or rethink my other involvements. This isn't a prerequisite for any other event important to my future. This could be the start of a new hobby, or it could be a cool thing I do one time, and either outcome is just fine.

9. Because once I earn it, it's mine.

Once I cross that finish line, nothing can change or diminish the fact that I did it. It doesn't matter how many other races I do or don't do after that. It doesn't matter how many other people do the same thing and do it faster. You have to earn it and there's no way around that. And once you've earned it you can always look positively on the fact that you did it.

10. Because failure isn't a catastrophic option.

I'm certainly not going in this believing that I will fail. I believe I can do this. But if I don't, the world doesn't end. I would be disappointed in myself and I would likely beat myself up over it for a while, but that's it. Failure doesn't carry big consequences. It wouldn't mean I couldn't try again. It just is what it is.



In the end, I know it's time to make a big change in my life, and I think this is exactly the challenge and experience I need to teach myself (or reteach myself) a lot of very important lessons. I've spent a lot of time trying to change my life situation in an attempt to feel better about myself, only to finally realize that it should work the other way around. I have to work on myself if I want my life to be any better. Over and over again I've put time and energy into trying to create an ideal career situation, to win the praise of others, etc, only to sabotage my own efforts because ultimately I was trying to avoid facing my own issues and shortcomings. I was trying to substitute the esteem and attention of others for my own self esteem. So I guess in large part I'm doing this for my own emotional health. I've learned over the past few years, finally, that what I've always really wanted -- the root of all the things I've tried and failed to accomplish -- was simply to feel good about myself and my capabilities. Every time I've failed I've looked to some even bigger goal thinking that reaching it would make up for all the goals I didn't reach. This won't make up for those regrets, but it will be the first step in relearning how to be the person I used to be (or at least used to believe I was).

Plus, you know, I'll be damn sexy at the end of all this. And that's pretty damn cool, too.

Becoming a gym junkie

After almost a year off the weight loss wagon, I got the kick in the ass I needed to help me hop back on. A friend recently joined a local private gym and gave them my name to try and get a referral bonus. So shortly before New Year's I got a call offering a free month trial membership. My first instinct was to say no, but some little voice in my head prompted me to make the appointment knowing that I could simply not go if I changed my mind later. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that this might really be a good idea. I could take the one free month and see just how often I ended up working out. It's not like I've been successful at dragging my ass out in the freezing cold of winter or extreme summer heat and humidity to walk. I decided if I ended up actually using the gym on a regular basis then I'd look into a membership somewhere cheaper, since I just had the feeling there was no way I could afford a membership at a private gym.

So we went. And we sat through the hard sell. And it turned out the deal they offered us was cheaper than a membership at the YMCA because they put us on a joint membership, something all the other gyms would only do for married couples. Plus, they pointed out that a gym membership costs less than the amount we spend on cigarettes and junk food.

And they're totally right about that.

For somebody who has almost 100 pounds still to lose and a marathon still in her future plans, spending money on lattes, restaurant food, snacks at the convenience store, and cigarettes without a second thought while balking at the idea of a gym membership is ridiculous. If I'm serious about getting in shape and dropping a significant amount of weight I should rearrange my priorities accordingly. It's part of the lifestyle change, just like changing one's eating habits and increasing activity. I should be rearranging my financial attitudes as well. I can't claim that I can't afford to pay for something that would help reach me reach an important goal when the truth is that I'm spending more than that on stuff that's impeding my progress.

And then I realized what's really kept me from joining a gym before. It's not the money. It's not the contract commitment. It's the ridiculous idea that I shouldn't need help to train for a marathon or lose 130 pounds. It's the feeling that it's somehow nobler or better to do those things without assistance or expensive tools or traditional methods. It's me subconsciously knowing that if I go it alone and fail that I can try and blame the failure (at least in part) on the fact that I didn't have the luxury of a trainer or a gym membership. It's the fear that others who are striving towards similar goals will be judgmental of the fact that I'm not doing this all on my own.

And all of that -- ALL OF IT -- is ridiculous.

This isn't a contest. It's not a race. It doesn't matter how fast I get to my goal, it only matters that I get there. Someone who loses weight on their own without using any fitness equipment isn't any better than somebody who has to have a personal trainer kicking their ass on a regular basis or somebody who has to have surgery to help lose the weight. If this goal is important to me -- which it is -- then I should be willing to do anything reasonable that would help me get there in a healthy manner.

And that means I need to make going to the gym a hobby. I need to be one of "those girls" who use their days off to take an extra class or get in a longer workout than usual. While I was losing the 55 pounds I dropped in 2009 and early 2010 one of the things I learned is that losing weight takes a lot more activity than the media would have you believe. I didn't lose 55 pounds doing half hour workouts three days a week. I was walking as hard as I could manage for at least an hour almost every day, sometimes over two hours. I'm well aware that it takes serious commitment of time and energy to raise one's activity level high enough to lose a considerable amount of weight at any noticeable pace.

So we joined.

And then we signed up for sessions twice a month with a personal trainer.

That means every month the membership fee will come out of the bank no matter what, and we shouldn't waste it by not using the gym. It means we don't have the option of wasting the money on something else and deciding we "can't afford" the gym anymore. It means we've got somebody whose job it is to hold us accountable and guide us through an appropriate workout plan to get us to our goals. It means we can no longer avoid doing strength training by claiming we don't know if we're doing the exercises properly. It means we have only two choices now: get serious about getting fit or get serious about wasting money and not taking care of ourselves.

It means we've made the choice to invest in fitness instead of investing in junk.

I joke about becoming one of "those girls." You know, the skinny girls who are always talking about spending time at the gym or catching a step class or going out for a run in the mornings. We talk about them like they're some other species, like they're fundamentally different from "normal" people. We look at them like the must have just been born knowing how to use all the equipment, as if skinny people have some special knowledge the rest of us don't get. We roll our eyes like their workouts are totally unnecessary, as if they just play around at working out because obviously their skinny bodies will just stay skinny no matter what they put into them. But the truth is that the skinny girls at the gym are skinny because they spend time at the gym. They care about their bodies. And we can roll our eyes at that all we want, but we should be doing the same thing. If we want to be fit and we want to lose weight, we have to care about our bodies and spend time on them. Period.

