I love Twitter.
I use Twitter to keep up with news, entertainment and pop culture. For example, the other night it was fun reading Tweets from all over during the Oscars - it made watching the Oscars fun ('cause Billy Crystal was a total bore. Seriously, this is not 1989!).
My favorite thing to do on Twitter is follow celebrities. I am NOT one of those people who asks celebs to "RT" (a "retweet" for those of you not hip to Twitter lingo. Or as my friend Rachael would call it, The Twitter). Those people are just dumb. And I never understand why celebs do it. For example, "Hey Cher, it's Monday, can I get a RT?" and she actually RTs. If I were Cher I would say, "Get a life" but clearly Cher is much nicer than I.
I rarely Tweet at celebrities either because I am sure tons of people Tweet at them all the time. However, I did Tweet at Kathy Griffin during the Oscars (poor thing was in the hospital, supposedly with bird flu?!?) because she Tweeted something about the show being boring. I responded saying she would be a fun host. No response, though I'm sure she totally agreed with me.
I follow my favorite author ( and long lost sister...seriously, she is like the Republican version of me) Jen Lancaster on Twitter. Now, since I feel like Jen is my BFF (Dear Jen, please be my BFF. -Jen), I often reply to her Tweets and always hope she'll respond. No luck yet though she does, indeed FOLLOW me on Twitter. Yep, that was a big day in my life (sad).
In other words, when it comes to celebrities I don't follow the former Mr. Demi Moore (Ashton...nor Bruce Willis come to think of it), Kim Kardashian (or as my dad calls her Kim Kevorkian, you know, as in Jack "Dr. Death" Kevorkian) or anyone like that. Just "normal" celebrities or people I think are celebrities.
Case and point? Remember late last year when I geeked out about seeing Wilson Phillips in concert? Love them! They were my favorite music group in the 8th and 9th grades. Anyway, they are all on Twitter and I follow them all (of course). Tonight Wendy Wilson Tweeted me. Seriously. She Tweeted earlier this week about how they are working on a new album, so I responded and asked when it is coming out. She just wrote me back (answer is April). How cool is that? I suppose you had to know me back in the day to understand how happy my inner 14 year old is right now (my friend Karen will totally get this).
Sometimes I think social media is undoing the fabric of our society. O.K., I suppose I feel that way about Facebook ( even though I use it daily). However, with Twitter, you only get a few characters. You have to keep it short. There's not as much drama (remember vaguebooking?). You can just share a little. So I get why celebrities, quasi-celebrities and wannabe celebrities like Twitter. You can connected just enough without having to share too much (unless you are Demi and Ashton because I hear they used to Tweet photos of themselves in bed. Gross).
Side note:I'm waiting for the day Beyonce starts Tweeting. Wiggy will probably quit her job to become a full time Twitter-er/Beyonce stalker.
I'll stick with my more relatable celebrities in the mean time. And will keep hoping Jen Lancaster will Tweet me back someday. And then we'll become BFFs. I also keep hoping Kate Spade (the person, not the company - the company has RTed my Kate mentions on several occasions. Frequent customer) joins Twitter. Because she should be my other BFF. Just imagine how many purses I would own then....
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
My funny Valentine (and crack is still whack)
My Valentine.
My Valentine makes me feel wonderful. Like I'm dancing on a cloud. Like ooh, heaven is a place on earth.
My Valentine makes my heart flutter. I'm dizzy - dizzy because of the effect my Valentine has on me. I'm even a little weak in the knees.
My Valentine and I are currently together at a Hampton Inn. I should sleep well tonight with my Valentine in my life.
My Valentine? My Valentine's name is Flexeril. Yes, Flexeril's love is my drug. No, no, Flexeril is my drug (to sort of quote Ke$ha).
Yes, my Valentine is a prescription drug. (You thought Flexeril was a silly name for a man, didn't you?).
Just when I couldn't sink any lower on this damn holiday, here I am.
At some point in time this week I did something to my back. Perhaps a I pulled a muscle running, Yoga Booty Balleting or opening my really old and sort of broken garage door. Frankly, I'm not sure what happened but last night I tossed and turned in pain, unable to get comfortable.
This is a week of much travel for me - beginning with meetings at an office about an hour away (where, thanks to the holiday, there were cupcakes GALORE. However, unlike at my office, these cupcakes were for sale for a fundraiser and, therefore, I deemed it ok) today and tomorrow, followed by a trip to my (least) favorite city, Indianapolis, on the books for tomorrow after work.
Anyway, on the drive this morning my back started to spasm. We're talking couldn't breathe-almost-passed-out-thought-I-was-gonna-crash-the-car-awful-pain. I made it through four morning meetings (at one point I was literally triple booked) and then motored on over to urgent care.
The diagnosis? Back spasms (imagine that). The treatment? Flexeril, Mobic and rest (oops on the rest part - after popping the drugs I felt so great I hit the elliptical for an hour. Blame it on the cupcake I bought. Yes, I caved today).
I've experienced Flexeril before and know what it does - it totally makes me high.
So here I am - high on not love on this Valentine's Day but on Flexeril.
