One of my most favorite places to visit is Hawaii. It doesn’t even matter which island I’m on. What matters is you’re guaranteed sun, sand, water and perfect temperatures. I’m a sucker for the beach vacation and Hawaii is so easy. The flight is longer than I’d like, but it’s warm and tropical and I don’t have to worry about speaking another language or exchanging my money. I am familiar with the restaurants, grocery stores and who doesn’t love the plate lunch?
On my recent trip to Oahu, in addition to my many plate lunches, I also tried a number of things I have never eaten before. All based on the guarantee from my friend that she wasn’t going to try and sneakily trick me into eating something from the sea. We spent a couple hours walking around Chinatown, exploring the markets (which were insane!), stocking up on some Chinese treats like “lookfun” and some other stuff I don’t remember the name for and having dim sum. It was my first dim sum experience and it was delicious. Although I’m not sure I would have been nearly as brave if I had been doing it on my own instead of eating with people who knew what they were doing.
As with most of my tropical vacations, I love to spend as much time as possible on the beach. I came armed with massive amounts of sunscreen and a big floppy hat. One morning we were hanging out on the beach and there were these two younger girls in front of us, probably in their early twenties. They were clearly doing their best to get as dark as possible. I remember those days. When I was lifeguarding for a summer job and my sole goal of the summer was to have the best tan (aside from not having to actually save anyone). When wrinkles and sun damage, sun spots and melanomas were a thing of the future. It’s amazing how quickly the future sneaks up on you. There I sat on the beach with my religiously applied sunscreen and big floppy hat, realizing that somewhere along the line I got old. By the end of my visit, I’m pretty sure the family I was with was pretty darn sick of the beach. I can out-beach almost everyone I know.
While there, my friend introduced me to the wonder that is The Cheesecake Factory. I’d never eaten there before, having been turned off by the long lines to get a table and the fact that the majority of their menu is on the “not that” side of the “eat this, not that” articles I can’t help myself from scanning. Their food is average, but their cheesecake is amazing. And I don’t even normally care for cheesecake! We may or may not have found ourselves eating there multiple days in a row, just for the excuse of sharing some delicious cheesecake. I highly recommend the Godiva and the Adams Peanut Butter . . . . and the Red Velvet. Good thing I was on vacation.
Perhaps the funniest part of the trip was when we decided to have a girls night out to go to, you guessed it, the Cheesecake Factory. I got out my new maxi dress that took me a year to find (it’s hard when you’re short) and was so excited to wear it out. As I walked into the living room, my friends’ grandfather (who is the cutest 92-year old Chinese man you’ve ever seen) told me, “your mumu is very beautiful! Did you get it from Sears?” While trying not to laugh outright, because my maxi dress I had searched and hunted for had just been called a mumu, I informed him I got it at a store called Ann Taylor. His response was “Oh. That’s too expensive, next time you try Sears.” Despite being fairly confident that I wasn’t wearing a mumu, I did seek confirmation a few more times throughout the night.
I am at the age where a number of people in my life have children. When I visit the ones with small, impressionable children, I do my best to impart wisdom and knowledge and anything that will benefit them in life. This time I think I left them with the best knowledge nugget of all . . . steamroller. You know, where you all line up on the bed and the end person rolls over everyone else like they’re a steamroller? While it works best on unsuspecting people, the kids thought it was hysterical. We must have spent at least an hour playing steamroller. I also brought a copy of the Lady Gaga CD. While Pokerface is still the overall favorite with the kids, I did get them singing my personal favorite from that album, “Boys, Boys, Boys.”
Overall a wonderful beach filled vacation with good friends. It was great that I was able to do so many different things from my last trip to Oahu a year ago. And with the rain pouring down outside in dark and gloomy Oregon, I have to restrain myself from going to the Hawaiian Airlines website and booking another trip.
April 27, 2010
April 16, 2010
Stumptown
The people who work at Stumptown Coffee are their own special breed. They sneer at you if you come in dressed in business clothes rather than looking and smelling like you just worked as a bicyclist delivery person all day. They have an aura of superiority to them and appear as though they pass judgment on those of us who have followed the “traditional” route and have to sit at a desk wearing a tie all day. But they make a damn good cup of coffee.
Some of the guys I work with are too intimidated to go in there while wearing their business clothes. Apparently they don’t like to be sneered at while buying coffee. My theory is my money is just as green as the guy in line in front of me who clearly hasn’t showered in a week. Of course I smile nicely and bat my eyes at the workers too. I’ve yet to have a problem.
While I’ve realized that the people who work at Stumptown and I are clearly different, today I had a perfect example of how anal retentive I am. I decided to treat myself to a scone today. The girl working the counter put the scone in a brown paper bag and then promptly crumpled up the top and handed it to me. She crumpled it. Who just crumples? I may have had a mini stroke. Crumpling and I just do not go together. I actually took the time to straighten out the bag and fold it nicely like it was a sack lunch. I’m pretty sure the scone tasted better coming from the nicely folded sack.