So my resolution this year is to become one of those girls. I'm going to become a gym junkie. I'm going to spend time learning how to use all the equipment instead of spending time tending virtual cities and farms on Facebook. I'm going to rush to the gym so I can catch the beginning of a good TV show on the elliptical machine instead of waiting to leave for the gym until after the show is over. I'm going to be one of those people that the front desk staff recognizes. And I'm going to do it simply because I know it will help me get to where I want to be.

2011: Here's to more of the same!

Well, happy 2011, everybody! Happily, I'm not having to clean up after any parties, and the very minor hangover I had this morning is long gone. We've already been grocery shopping and had lunch with my family. I went out today and picked up a book I've been meaning to read (A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking) and got a new juicer. So far, the year is off to a good start.

I'm going to start with a good ol' detox diet (thus the juicer) because I've been feeling pretty, well, bloated. I don't think I've gained a significant amount of weight back this year judging from the fact that I can still zip my smallest jeans, but they're tighter than they used to be and I know I've relapsed on some bad habits. I do not need to be eating Little Debbie snack cakes. Ever. So I'm going to take a few days to clean up my act, and then get back on a sensible eating regimen.

I also think it's time to finally do the one thing I've been putting off. Quitting smoking. It's not so much a New Year's resolution. I've just recently come to the decision that it's really time, and it just happens to coincide with the new year.

And, although I know I've been talking about this for well over a year now and had plans fall through twice, I will walk a marathon this year. I will. I don't care if I have to do it alone, although with my sister home from the Middle East I finally have somebody to train and plan with.

Otherwise, though, I refuse to make plans for 2011. I'm not setting a bunch of goals or making a list of things I hope will happen. I'm looking forward to seeing Does It Offend You, Yeah? open for Linkin Park at the end of the month. I'm looking forward to doing more cooking, planting another garden this spring, and having a long, caffeinated relationship with my Keurig. Basically, I'm looking forward to another year of simply living day to day and enjoying it.

*brushes dust off blog*

I got the urge out of the blue to look and see what I'd blogged about last New Year's. Turns out, nothing. Odd, considering that last year marked the end of a long decade of pretty good ups and horrendous downs. There were the good bits: meeting Kourtnie, getting to know her over the course of three years, declaring the relationship and letting her move in with me six years ago, selling a fair amount of artwork to people all over the world, seeing Neurosonic live and meeting the band, discovering NIN, getting to see NIN live three times, meeting Trent Reznor, the 2008 presidential elections. But there were also a lot of not-so-good bits: getting fired from my first job out of college, having to move back in with my parents, declaring bankruptcy, having a hysterectomy (which in the end is a good thing, but I would have rather avoided growing a tumor and having major surgery, especially the part about the huge hospital bill afterwords), opening a business and watching it fail, the ice storm, 9/11, the recession.

But this year was pretty bitchin' for the most part. I did stuff, I learned stuff, and this was the first year in recent memory where nothing really significantly negative happened to me that I can think of offhand. I switched to a more natural diet and ate less restaurant and drive-thru food. I found out that I do have a "dream car," and that car is a DeLorean. I said goodbye to MySpace, because it's lame. I made my own laundry detergent. I built us some capsule beds. I finally completely said goodbye to Fashioned By Jaye, and felt better for doing so. I planted my first garden, which yielded a bunch of tomatoes, lots of Anasazi beans, basil, beets, a few carrots, one adorably tiny bell pepper, and lots of marigolds. I joined the modern era and got a smart phone. I got addicted to Facebook games, for which I blame Kourt. I discovered the joy of the TomTom, as well as the joy of being in a car for 19 hours straight, and the joy of spending an entire week in New Jersey. I got to visit the Mutter Museum, which was every bit as interesting as expected. I started a second big renovation project and learned what it's like to battle 80 years of wallpaper and paint. I've gotten promoted. Twice. The biggest negative thing I can think of this year is how hard I had to fight to get that second promotion, but it all turned out okay in the end and good things are worth fighting for.

We have a tendency to head into each new year with grand plans for big accomplishments and big changes, but there's a lot to be said for completing a year and being able to look back at twelve months of normal. My house isn't any cleaner than it was a year ago, I've not lost any more weight, and I don't have a lot more money than I did, but it's all okay. Things are going smoothly, and there's almost nothing better than enjoying a little smooth sailing for a change.

That, I think, is the most positive change I've made for myself in 2010. Finally, for the first time in my entire life, I've come to realize that happiness isn't something you chase through accomplishments and grand goals. A happy life doesn't come with an ideal career or perfect home or perfect body. I've finally realized that the life I want is attainable now, not just at some future ideal point where I'm living in some perfect house, working a perfect job, etc.

So, I bid a fond farewell to 2010. It's been a good one. No regrets.

So, here I am, awake at 5 am...

...trying to get the hang of my new BlackBerry. Kind of sad that I'm just now joining the world of smart phones, but I am the girl who was still playing CDs on an ancient Discman plugged into an even more ancient boom box as late as 2003, so I guess it should come as no surprise.

Honestly, there is zero point to this blog entry. Just curious to see just how much of my normal internet life I'll now be carrying in my pocket. And trying to get better at typing with my thumbs. How do girls with long nails even do this?

Dear assfaces at Rockstar, Inc.;,

You suck.

As of a couple of years ago, I swore energy drinks would kill us all and I refused to start drinking them. The one time I had consumed a Red Bull it scared the fuck out of me. I'd gone to a karaoke bar with some friends, and about halfway through the night I was hit with an intense caffeine withdrawal headache because I hadn't had coffee all day (and I'm a long time coffee addict). The bar's coffee machine was broken, so I let myself be talked into a Red Bull. Soon I was bouncing in my seat and singing Britney Spears songs in public. I couldn't fall asleep that night, and spent several hours convinced my heart was going to explode in my chest.

It wasn't until I got a second job working overnights that I got desperate enough to try energy drinks again. You know you're really tired when you're falling asleep while working a cash register. So one morning I headed back to the cooler and picked out an energy drink that looked appealing. The one think I knew for sure is that Red Bull tastes like a mixture of Mountain Dew and what I can only assume goat piss must taste like, and I wanted none of that.

Then I spotted the pretty purple can.

Guava sounded nice and fruity and tropical and yummy. The can boasted a 50% juice content, which gave me hope that whatever was inside that can would taste pleasant and sweet. I only drank about half of it because I didn't want to induce heart palpitations again, but I easily could have kept drinking because it tasted that amazing. Nectar of the gods, that was.

Maybe I'm a hypocrite. Maybe I was right all along and energy drinks contain some kind of super dangerous addictive substance that will eventually send us all to an early grave. But damn if I didn't get horribly, horribly hooked on the contents of that lovely purple and gold can.