And even though the doc told me heat is good for my back, I learned a valuable lesson from Whitney Houston this weekend. Don't get high and then get in a hotel bathtub.
It's just a bad idea (R.I.P. Whitney).
Crack may be whack, but Flexeril is phenomen-il!
My Valentine makes me feel wonderful. Like I'm dancing on a cloud. Like ooh, heaven is a place on earth.
My Valentine makes my heart flutter. I'm dizzy - dizzy because of the effect my Valentine has on me. I'm even a little weak in the knees.
My Valentine and I are currently together at a Hampton Inn. I should sleep well tonight with my Valentine in my life.
My Valentine? My Valentine's name is Flexeril. Yes, Flexeril's love is my drug. No, no, Flexeril is my drug (to sort of quote Ke$ha).
Yes, my Valentine is a prescription drug. (You thought Flexeril was a silly name for a man, didn't you?).
Just when I couldn't sink any lower on this damn holiday, here I am.
At some point in time this week I did something to my back. Perhaps a I pulled a muscle running, Yoga Booty Balleting or opening my really old and sort of broken garage door. Frankly, I'm not sure what happened but last night I tossed and turned in pain, unable to get comfortable.
This is a week of much travel for me - beginning with meetings at an office about an hour away (where, thanks to the holiday, there were cupcakes GALORE. However, unlike at my office, these cupcakes were for sale for a fundraiser and, therefore, I deemed it ok) today and tomorrow, followed by a trip to my (least) favorite city, Indianapolis, on the books for tomorrow after work.
Anyway, on the drive this morning my back started to spasm. We're talking couldn't breathe-almost-passed-out-thought-I-was-gonna-crash-the-car-awful-pain. I made it through four morning meetings (at one point I was literally triple booked) and then motored on over to urgent care.
The diagnosis? Back spasms (imagine that). The treatment? Flexeril, Mobic and rest (oops on the rest part - after popping the drugs I felt so great I hit the elliptical for an hour. Blame it on the cupcake I bought. Yes, I caved today).
I've experienced Flexeril before and know what it does - it totally makes me high.
So here I am - high on not love on this Valentine's Day but on Flexeril.
And even though the doc told me heat is good for my back, I learned a valuable lesson from Whitney Houston this weekend. Don't get high and then get in a hotel bathtub.
It's just a bad idea (R.I.P. Whitney).
Crack may be whack, but Flexeril is phenomen-il!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Just another day in paradise ( or the 'hood)
It all started with this (not so) "brilliant" idea.
You all know I live in quite the neighborhood. In addition to a plethora of crack and crime, it has a plethora of bars. Sure, I've visited my fair share but certainly not all of them (because some look really scary). Literally, there are at least 20 bars within a one mile radius of my home.
Since winter in Michigan isn't exactly fabulous, my fellow west sider Rachael and I decided we would initiate a little winter project - to visit every west side bar we've never patroned by hitting one bar per week.
We've discovered some real gems. Cheap drinks, friendly people and good food. Every week we were pleasantly surprised and declared we would return to the bar. Until tonight.
Tonight our experience proved to be everything stereotypical about our neighborhood and what we expected to experience in these dives.
I've never visited this bar because it has a reputation for being a little...rough. However, it is two blocks away from some of our usual (and safe) hangouts so we figured it couldn't be "that" bad, right? Maybe? Anyway, tonight the bar looked empty from the outside but when we walked in all eyes were on us. The place was nearly full and we clearly didn't belong. I mean, we aren't hooked on meth so no, we didn't fit in. While walking past the bar to grab a table I noticed my draft beer choices were Bud Light and Busch. Super.
'
The bartender sported an 80s ponytail and a Bluethooth. However, she was friendly and we were pleased to pay $2 each for beer. The juke box was rocking and we made note that this bar had a closed circuit TV that alternated not one but four scenes captured by security cameras (awesome) when Bob, the drunken former Marine, former Army guy, five foot two father of six came walking our way with a thousand watt smile on his face.
You know that moment when you know something is about to happen but you are too paralyzed to speak? That's what happened to me as soon as I realized Bob had his radar locked on our table. Before I knew it he was trying to squeeze in to the booth next to me. Since I have a general rule about not cuddling with strangers (though this will be violated later) I refused to move over. No worries, the Bobster was persistent and scooted himself right in next to Rachael.
We got to hear Bob's life story (hence the thorough description above). We also got to hear him swear. A lot. More f bombs than I could count. He also enjoyed pointing at us and sort of winking every time he thought he said something funny, which, unfortunately happened a lot in large part because we kept nervously laughing because we didn't really have much to say in response to statements such as, "And then I told my kids to fuck off" or "I told my kid, don't call me, I'll call you."
The Bobster looked at me and said, "Aw, you're probably married with ten kids." to which I practically screamed, "Yes!" From that point on my left hand remained hidden under the table and I made several references to my (fictional) husband and (really fictional) children. I made sure to reference Rachael's engagement and she flashed Bob her hardware, so thankfully we were covered on that front.