I tried other flavors. I tried the other Juiced varieties when our store was out of Guava, but wasn't impressed. Pomegranate is okay, but... meh. Orange is too sour. Punched is too tart. The new lemonade one tastes okay, but contains too much artificial sweetener. The coffee flavored varieties taste pretty good, but don't give me the energy boost. In the absence of my precious guava I've strayed to other brands, but none can compare.

When I gave up high-fructose corn syrup, I was delighted to find that I could still drink my Guava Rockstar. When I started watching my calorie intake, I was delighted to find that a can of Guava Rockstar only had 180 calories in it and I didn't have to drastically curb my consumption. It was perfect.

Last night I purchased two cans of the new formulation. I noticed immediately that the can looked different, but I ignored the warning signs and popped it open, expecting the familiar sweet liquid I love so, so much.

You've fucking ruined it, douchebags. You took the most wonderful beverage in your whole lineup and turned it into crap juice. Yes, crap juice. If I wanted my energy drink to taste more like tropical punch, I'd just buy some fucking tropical punch. Now it's got more calories, less juice, and it tastes awful. Don't think for a minute that I'll grow to like it. No, I'm going to buy up every can of the old stuff I can find, and when that stash runs out it's bye bye Rockstar. You're dead to me.

Go fuck yourselves.

My crazy family: the sad reality of Republican politics

You know that funny nostalgic feeling you get when you think about some of the naive things you thought as a kid, like how you believed in the existence of Santa and the Easter Bunny? I get that feeling now when I think about how I used to revere my parents for their logical, intelligent approach to politics and religion.

I really used to hold them up as an example of how religious parents can be reasonable, open-minded, and tolerant. And then I left home. Traveled. Met people from a lot of different places. Realized that a fervent belief in the correctness of one's beliefs doesn't, by default, make those beliefs correct. Started to see how little tolerance and open-mindedness my parents actually exhibited.

Actually, it wasn't until the months leading up to the presidential election that I fully realized how wrong I'd always been about my parents. To be precise, I lost my childlike naivete the day my mother looked me straight in the eye and said, "Obama is a socialist, just like Hitler."

First of all, Hitler wasn't a socialist. Hitler got rid of labor unions and gave a ton of power to business owners who had to do what he said to keep that power. That's not socialism. That's fascism.

Second, the real inference of the statement is that somehow Hitler was or became a mass murdering fuckhead because he (supposedly) was socialist, and that since Obama (supposedly) is a socialist, too, he's likely to become a mass murdering fuckhead as well. Or, phrased in less heavy-handed way, socialism is evil because everything you can associate with Hitler is evil, so Obama is evil, too. If that isn't obviously absurd to you, read it again. If that still doesn't smell like a ton of bullshit to you, brush up on your logic and history, and then read it again.

Third, socialism comes in a lot of different varieties, and nothing Obama has sought to implement is any more socialist than many of the government programs we already support. There seems to be a real lack of understanding of what socialism really is in this country, and evidently my parents are no exception.

I thought my parents would have been able to see the vast lack of logic in their statement. They're college educated people. Unlike a lot of Americans, they read on a regular basis -- and real non-fiction books, not crap like Twilight. Sure, they're conservative Republican Christians who listen to Rush Limbaugh and such (and Dad is a preacher to boot), but I always thought they were the kind who could smell bullshit when it was thrown at them.

Turns out I was wrong.

Needless to say, it's been a very long year and a half.

It's frustrating to see them spouting half-truths and outright fabrications as if they were absolute truth, knowing that they're completely uninterested in the real truth. And, even worse, knowing that they got these "facts" from some neoconservative pundit on the radio who they believe without question.

The most recent "WTF!?!" moment came during a discussion about my increasing interest in eating more organic foods. I've been paying more attention lately to what I buy at the grocery store, and just recently took my first grocery trip to a local natural foods market. I was explaining to them that the reason I'm committing myself to a more organic diet isn't so much the nutritional quality of the food itself, but the effects of the methods used in producing the food. After all, huge factory farms, especially those outside the U.S. that provide us with meat, are in large part to blame for things like the swine flu, not to mention the impact of chemical pesticides on the environment and the increasingly troublesome production of genetically modified crops.

I remember during my high school years, when the pressure to recycle and plant trees and "save the earth" was ramping up, that my parents patently refused to worry about it. I read Silent Spring in high school mostly because my parents claimed that it was a propaganda piece full of lies. Even then, I understood where their objection came from: religion. If Jesus is going to return, and if the good Christians are going to be raptured before the earth REALLY gets bad, then there is no need to worry about saving the earth ourselves. If you really truly believe modern protestant interpretations of the Bible, there's no way we'll be allowed to destroy the earth before Jesus comes back to save it.

What I couldn't understand even then (when I actually shared their basic beliefs) was why it made sense to carelessly use up the earth's resources when we were admonished to be careful what we did to our bodies. If your body is a temple given to you by god that you're supposed to take care of even though you won't actually have to worry about its condition in the afterlife, why does the same philosophy not apply to the earth we live on?

Ironically, my parents are now far more diligent about recycling than I am, and we don't even have a curbside recycling program here. They actually collect all their plastic, paper, cardboard, and aluminum; rinse, sort, and bag it all; and haul it themselves to the recycling center. Yet the idea of supporting smaller organic farming operations instead of huge factory farms seems to offend their sensibilities in some way.

Initially, when I was talking about what I'd bought at the natural foods market, their response was that they just weren't convinced that eating organic or less prepared food would make me healthier or cause me to live longer than they would, but that if it made me feel better to spend the extra money it was fine. (Condescend much?) My sister actually said she liked processed foods with chemical additives. Then again, my sister just likes to do everything opposite of what I do now, which is ironic considering how when we shared an apartment by ourselves she copied my every interest.

But I digress.

When I explained that it was less about nutritional differences and more about supporting more sustainable farming methods, their response wasn't any less negative. In fact, my parents proceeded to "inform" me that there is actually a negative impact to all this environmental responsibility. Their example? They claimed that since DDT was banned, the threat of malaria in third world countries has increased exponentially and, because nobody can use DDT, millions of people are dying. Furthermore, they claimed that science has proved that DDT is harmless and doesn't kill birds and other animals, and that it's basically the fault of Rachel Carson that all these unfortunate people are being forced to die.

*digs out from under load of bullshit*

My initial response was that I was skeptical of the claim that DDT was harmless and that I'd have to do some research myself before I bought that kind of claim. And, luckily, that was the end of the discussion. They rolled their eyes at me and I rolled my eyes at them, and we continued eating lunch.

When I got home I did some poking around and, indeed, most of their claims are complete crap.

First of all, DDT is not banned for use in fighting malaria and, in fact, because the World Health Organization has recommended that DDT be used to kill mosquitoes in areas where malaria is rampant, many third world countries have long used programs wherein they go into houses and spray the surfaces directly with DDT. So any claim that the ban on DDT is causing all manner of malaria deaths is patently false.

Second, all reputable scientific data points to DDT being a carcinogen. Not only that, but it has profoundly negative effects on birds and aquatic life forms, and is blamed for the near-extinction of not only the bald eagle but also several other bird species. Even the World Health Organization, despite approving the use of DDT to combat malaria, recommends that its use eventually be phased out.

The saddest part is that I strongly suspect that they would persist in their belief that the world would be better off if we went back to dumping tons of DDT all over the place even if I printed out a metric ton of evidence to the contrary for them to see. I did mention to my mother that I'd done some poking around and that the use of DDT to combat malaria has been the status quo in many African countries for a long time now. Her response? "Well, maybe they're spraying NOW." As if Rush Limbaugh talking about it would suddenly prompt the powers that be to give Africa DDT. I told her that no, DDT has never been banned for killing malaria-spreading mosquitoes, only for agricultural use. She pursed her lips, I left, and I'd bet a million bucks she never looked any further into the issue.

It would be one thing if they just held opposing ideas. If they simply believed that it's worth the environmental and long-term health risk of spraying DDT in order to prevent malaria deaths, fine. If they simply believed that it's not worth putting extra tax burden on people to provide increased health care availability or to attempt to boost the economy, fine. What bothers me is that they believe these things because they've "picked a side," and anything fed to them by those who are on that same side is swallowed and regurgitated without a second thought. Not only do they not seem to be interested in fact-checking, they actually believe that any evidence contradicting what they've been told must be fabricated. Their side is good, everyone else is evil, and to question that belief is dangerous.

I talk to some people online who assume that these opinions must be the exception, not the norm, even among Republicans. Well, not so:

http://dyn.politico.com/printstory.cfm?uuid=8FD5BC44-18FE-70B2-A8F16FA9CBA5781E

63 percent of Republicans believe Obama is a socialist
24 percent said Obama wants “the terrorists to win”
31 percent agreed with the statement that Obama is “a racist who hates white people”
36 percent of respondents do not believe the president was born in this country
21 percent think the liberal advocacy group ACORN stole the election for Obama
23 percent want their state to secede from the union
51 percent of those polled believe sex education should not be taught in schools
77 percent want creationism taught in schools
31 percent want contraception outlawed
34 percent believe birth control is “abortion”

If we want to start drawing parallels between modern politicians and Nazi Germany, I say let's start with a discussion of scare-tactic propaganda.

It's one thing to stand up for what you believe in, and a far different thing to stand up for what somebody tells you to believe in without questioning. What happened to independent thought? What happened to freedom as an American ideal?

I'd ask what happened to my parents, but I don't think they've changed. I remember back in high school standing next to them in pro-life demonstrations. I remember the discussions around the dinner table. The only thing that's changed is that the hysteria has increased (and I've since come to my senses). The basic idea, though, is exactly the same. And that saddens me, not just because I thought my parents capable of engaging in a logical debate about actual issues without throwing around insanely illogical half-truths and propagandist bullshit, but because I can't just dismiss them as part of a radical fringe. It's not some exaggerated caricature of "crazy Republican America" the "liberal media" has latched onto in an effort to discredit otherwise logical mainstream conservative viewpoints. No, it's very real. And I'm living in the middle of it.

oh my god, shoes

I'm not exactly a shoe fanatic. I get the appeal of shoes, and maybe if I had enough income to warrant blowing a large chunk of it on footwear I'd have a closet full. Maybe. As of now not only would I much rather spend my extra cash on other things, but I don't have the necessary closet space to fill with rarely-worn shoes.

I used to have a compulsion to collect things. Not so much shoes (although I did have a pretty good collection of chunky-heeled boots and dress shoes back when I was in Chicago) but just... stuff. Toys that reminded me of my childhood but that I never played with, random kitchen gadgets I rarely used, more stuff to tack onto my walls than I had wall space for, movies I rarely watched... I can't even begin to estimate how much money I've wasted over the years on junk I didn't really use or even enjoy. I think I really just bought most of that stuff to make myself feel good about being able to spend the money.

These days I'm embracing a much more pragmatic approach when it comes to acquiring stuff. When I need it, I'll get it. If I find myself unable to find appropriate footwear in my closet for a certain event I'll go buy some. Until then, there's no need. Thus why I basically only wear three pairs of shoes on a regular basis.

My work shoes

They're red. They're cheap. They're ugly. But they feel like a cushy pair of house slippers. They're as close to the feeling of walking barefoot as I can get at work.

My walking shoes

Actually, they're running shoes. But I walk in them. I've put my hardcore marathon training on temporary hold, but it really is important to have the proper footwear for fitness purposes. If your feet aren't happy, you're fucked.

My black patent leather Docs

Black. Patent. Leather. Doc. Martens.

I can't imagine I have to explain why they're awesome.

Anyway, It took me a long time to understand that it's more satisfying to have the ability to buy things I really need/want because I didn't blow all my cash on frivolous junk I thought I wanted at the moment. I tried it the other way for a long time and it's infinitely frustrating to realize that all the things you accumulated in fits of pointless retail therapy don't compensate for the fact that something you suddenly need or really, really legitimately want is out of your financial reach as a result.

It's sad that it's taken me until the age of 34 to figure this out, but one of the biggest keys to happiness in life is setting your priorities and figuring out what it is you really, really want most. It's also taken me until the age of 34 to realize that the answer to that question isn't as obvious as it seems it should be.

I'm still trying to sort out what it is I want most. But when I finally figure it out...

"I'm going to get what I want!"

Lakefront memories... (and I swear I won't post any more Plinky crap today after this!)

Today's Plinky prompt: What's your favorite beach or lakeshore?

I'm not much of a beach person. The sun and I have a hate/hate relationship. My friends and family use me as a comparative when talking about other people who have pale skin. If I had a nickel for every time I heard the phrase "almost as pale as you," I'd probably be able to buy a new computer. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I used to hate it, but then the whole goth thing became cool and strangers stopped commenting on my apparent lack of sun exposure.