I got a little nervous when a female "friend" of Bob's kept coming over. I did not want her thinking we were trying to steal her man. Especially after he said, "She's just jealous I'm talking to you" I couldn't help but remember the "Sex and the City" episode where Samantha and Carrie nearly got their asses kicked by the Jersey girls. In this scenario, and frankly, any scenario, I would not be the Jersey girl. Seriously, I have a meeting with the CEO at work tomorrow (I know, clearly Rachael and I did not belong at this bar - we have Master's degrees and careers), I was not prepared to explain any sort of contusions.
Don't worry because while Shelly/Michelle looked like a Jersey girl she had no ill will toward us and, in fact, was trying to sell us on her friend Bob (and don't worry, they are friends and have never had sex. Because, you know, men and women can be just friends. Thanks for sharing.). Shelly/Michelle liked us so much she crawled in the booth with me (as did her rather large and rather high male friend, thus violating my no cuddling with strangers rule, and when I say the dude was high I mean it - he reeked of pot) and, at one point, trusted us to watch her purse for an extended period of time. For real, she literally left her purse with us to go put Bob and her 51 year old "harmless" but "schizophrenic" friend Julie in a cab together (I can only imagine what that cab ride was like! Poor can driver.).
Shelly/Michelle knew every person in the bar. Rachael declared her the "mayor" of the bar and she was right on. However, there were some patrons Shelly/Michelle didn't seem to know. One of whom was sporting pajamas and, apparently in an effort to remove a layer of clothing, exposed her breast. I missed this but Rachael had full view.
I'll summarize this experience by saying this bar is like a magnet for tragedy. I would venture to guess every person there has a truly tragic story (not a someone brought cupcakes to work but I am trying to eat healthy or Kate Spade has a sale but I'm broke tragedy). Even our new friend Shelly/Michelle said something to the effect of "I just want to get out of this life and I'm going to soon."
Of course, me being me, I just kept thinking the whole time we were there how not bringing Kate (my purse - as in Spade) to the bar tonight was a good idea...and how I couldn't wait to get home to wash my hands.
By the way, universe, when I complained in an earlier blog post about not finding my Robert Scorpio, it did not mean send a short, drunk dude named Bob my way at the local dive bar. But thanks anyway.
You all know I live in quite the neighborhood. In addition to a plethora of crack and crime, it has a plethora of bars. Sure, I've visited my fair share but certainly not all of them (because some look really scary). Literally, there are at least 20 bars within a one mile radius of my home.
Since winter in Michigan isn't exactly fabulous, my fellow west sider Rachael and I decided we would initiate a little winter project - to visit every west side bar we've never patroned by hitting one bar per week.
We've discovered some real gems. Cheap drinks, friendly people and good food. Every week we were pleasantly surprised and declared we would return to the bar. Until tonight.
Tonight our experience proved to be everything stereotypical about our neighborhood and what we expected to experience in these dives.
I've never visited this bar because it has a reputation for being a little...rough. However, it is two blocks away from some of our usual (and safe) hangouts so we figured it couldn't be "that" bad, right? Maybe? Anyway, tonight the bar looked empty from the outside but when we walked in all eyes were on us. The place was nearly full and we clearly didn't belong. I mean, we aren't hooked on meth so no, we didn't fit in. While walking past the bar to grab a table I noticed my draft beer choices were Bud Light and Busch. Super.
'
The bartender sported an 80s ponytail and a Bluethooth. However, she was friendly and we were pleased to pay $2 each for beer. The juke box was rocking and we made note that this bar had a closed circuit TV that alternated not one but four scenes captured by security cameras (awesome) when Bob, the drunken former Marine, former Army guy, five foot two father of six came walking our way with a thousand watt smile on his face.
You know that moment when you know something is about to happen but you are too paralyzed to speak? That's what happened to me as soon as I realized Bob had his radar locked on our table. Before I knew it he was trying to squeeze in to the booth next to me. Since I have a general rule about not cuddling with strangers (though this will be violated later) I refused to move over. No worries, the Bobster was persistent and scooted himself right in next to Rachael.
We got to hear Bob's life story (hence the thorough description above). We also got to hear him swear. A lot. More f bombs than I could count. He also enjoyed pointing at us and sort of winking every time he thought he said something funny, which, unfortunately happened a lot in large part because we kept nervously laughing because we didn't really have much to say in response to statements such as, "And then I told my kids to fuck off" or "I told my kid, don't call me, I'll call you."
The Bobster looked at me and said, "Aw, you're probably married with ten kids." to which I practically screamed, "Yes!" From that point on my left hand remained hidden under the table and I made several references to my (fictional) husband and (really fictional) children. I made sure to reference Rachael's engagement and she flashed Bob her hardware, so thankfully we were covered on that front.
I got a little nervous when a female "friend" of Bob's kept coming over. I did not want her thinking we were trying to steal her man. Especially after he said, "She's just jealous I'm talking to you" I couldn't help but remember the "Sex and the City" episode where Samantha and Carrie nearly got their asses kicked by the Jersey girls. In this scenario, and frankly, any scenario, I would not be the Jersey girl. Seriously, I have a meeting with the CEO at work tomorrow (I know, clearly Rachael and I did not belong at this bar - we have Master's degrees and careers), I was not prepared to explain any sort of contusions.