Anyway, the idea of spending time on a beach doesn't really appeal to me. In general, I'm not much of a nature person. I like nature, I'm all for preserving nature, but I don't want to spend a lot of time out in it. And I love swimming, but I'd prefer not to share the water with non-human swimming companions or have to walk on rocks while doing so.

That said, my favorite beach or lakeshore would have to be the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago. In the three years I lived in Chicago, I think I only visited the beach twice. The first was for a corporate beach volleyball tournament. The one game we played was pretty fun. Okay, so we didn't "play" so much as "lose quickly so we could get to the bar for the afterparty before all the other losers ate the free appetizers," but it was still fun.

The second time was when some friends from college came to visit. We'd gone to the Lincoln Park Zoo one afternoon, and as we were wandering around we kept seeing people come up over the hill with beach stuff. My old roommate asked if there was a pool or something nearby, and couldn't believe that there was an actual sandy beach that far north (she's from Texas). So we left the zoo for a stroll on the beach to prove that it actually existed. It was May. The weather was beautifully warm. The water was fucking freezing.

There was the time that the company I worked for had a dinner cruise for its Christmas party. The boat cruised along the shore for a couple of hours while we had dinner and got drunk at the open bar. I think I had five cosmos. I don't remember much about the cruise.

I may not miss hanging out on the beach, but I do miss living near it. I liked having a view of the lake from the roof deck of my apartment. I loved having the lake breeze blowing through my apartment in the summer. I missed going to Navy Pier with visiting guests. If I still lived there, I'd totally take advantage of the miles of paved trail along the beach for my fitness walks.

But you'd never catch me laying out on the sand.

"Actually, I had another thing planned for that night and I... Oh, there's going to be food? I'll be there with bells on!"

I'm a pro at saying no.

I grew up in a family full of people who suck at it. They don't want to offend, inconvenience, or disappoint anyone. Instead they frustrate, inconvenience, and deprive themselves. I've watched people around them continue to take advantage, ultimately resulting in all sorts of weird frenemy-type relationships that aren't satisfactory to anyone.

So I resolved a long time ago to stay the hell out of that kind of cycle. If the benefits of saying yes to someone or something don't outweigh the negatives, forget it. No regrets.

So what can't I say no to?

Free food.

I used to be a sucker for free shit of all types. If somebody offered it, I would take it in hopes that I might someday be able to use it. But I got over that pretty quick after having to move a few times (once with no help). Nothing makes you evaluate your attachment to your possessions like being faced with the task of physically carrying them from place to place. I still collect far too much stuff in the hopes that it'll be useful in an art project some day, but otherwise I'm getting a lot better at paring down how much clutter I accumulate.

But food? Diet aside, how the hell can you turn down free food? Even if I'm not real keen on spending a meal with somebody, I'll make an exception if it means not having to spend money on food. It doesn't matter how annoyed I am at my parents or what they're serving, if they offer to feed me I'm there.

If I find out-of-date food at work that's going to be thrown out, I'll bring it home. It's not like food magically goes rancid the day after the date on the package.

But hey, what could possibly be wrong with being a food mooch? It's not like I show up on anyone's doorstep begging for a meal. Okay, sometimes at my parents' house I do.

I resolve to shop more this year!

I slept all evening yesterday, and now I'm not tired enough to sleep. I was going to be productive and work on my taxes, but then I realized that by closing my business bank account I made it impossible to retrieve my electronic statements online. Oops. They're going to email them to me, but it'll take a few days.

I can't clean because everyone else in the house is asleep, so I have to be relatively quiet. And I can't run errands because nothing is open.

So I'm going to bug the hell out of anyone who might be awake and paying attention by posting a crap ton of Plinky answers! Yay!!

Where do I resolve to go more this year?

The grocery store.

Kourt and I have a really bad habit of eating out ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Quick drive thru snacks, late night breakfasts at Ziggies or Waffle House, the once or twice a week sit-down dinners, and the more-often-than-we-should trips for sushi. Beyond that, I have an even worse habit of eating food from the convenience store while I'm at work, and you know gas stations are short on healthy and even shorter on affordable healthy.

I like to cook, but I hate to cook in our kitchen. We know it's cheaper and healthier, but it's not as convenient. Not by a long shot. But this year is going to be all about concentrating on more long-term goals like saving for a house and getting to my weight goal.

So I'm determined to actually make use of our kitchen by eating mostly at home. I'm going to take my meals with me to work, keep the cupboards stocked, and cook meals in bulk on my days off so we have easy solutions ready in the house when we get hungry.

Plus, I want to start buying more organic and whole foods. I truly think that the root of the increase in obesity and related health problems these days comes less from our lack of activity than the artificial nature of our diets. I gave up high-fructose corn syrup a while back, and I was amazed at how different I felt and how much less I craved sweets. And this Thanksgiving we ate an organic, free-range turkey instead of getting a frozen bird from the grocery store. It was the best tasting turkey I've ever eaten in my life. It might cost a little more to get good quality groceries instead of the cheapo regular stuff, but it can't cost as much as eating out every day.

I'm not an attention whore, but I'm not going to sit on the sidelines

As I said in my last post, I've spent a lot of time lately (as in the past couple of years) thinking about the world, my life, and what's important to me. I reached a point a while back where I realized that I seemed to be constantly sabotaging myself and keeping myself from achieving the things I thought I wanted most. It's been a long, strange trip through my psyche ever since. I'm certainly not finished with that trip, but I'm at a point where I feel like I've learned a thing or two, and the changing of a decade seems an appropriate time to put a few observations down in words.

Anyway, I turned to Plinky in the hopes that among the inane suggestions for blog topics something might pop up that might prompt some of my jumbled thoughts to congeal into something relevant. Breakfast? Not so much.

Today's prompt? Better. Would I rather see or be seen? Am I an observer or an attention-getter?

Let's take a trip down memory lane...

Like pretty much every other kid/teen in the world, when I was younger there was nothing I wanted more than positive attention. When it came to the adults in my life I knew exactly how to achieve that. It wasn't complicated. They didn't play games. It wasn't a competition.

With my peers it was a lot more complicated.

It's not that I wanted to be super popular. There had been a time in elementary school when I had felt like I fit in. I was always a little shy, always a big nerd, and never had the most fashionable clothes or most popular toys, yet I wasn't excluded from the social scene.