Don't worry because while Shelly/Michelle looked like a Jersey girl she had no ill will toward us and, in fact, was trying to sell us on her friend Bob (and don't worry, they are friends and have never had sex. Because, you know, men and women can be just friends. Thanks for sharing.). Shelly/Michelle liked us so much she crawled in the booth with me (as did her rather large and rather high male friend, thus violating my no cuddling with strangers rule, and when I say the dude was high I mean it - he reeked of pot) and, at one point, trusted us to watch her purse for an extended period of time. For real, she literally left her purse with us to go put Bob and her 51 year old "harmless" but "schizophrenic" friend Julie in a cab together (I can only imagine what that cab ride was like! Poor can driver.).
Shelly/Michelle knew every person in the bar. Rachael declared her the "mayor" of the bar and she was right on. However, there were some patrons Shelly/Michelle didn't seem to know. One of whom was sporting pajamas and, apparently in an effort to remove a layer of clothing, exposed her breast. I missed this but Rachael had full view.
I'll summarize this experience by saying this bar is like a magnet for tragedy. I would venture to guess every person there has a truly tragic story (not a someone brought cupcakes to work but I am trying to eat healthy or Kate Spade has a sale but I'm broke tragedy). Even our new friend Shelly/Michelle said something to the effect of "I just want to get out of this life and I'm going to soon."
Of course, me being me, I just kept thinking the whole time we were there how not bringing Kate (my purse - as in Spade) to the bar tonight was a good idea...and how I couldn't wait to get home to wash my hands.
By the way, universe, when I complained in an earlier blog post about not finding my Robert Scorpio, it did not mean send a short, drunk dude named Bob my way at the local dive bar. But thanks anyway.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Cupcakes, shopping and wine
Remember the old school cartoons where a character had a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on each shoulder when faced with a dilemma? Lately I feel as though my own little angel and devil have been at war.
Let me paint the picture: My little angel is running in place on my shoulder, decked out for a run after putting in a ten hour work day. Her grocery bags are full of organic food, she flosses daily and her bank account has more the $50 because she is living within her means. She's a good girl.
Then there's my little devil. She isn't so little - in fact, she's overweight because she is sitting on her couch drinking wine, shopping online and watching (you guessed it) too much General Hospital on You Tube. She has a new Kate Spade purse on her arm, a cupcake in her mouth, a glow to her face because she just got an Aveda facial and she's totally up to speed on the current "Days of our Lives" story line. She's simply ridiculous. And broke.
I want Angel Jen to win the ongoing tug of war, but it isn't easy. Today alone was fraught with temptation.
It all started when Kate Spade emailed my work account at 3 a.m. announcing a one day only up to 75 percent off sale. 75 percent off. Kate Spade.
Normally, Devil Jen would be all over this. However, last week Devil Jen - celebrating the hard work of Angel Jen's weight loss (100 pounds lost, baby!) - spent way too much money and essentially bought a new wardrobe. Seriously, while checking out at Marshall's, the clerk asked me/Devil Jen where I'm/we're vacationing. I sort of choked (while Devil Jen totally did her evil laugh) because, well, there are no official non-work travel dates on the calendar yet, and then lied (Devil Jen wins again - damn her!).
Marshall's was just one place Devil Jen/I hit on her/our binge - she/we dropped some serious cash at Banana Republic and at loft.com. Wiggy told me I have a problem. Given her penchant for spending I think she may be right. So, even though I got paid on Friday and 75 percent off anything Kate Spade is a bargain, Angel Jen prevailed today. Don't worry, I'm still sort of sweaty and shaky wondering if I missed any good deals but I'll survive. I hope. I'm trying not to drink wine to cope.
It continued when cupcakes from a local bakery made an appearance in the lunch room. Devil Jen loves her some cupcakes. In fact, she/I (we) are cupcake connoisseurs. Seriously. There is junk in our lunch room all the time. Cakes, cookies, crap. It makes it tough to eat healthy when temptation sits next to you while you try to eat non crap. Devil Jen, weary from the Kate Spade battle, probably already feeling a little defeated, easily lost this one to Angel Jen. No cupcake for me. Of course, while running 3.25 miles after work (another win for Angel Jen), I couldn't stop thinking about Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Thank goodness I can't order those online!
Finally, tonight I have two conference calls for work. I decided to use that time to multi-task and do additional work. If I only work 7.5 hours per day (our "normal" work day - supposedly) I feel like I'm cheating the system. I have so much work to do (and I'm not complaining) that there are never enough hours in the day. Angel Jen won this round too - I'm proud to log a 9.5 hour work day today and I'm rolling in to the office early tomorrow to ensure I do it again, probably sporting the adorable red pants Devil Jen just purchased from Loft to wear on Angel Jen's body.
And I'll probably still be day dreaming of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes...
Let me paint the picture: My little angel is running in place on my shoulder, decked out for a run after putting in a ten hour work day. Her grocery bags are full of organic food, she flosses daily and her bank account has more the $50 because she is living within her means. She's a good girl.