And then my parents decided to put us in a different school. Suddenly the things I'd been raised to be proud of were a source of ridicule. I simply didn't fit in at the new school. I didn't dress right, didn't listen to the right music, didn't play the same games on the playground, didn't share the same interests with everyone else. I'd never had to work that hard to fit in, and I didn't know where to even start. And suddenly, every bit of social confidence I'd ever had was gone. Since I didn't know how to fit in, I stuck with what I did know: making adults happy. At the time I thought I was being pragmatic -- I figured that succeeding at my goals in life would hinge more on my achievements than my social success.

The bad thing is that, over time, I developed this belief that adults treated me differently than my peers because adults valued different things than teens. I really believed that once I got out of my teenage years that the social rules would change, and I couldn't wait.

It didn't take very long before I started to realize I was wrong. As I passed from high school into college and then into the work force I realized that adults act just the same as teens -- petty, jealous, vindictive, judgmental -- only they're sneakier and quieter about it. It's all the same pack mentality and clique behavior as in high school, but with a thin veneer of maturity. This time the problem was that, although I knew how to gain the praise of those around me, I was tired of doing it. I was bored with it. It didn't make me happy.

So I stopped.

I lost my job in 2002. It was my own fault, but I didn't expect it to happen. And I guess it left me not knowing who I was anymore. My identity had been wrapped up for so long in being the girl who excelled at stuff, and now that I'd failed at that I was left just... floating. I started to feel the same way in the "real world" as I'd felt in my teenage years, so I started avoiding attention. I told myself that it was because I wanted to excel on my own terms, but it was really because I was hiding. Pretty soon I was subconsciously keeping myself from really achieving anything significant because I didn't like the feeling of having people looking at me. As much as I wanted to succeed at projects or endeavors, my subconscious fear of exposing myself to the potential of having all of my mistakes and failures poked at was a far more powerful force.

It seems to me that there are two reasons for wanting attention. One is to compensate for insecurities, needing the validation from others to build the self-worth you don't otherwise feel. That's where I was as a kid. The problem is, though, that you then get caught in a cycle of trying to do what everyone else wants in order to maintain their approval.

It's only been recently that I finally realized that being an attention-getter also has a positive purpose. In the years of trying to achieve my goals while avoiding the attention of others, I realized that it's almost impossible to get where you want to go completely on your own. I might not want everyone's attention, but I won't accomplish my goals without the recognition, validation, and ultimately the help of certain people.

I was on the right track as a kid, realizing that there were some people who's approval and attention carried more value than others. What I didn't realize then was that it's all the same game. As much as most of us don't like it, the truth is that we exist in hierarchies. If one wants to move up and get ahead, you have to get the attention of certain players in the game. It's not a bad thing, it's just how the world works.

So, now, I'd have to say I'd rather be seen. I just want to be seen for who I really am and what I can do. I want the attention of those I respect, those I love, and those who can help me get to where I want to go. Otherwise? I'm over it.

A stumped blogger's breakfast

It's been a good long while since I posted a Plinky answer, but I thought maybe it was time to do so again. After all, not only am I kind of bored this morning, but I've also been suffering from blogger's block and that's what Plinky is supposed to help.

It's not so much that I don't have anything to say, I just can't seem to get my thoughts to gel. After all, it's a new year. It's a new decade (in the culturally accepted way, not mathematically, but whatever). There's all sorts of stuff going through my head about all the shit that's gone on in the past ten years both globally and personally and all the things I anticipate, hope, fear, etc for the next ten years. But for some reason I just can't get it to come out in any coherent form.

So instead of talking about change and self-reflection and such, I'll just follow Plinky's lead and talk about the components of my ideal breakfast:

Scrambled eggs

I've been doing this whole healthier eating thing since mid-May, and the one thing I learned early on about my "natural" eating habits is that I don't tend to eat enough protein. It's not really because I don't like protein -- I'm a committed omnivore who prefers her steaks bleeding, her peanuts spicy, and most of her meals to be accompanied by a big glass of milk -- but just because I tend to eat on the run and it's much easier to find quick food heavy in carbs and fat. Given the time to sit down for a real breakfast, though, I'd probably have eggs every day. And no, that's not bad for my diet.

Oatmeal with honey

Actually, I like grits with butter even better than oatmeal with honey, but the oatmeal is lower in fat and higher in fiber, and honey is like a miracle food. Plus, oatmeal comes in those handy instant packets, and you have to measure out grits to cook them. I'm all about easy.

Coffee

Every meal has to include coffee. Period.

Well, now I know.

Ever since I started wearing my NIN shirts on a regular basis, I've had various people start up conversations that often lead to the question of whether I like other industrial* bands. And I've always had to say I didn't really know, since I'd never really listened to any.

So, I've been on this little project of broadening my music horizons by checking out a fairly long list of artists vaguely related to or linked to NIN in a "six degrees of separation" kind of way, and now I can answer the question:

No, not so much.


On an only tangentially related note, can anyone explain to me why playing Tool at work seems to be an open invitation for guys to hit on me? If this keeps up I'm gonna delete all of it from my iPod. It's getting creepy.




*Term broadly used -- yeah, yeah, NIN isn't really industrial, blah, blah... Spare me the lectures, I've heard 'em.

40 pounds!

Yep, I've officially lost 40 pounds now. Only 90 more to go!

I'm still wearing my size 20 jeans only because I don't have any 18s left in my closet -- it might have been a bit short-sighted of me to get rid of them all. I don't really have the money to go buy new jeans at the moment, but I won't worry too much about it. That's what belts and sewing machines are for, right?

My next small goal is to lose 10 more pounds before my birthday/Halloween. Mostly because I don't want to look too fat in my Jem costume. I don't want it to look like I ate the Holograms.

Halloween approacheth

We take Halloween seriously. My birthday is right before, so it's become just an extension of the celebration.

Okay, well, in some cases, it IS the celebration. My family has become quite skilled at fucking me over on my actual birthday, so Halloween is the chance to get shitfaced and hang out with drag queens to make up for the craptasticness from two days before.

Anyway, I had a hard time for a while figuring out what I wanted to be this year. Kourt settled on pirate quite a while back, but I was a pirate three years ago and I didn't want to recycle it.

Then, in a moment of sheer inspiration that came while I was in the bathroom at WalMart at 2am, I decided on the perfect costume: JEM!