Then there's my little devil. She isn't so little - in fact, she's overweight because she is sitting on her couch drinking wine, shopping online and watching (you guessed it) too much General Hospital on You Tube. She has a new Kate Spade purse on her arm, a cupcake in her mouth, a glow to her face because she just got an Aveda facial and she's totally up to speed on the current "Days of our Lives" story line. She's simply ridiculous. And broke.
I want Angel Jen to win the ongoing tug of war, but it isn't easy. Today alone was fraught with temptation.
It all started when Kate Spade emailed my work account at 3 a.m. announcing a one day only up to 75 percent off sale. 75 percent off. Kate Spade.
Normally, Devil Jen would be all over this. However, last week Devil Jen - celebrating the hard work of Angel Jen's weight loss (100 pounds lost, baby!) - spent way too much money and essentially bought a new wardrobe. Seriously, while checking out at Marshall's, the clerk asked me/Devil Jen where I'm/we're vacationing. I sort of choked (while Devil Jen totally did her evil laugh) because, well, there are no official non-work travel dates on the calendar yet, and then lied (Devil Jen wins again - damn her!).
Marshall's was just one place Devil Jen/I hit on her/our binge - she/we dropped some serious cash at Banana Republic and at loft.com. Wiggy told me I have a problem. Given her penchant for spending I think she may be right. So, even though I got paid on Friday and 75 percent off anything Kate Spade is a bargain, Angel Jen prevailed today. Don't worry, I'm still sort of sweaty and shaky wondering if I missed any good deals but I'll survive. I hope. I'm trying not to drink wine to cope.
It continued when cupcakes from a local bakery made an appearance in the lunch room. Devil Jen loves her some cupcakes. In fact, she/I (we) are cupcake connoisseurs. Seriously. There is junk in our lunch room all the time. Cakes, cookies, crap. It makes it tough to eat healthy when temptation sits next to you while you try to eat non crap. Devil Jen, weary from the Kate Spade battle, probably already feeling a little defeated, easily lost this one to Angel Jen. No cupcake for me. Of course, while running 3.25 miles after work (another win for Angel Jen), I couldn't stop thinking about Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Thank goodness I can't order those online!
Finally, tonight I have two conference calls for work. I decided to use that time to multi-task and do additional work. If I only work 7.5 hours per day (our "normal" work day - supposedly) I feel like I'm cheating the system. I have so much work to do (and I'm not complaining) that there are never enough hours in the day. Angel Jen won this round too - I'm proud to log a 9.5 hour work day today and I'm rolling in to the office early tomorrow to ensure I do it again, probably sporting the adorable red pants Devil Jen just purchased from Loft to wear on Angel Jen's body.
And I'll probably still be day dreaming of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes...
Friday, February 3, 2012
The 650lb Lady and I (or How I am T.G.I.F'ed)
Work.Run.Work.Run.General Hospital.Work.Run.Work.Run.
Yes, sadly, that sums up my life.
Yes, I am STILL watching Robert and Katherine General Hospital clips from 1989-1990 on You Tube daily. Last time you heard from me I was in the 400s but admitted starting in the 200s. Naturally, I had to go back and start from the beginning to truly get the full story. So, I'm back in the 200s. But, I'm only watching two to three clips per evening, usually while eating dinner and watching ABC Nightly News.
And no, I haven't been to the YMCA. The mild weather is keeping me outdoors logging every mile I possibly can.
Work is crazy busy and as a result of all the running and working I am simply exhausted. However, I can't stop running. Yesterday I ran two miles and then came home and did a one hour workout video. In fact, I've logged a total of 17 miles this week, with six more on the calendar for tomorrow. Tonight my body told me to stop and I'm feeling incredibly guilty sitting here writing and not running.
Why, you ask?
I'll tell you why. The 650 pound woman.
I made the big mistake of watching My 600 lb Life on TLC the other night.
Even though my weight starts with a 1 (and no, I'm not sharing anything other than that!), I couldn't help but feel like I'm one cheeseburger away from looking exactly like the woman on the show (who, by the way, actually weighed 658 lbs).
I started compulsively doing sit ups while watching the two hour special.
Since the show I've been completely distracted and, frankly, exhausted from all the working out. So much so that yesterday morning I heated up some turkey bacon for breakfast and apparently never ate it. This evening I opened the microwave to heat up my dinner and discovered this:
Gross, right? It isn't even from this morning because I had a dentist appointment bright and early so I simply ate a banana before brushing my teeth. Two day old turkey bacon just sitting there. Apparently I never noticed that I missed breakfast.
Wait, it gets better.
This morning, while packing my lunch in the dark, I grabbed a can and tossed it in my lunch bag. Imagine my surprise when I opened my lunch bag in the break room and discovered this:
Friends don't let friends bring Miller Light to work! Thankfully, no one saw my offending beverage and it is now safely back in my refrigerator.
Thank goodness the weekend is here. I'm exhausted, starving (apparently) and committing HR violations with my lunch. I am completely, utterly, totally T.G.I.EFFED!