In some ways, it's a simple costume to put together. If you get the hair, eye makeup, and earrings right, the rest just has to be pastel, 80s, and girly. Since it's been quite a few years since I saw an episode of Jem, I looked up some images just so I could be sure I was getting it right.

While google image searching Jem, I discovered that lots of people like to dress up as Jem for Halloween. And lots of people end up looking horrible in the process. You can't just grab any old pink wig, throw on the first 80s-ish outfit you can think of, and be done with it. The hair, especially, is crucial. It's not bright hot pink. It's very pale pink. In fact, in the cartoon it's almost white most of the time. And most of your run of the mill inexpensive pink costume wigs are more like neon fuchsia. Plus, her hair was a huge 80s pseudo-mullet, and they simply don't make pink wigs that come anywhere close in style or sheer volume of hair.

See, this is Jem's hair:




















These are NOT Jem's hair:





It became obvious quite quickly that if I were to really pull off a good Jem costume, I'd have to put some time and effort into the wig. A little research uncovered the fact that you CAN color a synthetic wig with some rubbing alcohol and a few sharpie markers. (Thank you, cosplayers!) So Kourt and I took a trip to the Halloween store and I picked up this wig:



I also picked up a package of doll hair, a handful of pink sharpies, and a bottle of alcohol. Over the past week I've been cutting the proper layers into the wig and sewing the resulting loose wig hair (as well as the doll hair when needed) back into the wig to give it the proper shape and volume.

Oh, and while I worked on the wig, I watched every episode of the cartoon on YouTube. I didn't actually intend to do that -- I just started watching for research purposes. But it turns out the show is remarkably fun to watch, even after all these years.

Anyway, it still needs a good finishing trim and a lot styling (I want all the ends to curl under), but in the end I think I've got it just right:




I know it's hard to tell from small, sideways pics of the disheveled wig with nothing there to gauge the scale, but it's a whole hell of a lot of hair. It comes just short of armpit length in the back, and it's about twice as thick as the original wig.

I say not bad for my first attempt at working with a wig like that.

I've played around with the makeup part, and I think I've got that down. It's not difficult, it's just very... pink.

Next step: the Jem star earrings. I haven't quite figured out the ideal material out of which to make them, but they shouldn't be hard to pull off.

Oh, and I found the perfect pair of shoes at the secondhand store for $4: A pair of pale aqua pumps -- you know, the kind you can have dyed to match bridesmaids dresses and such? Looks like they were worn once with a hideous bridesmaid's dress and never worn again. Jackpot!

This Halloween is going to be truly outrageous.

As if I didn't have enough things to stress over...

...our house got broken into last night.

Luckily, the guy was an idiot and my sister was home.

I left for work at 10pm. Kourt works until 11pm. My sister is always home during that time, but anyone watching people come and go via the driveway would think the house was empty because my sister parks her car in my parents' driveway next door and comes in the back.

Evidently, whoever this dude was saw my car leave at 10, saw that there were no other cars around, and decided the house must be empty. He pulled the window A/C unit out of the living room window and climbed in that way. So far so good, for him. Amy's room is in the very back of the house, and he was in the very front.

We guess that at this point he took the air conditioner and then came back, because it's nowhere to be found. After that, though, it's obvious he's not much of a criminal mastermind.

Our house is messy. Very messy. None of us are champion housekeepers, and it's worse since I have been working so much over the past three years. You know that episode of Friends where Ross is dating the girl that's perfect in every way except that her apartment looks like a trash dump?

We're not QUITE that bad.

The point is that it's not immediately obvious that we've got much of anything worth stealing in the house. And getting to that stuff requires dodging piles of laundry and such. And, honestly, what we DO own isn't worth THAT much. Just a few computers and a PS3 with all the Rock Band instruments and a few small personal electronics.

Seriously, I've had moments when I wanted to pawn anything we owned that would be worth even a little bit to try and pay bills before, and it's not worth the trouble. We've checked.

So, Mr. Brain Trust gets back into the living room and decides that the best course of action is not a) grab the PS3 and climb back out the window, or b) look around the house and find something else easy-to-grab like the laptop on my desk, but c) grab the largest object he sees and try to muscle it out the back door.

The largest object in the living room (well, besides the eliptical machine which is downright impossible for one person to move and didn't even cost $300 when it was brand new) is an approx 30" TV. Not a plasma or flat screen. A 10-year-old monster of an old picture tube TV. It's not worth anything. And carrying all 50+ pounds of really awkwardly shaped, front-heavy, nearly-wider-than-our-tiny-old-narrow-doorways TV is not an easy task. And not only does he decide that the monstrous ancient TV is the thing he really wants to take, but he also decides against the easy option of taking it out the front door that's 4 feet away. No, the back door seems like the way to go.

Yeah, I'm sure he was probably thinking that somebody might see him if he went out the front. Still, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see, even from the far side of the living room, that taking anything through the kitchen -- especially something of that size -- requires two tight turns in a space that's MAYBE 3 feet wide.

Our house, you see, is a tiny little thing that's probably 100 years old. The doors are narrow, the windows are small, and the rooms are practically doll sized. Kourt and I sleep in a bedroom that's smaller than the bathrooms or closets in most newer homes. The kitchen is even smaller. Beyond the kitchen is a laundry room. That used to be the end of the house, but when we moved in my parents put on an addition, which is where my sister's room is. There's a screen door that opens inward where the back door used to be, and then you have to turn again into a narrow entry way that leads to the "back door" (which is actually on the side of the house and opens onto the driveway). So, if he'd actually been alone, he'd have had to muscle the TV through the kitchen, set it down on the dryer so he could open the screen door, get it through the entryway, find a place to set it down again so he could open THAT screen door, unlock the back door, and then carry it outside and between the narrow space between the house and garage to get to the back yard.

Which is fenced in.

So, he'd have ended up having to either go back out front with the TV and risk being seen, or go through my parents' yard and down their driveway and then around the block and risk being seen, OR jump a fence. Carrying a gigantic TV.

Somehow, he managed to make it to the laundry room without really damaging anything else in the house. He was even so thoughtful as to take the time to detach all the cables that connected the TV to the PS3 and the DVD player and the cable hookup, get the TV unplugged from the power strip, and THEN steal it. However, once he got it into the laundry room, the noise of him muscling this stupid TV around got my sister's attention.

Now, she's used to noise in the laundry room. The cats hang out in there. That's where their litter boxes are. Ever heard the sound of cat claws sliding down the side of a washing machine? But the noises he was making were, of course, not like what the kitties usually sound like, so she comes out to investigate and finds a large black dude she's never seen before holding our 30" TV.