Yes, sadly, that sums up my life.
Yes, I am STILL watching Robert and Katherine General Hospital clips from 1989-1990 on You Tube daily. Last time you heard from me I was in the 400s but admitted starting in the 200s. Naturally, I had to go back and start from the beginning to truly get the full story. So, I'm back in the 200s. But, I'm only watching two to three clips per evening, usually while eating dinner and watching ABC Nightly News.
And no, I haven't been to the YMCA. The mild weather is keeping me outdoors logging every mile I possibly can.
Work is crazy busy and as a result of all the running and working I am simply exhausted. However, I can't stop running. Yesterday I ran two miles and then came home and did a one hour workout video. In fact, I've logged a total of 17 miles this week, with six more on the calendar for tomorrow. Tonight my body told me to stop and I'm feeling incredibly guilty sitting here writing and not running.
Why, you ask?
I'll tell you why. The 650 pound woman.
I made the big mistake of watching My 600 lb Life on TLC the other night.
Even though my weight starts with a 1 (and no, I'm not sharing anything other than that!), I couldn't help but feel like I'm one cheeseburger away from looking exactly like the woman on the show (who, by the way, actually weighed 658 lbs).
I started compulsively doing sit ups while watching the two hour special.
Since the show I've been completely distracted and, frankly, exhausted from all the working out. So much so that yesterday morning I heated up some turkey bacon for breakfast and apparently never ate it. This evening I opened the microwave to heat up my dinner and discovered this:
Wait, it gets better.
This morning, while packing my lunch in the dark, I grabbed a can and tossed it in my lunch bag. Imagine my surprise when I opened my lunch bag in the break room and discovered this:
Thank goodness the weekend is here. I'm exhausted, starving (apparently) and committing HR violations with my lunch. I am completely, utterly, totally T.G.I.EFFED!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
How I spent my MLK weekend (or how Robert Scorpio ruined my love life)
Thankfully, this is nothing like my 2011 President's Day weekend. This is much more pathetic.
On Friday I left work an hour early to hit the gym. You all heard my rant about these New Year's resolution people and, side note, based on my experience at the gym today the crowds are getting worse, not better, but I digress.
I spent an hour on the elliptical and caught the end of the final episode of "One Life to Live." I grew up on the ABC soaps (my stay at home mom needed some entertainment) including OLTL, "All My Children" and "General Hospital." Of the three, GH was my favorite.
Why? Well, to be fair to the other shows, GH, it was on at 3 p.m., meaning it was the only one I could keep up with after school. Yes, I was totally the kid who would come home from school and watch a soap opera. Don't judge me, judge my mom (Love ya, mom!).
I loved soap operas so much that I was an avid reader of "Soap Opera Digest" and one of my many career aspirations was to be a soap opera writer. Seriously. Since the soap opera genre is dying I guess it's a good thing that dream didn't work out.
Couples are the cornerstone of the soap opera and like all soap viewers I have an all time favorite couple. No, not Luke and Laura (boring and before my time). Not John and Marlena ("Days of Our Lives" shout out!). And no, not even Bo and Hope (though they are my SECOND favorite soap opera couple of all time). I'm talking about GH 1989 - 1990 - Robert and Katherine.
Now, you're probably asking, "Who?" OK, you're probably only asking that if you are in tune with soaps in any way, shape or form and therefore, can tolerate reading this entry.
Two years is a blip in the lifetime of a soap but for some reason, this storyline was my favorite and the whole OLTL ending made me think about my favorite soap couple. I wondered if there could be a clip or two on You Tube since I hadn't seen my peeps in over 20 years. After Robert decided he "couldn't commit" and Kate left Port Charles I stopped watching GH (until Sonny Corinthos rolled in to town, I mean, HELLO!) and went on with my life (meaning, I transferred my soap opera addiction to "Days").
Imagine my shock when I stumbled upon not one clip, not two, but the entire Robert and Katherine storyline posted on You Tube. All 817 parts. Yes, 817. Eight hundred and seventeen. Someone out there is even crazier than I am.
Suddenly, I was totally sucked back in time to 1989. First it was my favorite episode ever (Kate returns from the dead, "I'm not a ghost."). Then the craziest episode ever (Kate's creepy fiance Paul the archaeologist tries to mummify her. "These are linen wrapping strips. They'll keep you warm and protected." Seriously, even if you don't know what I'm talking about, check this out for a good laugh). The saddest episode (the break up) and the one that perfectly sums up the relationship (a knock down, drag out "War of the Roses" type fight).
It is now Tuesday and I'm on part 426. Oh the shame. (I will admit, I finally started watching sequentially in the 200s...and now I may have decided to go back to the beginning and that may have something to do with the fact I'm blogging at 1 a.m. on a week night).
Why did this story and these characters captivate me at the age of 12 and again in my 30s? I have no idea. But, I do know this: Since the age of 12, no matter how fiercely independent I think I am and try to be, deep down I just want a Robert to save me (Robert had to save Katherine many, many, many times). An Australian born ex-secret agent with an Aborigine friend who predicts his death is hard to come by in the Midwest so this is not working out so well (though I have to admit while Robert had boyish good looks in 1989, he really started to age in 1990. He got a bit overzealous with the Just For Men hair color). Plus, I will never be a world famous pianist whose fiance tries to mummify her (at least I hope not. And I mean that. Really.) therefore, I suppose I don't really need "saving."
Damn.
This is exactly why I'm still single. I will never find my Robert Scorpio.
About Jen's addiction: Jen is a recovering soap opera addict. After quitting GH in 1990, she took up "Days of Our Lives." For a period of time in the mid 1990s, Jen did both GH in "Days." In college, she had to cut back and, therefore, never scheduled a 1 p.m. class, thereby sealing her addiction to "Days" for the next five years (yes, five, not four). Eventually, Jen broke her soap opera addiction (it was called getting a big kid job and not having reliable VHS player). She had a brief relapse two years ago when her cable provider offered SoapNet for free for several months. Today, Jen leads a happy, normal life though she does use soaps recreationally on days off work and extended vacations. Jen does not, however, have a subscription to "Soap Opera Digest" and has not picked one up in at least 16 years. Jen should probably delete the You Tube app on her iPad if she wants to remain a normal, productive member of society.
On Friday I left work an hour early to hit the gym. You all heard my rant about these New Year's resolution people and, side note, based on my experience at the gym today the crowds are getting worse, not better, but I digress.
I spent an hour on the elliptical and caught the end of the final episode of "One Life to Live." I grew up on the ABC soaps (my stay at home mom needed some entertainment) including OLTL, "All My Children" and "General Hospital." Of the three, GH was my favorite.
Why? Well, to be fair to the other shows, GH, it was on at 3 p.m., meaning it was the only one I could keep up with after school. Yes, I was totally the kid who would come home from school and watch a soap opera. Don't judge me, judge my mom (Love ya, mom!).
I loved soap operas so much that I was an avid reader of "Soap Opera Digest" and one of my many career aspirations was to be a soap opera writer. Seriously. Since the soap opera genre is dying I guess it's a good thing that dream didn't work out.
Couples are the cornerstone of the soap opera and like all soap viewers I have an all time favorite couple. No, not Luke and Laura (boring and before my time). Not John and Marlena ("Days of Our Lives" shout out!). And no, not even Bo and Hope (though they are my SECOND favorite soap opera couple of all time). I'm talking about GH 1989 - 1990 - Robert and Katherine.
Now, you're probably asking, "Who?" OK, you're probably only asking that if you are in tune with soaps in any way, shape or form and therefore, can tolerate reading this entry.
Two years is a blip in the lifetime of a soap but for some reason, this storyline was my favorite and the whole OLTL ending made me think about my favorite soap couple. I wondered if there could be a clip or two on You Tube since I hadn't seen my peeps in over 20 years. After Robert decided he "couldn't commit" and Kate left Port Charles I stopped watching GH (until Sonny Corinthos rolled in to town, I mean, HELLO!) and went on with my life (meaning, I transferred my soap opera addiction to "Days").
Imagine my shock when I stumbled upon not one clip, not two, but the entire Robert and Katherine storyline posted on You Tube. All 817 parts. Yes, 817. Eight hundred and seventeen. Someone out there is even crazier than I am.
Suddenly, I was totally sucked back in time to 1989. First it was my favorite episode ever (Kate returns from the dead, "I'm not a ghost."). Then the craziest episode ever (Kate's creepy fiance Paul the archaeologist tries to mummify her. "These are linen wrapping strips. They'll keep you warm and protected." Seriously, even if you don't know what I'm talking about, check this out for a good laugh). The saddest episode (the break up) and the one that perfectly sums up the relationship (a knock down, drag out "War of the Roses" type fight).
It is now Tuesday and I'm on part 426. Oh the shame. (I will admit, I finally started watching sequentially in the 200s...and now I may have decided to go back to the beginning and that may have something to do with the fact I'm blogging at 1 a.m. on a week night).
Why did this story and these characters captivate me at the age of 12 and again in my 30s? I have no idea. But, I do know this: Since the age of 12, no matter how fiercely independent I think I am and try to be, deep down I just want a Robert to save me (Robert had to save Katherine many, many, many times). An Australian born ex-secret agent with an Aborigine friend who predicts his death is hard to come by in the Midwest so this is not working out so well (though I have to admit while Robert had boyish good looks in 1989, he really started to age in 1990. He got a bit overzealous with the Just For Men hair color). Plus, I will never be a world famous pianist whose fiance tries to mummify her (at least I hope not. And I mean that. Really.) therefore, I suppose I don't really need "saving."
Damn.
This is exactly why I'm still single. I will never find my Robert Scorpio.