If he were smart, he'd have dropped the TV and ran right then. But he didn't. He stood there holding the fucking television set and tried to say that he saw somebody come into the house and that he was just checking to see if my sister was okay.

WHILE HE'S HOLDING A TELEVISION THAT PROBABLY WEIGHS HALF AS MUCH AS HE DOES!

I don't know exactly what the chain of events were over the next few minutes, but the TV is now sitting on the dryer (because none of us are strong enough to muscle it back to its place by ourselves) and he ended up running out the front door. I guess she called the cops first, and then my parents, and then me. It wasn't even 11pm, so all of this happened within about a half hour after I left for work.

We're lucky all we lost was the air conditioner. It took Kourt a while to find all our cats, but they're accounted for and fine.

My sister's first thought when she got to the living room after all this and found the front door open was that I must have left it unlocked. I spent a whole fucking hour trying to remember if I might have forgotten to lock it. I ALWAYS lock the door just by habit when I leave. But after freaking out for an hour I'd decided it was possible that in my haste I'd not gotten the lock fully engaged or something. I felt like shit about that until everyone (police included) came to the conclusion that he came in the window after he got the air conditioner out.

It still totally freaks me out, though, that he must have been watching for me to leave for work. I know there are some not-so-upstanding citizens residing around here -- I mean, we DO live in the 'hood for fuck's sake -- but still. Gah!

What's worst, though, is that my mom is now bitching about how messy the house is and she wants to come in here and clean. And the very, very last thing I need in my life right now is my mom pawing around in all our stuff in the name of clutter control and bitching at me all day.

Actually, scratch that. The worst part is that today is Kourt's birthday. "Happy birthday, honey! Hey, now that the TV is on the dryer, you can watch your shows while you fold laundry!"

Meh.

Fat Girl Trains For a Marathon!

I know I've mentioned it before, but I figured that since I haven't had a hell of a lot else to blog about recently, and considering that this whole weight loss and fitness thing has become the main focus in my life recently, I might as well make it the focus of my blog for a while.

The idea to walk a marathon wasn't mine. It was suggested by a couple of the girls on the nin.com forums, and although their idea was to do a half marathon, I'm one of those people who always shoots slightly beyond what most people would consider a reasonable goal. And when they said "maybe we should get together for a marathon" I assumed we were all thinking about the whole 26.2 miles.

So I did a little research, and found marathonwalking.com. The more I read, the more reasonable it seemed to expect to get my flabby 235-pound ass in good enough shape to walk 26.2 miles by the end of February.

You may wonder why not a 5k? Or a 10k? Or at least a half marathon? Why jump all the way to the whole damn marathon?

Well, I already knew that I could walk 3 miles at a time, no sweat. Last summer I got into the habit of walking back and forth from Fashioned By Jaye to the convenience store, which is 3 miles round trip. And a 5k is 3.1 miles. So that wouldn't really be much of a challenge unless I went for speed. And a 10k? I actually did one of those in college with no prior training and came through just fine. Not to mention, it's not like I never had a reason to walk the 3 mile trip to and from the convenience store twice in the same day. So neither of those seem very epic to me. I may weigh well over 200 pounds, but I'm not incapable of sustained movement. I just figured that if the beginner marathon training plan takes six months and I have seven months, why stop at a half marathon?

There's a park in the area that we've previously used for fitness walking that has a nicely paved 1.5 mile trail, conveniently marked off in 1/4 mile increments, so that seemed the logical place to start training. If you go in the direction they recommend (as indicated by the sign marked "start" with an arrow), you get one fairly steep hill to climb right before the first 1/4 mile marker, one very short but very steep incline right before the trail comes back around to the starting point, and the rest is nearly flat.

(Yes, I can hear all of you math geeks out there -- the rest of the trail averages a slight downward slope, because since the circuit is continuous the total elevation change has to equal zero. Duh. Doesn't feel that way when you walk it, though.)

A lot of people walk it in the "easy" direction, but I decided not to. If I'm going to really commit to training, I shouldn't look for the easy way. I better learn to climb the hills.

So, I planned out my training schedule (rounding all the distances to 1.5 mile increments so I could do whole laps) and gathered the best gear I have. I have a pair of walking shoes, but not good-quality, properly fitted ones. I don't have a stopwatch, so I time my laps on my cell phone (not like it's not a good idea to keep my phone on me anyway, since I do sometimes walk alone after dark). I pawned my own iPod a while back in a fit of financial panic, so I have to borrow Kourt's. And cell phone + iPod + car keys + large water bottle = need to have some way to carry it all. So I've been using a little sling purse so I don't have to juggle it all -- the big pocket holds the water bottle, and the iPod slips into the small pocket on the front. It's not the best solution (especially since with a full water bottle the strap gets a little uncomfortable), but it's what works for now.

I've now been following my training regimen for four and a half weeks. I'm another 9 pounds down since I started, and I'm up to 6 mile long walks. In a couple of weeks it will jump up to 9 miles. Pretty soon I'm going to have to invest in some better gear -- a better solution for holding water, good quality shoes, and some good non-cotton socks.

The one big problem? My feet FUCKING HURT!

They hurt before I started this whole thing -- I spend all my time at the convenience store on my feet, and at my weight that means foot pain no matter how much cushion I put in my shoes. In fact, I'm fairly sure I now have plantar fasciitis. Plus, my ankles aren't super strong due to a lot of things, not the least of which was all the abuse they took when I was a cheerleader in high school. Add to that the fact that my shoes aren't really up to par, and the training walks aren't exactly helping my feet out any. They feel fine while I'm walking, but after I get done and the muscles tighten up it's hell. I've started wearing ankle braces at work and during my walks since that seems to help some, and there are some exercises and stretches to do for both ankle strength and the plantar fasciitis, but mostly I think I'm going to have to get some good shoes and keep losing weight. They say every pound you lose takes 4 pounds of pressure off your knees, and that can't be too much different than for your feet and ankles. Better to get it under control now while I'm walking fairly short distances so I'm not in agony when I increase my mileage.

Overall, though, I'm feeling really good about the whole process. My speed is getting better, and even the 6 mile walks are pretty easy. The first time I had to walk 6 miles it totally wiped me out, but last Saturday I worked my store all afternoon, came home and changed, did my 6 mile walk, came home and showered, and then worked a whole shift at the convenience store without either falling asleep or being stiff and sore all night!