About Jen's addiction: Jen is a recovering soap opera addict. After quitting GH in 1990, she took up "Days of Our Lives." For a period of time in the mid 1990s, Jen did both GH in "Days." In college, she had to cut back and, therefore, never scheduled a 1 p.m. class, thereby sealing her addiction to "Days" for the next five years (yes, five, not four). Eventually, Jen broke her soap opera addiction (it was called getting a big kid job and not having reliable VHS player). She had a brief relapse two years ago when her cable provider offered SoapNet for free for several months. Today, Jen leads a happy, normal life though she does use soaps recreationally on days off work and extended vacations. Jen does not, however, have a subscription to "Soap Opera Digest" and has not picked one up in at least 16 years. Jen should probably delete the You Tube app on her iPad if she wants to remain a normal, productive member of society.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Resolve to break your resolution, please!
January 3. The day the entire world returns to the gym after an 11 month hiatus. What a headache. On January 2 I was one of maybe 30 people at the massive YMCA in my city. After all, it was a federal holiday with New Year's falling on a weekend and all but, today, boom!
Why do all these people think something as arbitrary as a date on a calendar is going to inspire them to commit to long term healthy living? It isn't. Get real, people. First it's all these damn Janet Jackson Nutrisystem commercials, then the Weight Watchers commercials showing skinny Jennifer Hudson next to chubby Jennifer Hudson (and, by the way, there is NO WAY her arms just shrank like that counting points. She should have some major skin hanging off her skinny arms now. Where's the disclaimer that she had skin removal surgery? Cause...she did!) and now, everyone and their mother and brother are at the gym.
These new gym goers are the worst. First of all, they don't dress to work out. Today I spotted a woman on a treadmill in a sweater. Yes, a cotton winter sweater. While the old man next to her "ran" in his loafers and Dockers. Seriously, people? If you're going to go to the trouble to pay the outrageous YMCA membership fee try to look the part, ok?
Speaking of dressing, or undressing, don't get me started of the locker room. On any given day I'm subjected to seeing saggy boobs and even the occasional who-hah but now the locker room is PACKED. I'm a modest person. No one will ever see any of my naughty bits in the locker room. I realize some people have no modesty but, try to show some respect for others! Today I was clearly about to change when this girl sat down next to me to tie her shoe. She came from around the corner and the locker room wasn't even full yet! There were plenty of other places to sit! I gave her my "go away" look and she just stared back at me like, "Bitch, I'm gonna sit here and tie my shoe." So, she took her sweet-ass time and I just sat there and waited to change until she was done.
After my workout, I returned to the dreaded locker room which was full. At least the women there were doing the "don't make eye contact with anyone thing" while changing so it was cool. Until this old lady with long, stringy gray hair came along. I was leaning forward trying to pack my gym bag when she bent down to change her pants, sticking her saggy, old lady ass right in my face. I was so annoyed/disgusted that I bolted out of there.
All I have to say to all of these people is GO AWAY. Let me have the Y back. I hate having to stalk people for parking spots, for workout machines and getting old lady butts stuck in my face. Please, for the love, give up your New Year's resolutions. You, not the calendar, are the key to your own success. Go back to your couch, stuff your faces with Twinkies and watch "The Bachelor." I'll see you next January.
Why do all these people think something as arbitrary as a date on a calendar is going to inspire them to commit to long term healthy living? It isn't. Get real, people. First it's all these damn Janet Jackson Nutrisystem commercials, then the Weight Watchers commercials showing skinny Jennifer Hudson next to chubby Jennifer Hudson (and, by the way, there is NO WAY her arms just shrank like that counting points. She should have some major skin hanging off her skinny arms now. Where's the disclaimer that she had skin removal surgery? Cause...she did!) and now, everyone and their mother and brother are at the gym.
These new gym goers are the worst. First of all, they don't dress to work out. Today I spotted a woman on a treadmill in a sweater. Yes, a cotton winter sweater. While the old man next to her "ran" in his loafers and Dockers. Seriously, people? If you're going to go to the trouble to pay the outrageous YMCA membership fee try to look the part, ok?
Speaking of dressing, or undressing, don't get me started of the locker room. On any given day I'm subjected to seeing saggy boobs and even the occasional who-hah but now the locker room is PACKED. I'm a modest person. No one will ever see any of my naughty bits in the locker room. I realize some people have no modesty but, try to show some respect for others! Today I was clearly about to change when this girl sat down next to me to tie her shoe. She came from around the corner and the locker room wasn't even full yet! There were plenty of other places to sit! I gave her my "go away" look and she just stared back at me like, "Bitch, I'm gonna sit here and tie my shoe." So, she took her sweet-ass time and I just sat there and waited to change until she was done.
After my workout, I returned to the dreaded locker room which was full. At least the women there were doing the "don't make eye contact with anyone thing" while changing so it was cool. Until this old lady with long, stringy gray hair came along. I was leaning forward trying to pack my gym bag when she bent down to change her pants, sticking her saggy, old lady ass right in my face. I was so annoyed/disgusted that I bolted out of there.
All I have to say to all of these people is GO AWAY. Let me have the Y back. I hate having to stalk people for parking spots, for workout machines and getting old lady butts stuck in my face. Please, for the love, give up your New Year's resolutions. You, not the calendar, are the key to your own success. Go back to your couch, stuff your faces with Twinkies and watch "The Bachelor." I'll see you next January.
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