Some of the guys I work with are too intimidated to go in there while wearing their business clothes. Apparently they don’t like to be sneered at while buying coffee. My theory is my money is just as green as the guy in line in front of me who clearly hasn’t showered in a week. Of course I smile nicely and bat my eyes at the workers too. I’ve yet to have a problem.
While I’ve realized that the people who work at Stumptown and I are clearly different, today I had a perfect example of how anal retentive I am. I decided to treat myself to a scone today. The girl working the counter put the scone in a brown paper bag and then promptly crumpled up the top and handed it to me. She crumpled it. Who just crumples? I may have had a mini stroke. Crumpling and I just do not go together. I actually took the time to straighten out the bag and fold it nicely like it was a sack lunch. I’m pretty sure the scone tasted better coming from the nicely folded sack.
April 6, 2010
The Magic Watch
I’ve always wanted a nice digital watch with a timer for running. The problem is, I’m cheap and hate spending the idea of spending too much money on a plastic watch. Thus I find myself with Target watch #3. At this point I realize that I could have owned a much nicer one for the same price. The irony is not lost on me.
When I first got the watch, I purposely did not set an alarm of any kind. 1) Because I will inevitably lose or toss the directions and 2) once set, the likelihood of me being able to turn it off is slim to none. Little did I know it at the time, but I bought a magic watch.
One day, the alarm started going off at 10am. I have no idea how this started happening, thus the idea that my watch must be magic. It drove me nuts. Enter boy #1. Boy #1, who at this time was still in the trying to impress me phase, insisted that he could get the alarm turned off and all would be well. After fiddling with the darn thing for what felt like ever, he assured me that all was well and the watch would never make a peep again unless I wanted it to. Thirty minutes later, I was laughing so hard my vision was clouded with tears and I could barely see boy #1 glaring at me as the alarm was once again going off. He’d only managed to change the time the alarm went off at.
A few months later, enter boy #2. This boy was not trying to impress me, as we’re related, but does like to live up to his self-hyped reputation as a bad ass and a general awesomeness at life. He also insisted that he could fix the watch alarm from going off. This again involved much time spent fiddling with the watch. The good news is that he did manage to turn the alarm off. The bad news is that he also made the watch beep on the hour, every hour.
I’ve gotten used to the beep on the hour every hour, especially as I don’t hear it at night. It was this past weekend, with my mother sleeping in my living room that I realized the watch continued to go off throughout the night right where any overnight guests are sleeping. This further impressed upon me the need to buy a real damn watch. One that is not magical and that I can control.
Who on earth would have thought that a $10 digital watch could outsmart three fairly intelligent people. Normally I wouldn’t have included the word fairly in front of intelligent, but hello, we’ve been outsmarted by a watch.
When I first got the watch, I purposely did not set an alarm of any kind. 1) Because I will inevitably lose or toss the directions and 2) once set, the likelihood of me being able to turn it off is slim to none. Little did I know it at the time, but I bought a magic watch.
One day, the alarm started going off at 10am. I have no idea how this started happening, thus the idea that my watch must be magic. It drove me nuts. Enter boy #1. Boy #1, who at this time was still in the trying to impress me phase, insisted that he could get the alarm turned off and all would be well. After fiddling with the darn thing for what felt like ever, he assured me that all was well and the watch would never make a peep again unless I wanted it to. Thirty minutes later, I was laughing so hard my vision was clouded with tears and I could barely see boy #1 glaring at me as the alarm was once again going off. He’d only managed to change the time the alarm went off at.
A few months later, enter boy #2. This boy was not trying to impress me, as we’re related, but does like to live up to his self-hyped reputation as a bad ass and a general awesomeness at life. He also insisted that he could fix the watch alarm from going off. This again involved much time spent fiddling with the watch. The good news is that he did manage to turn the alarm off. The bad news is that he also made the watch beep on the hour, every hour.
I’ve gotten used to the beep on the hour every hour, especially as I don’t hear it at night. It was this past weekend, with my mother sleeping in my living room that I realized the watch continued to go off throughout the night right where any overnight guests are sleeping. This further impressed upon me the need to buy a real damn watch. One that is not magical and that I can control.
Who on earth would have thought that a $10 digital watch could outsmart three fairly intelligent people. Normally I wouldn’t have included the word fairly in front of intelligent, but hello, we’ve been outsmarted by a watch.
March 30, 2010
There's WHAT In My Food?!
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. That is like telling someone what you wished for when you blow out your birthday candles, win the long side of the wishbone, see the first star of the evening, or catch the clock reading 11:11. Yes, I wish on all of those things. Typically I don’t even give resolutions a thought, however due to the timing; my current focus could be considered a resolution. I prefer to think of it as making a conscious effort. Unlike most of America, my conscious effort was not to join (and actually go) to a gym. This year, I’m trying to teach myself how to make better food decisions and pay attention to what I am putting in my body.
It started during a conversation with a co-worker late last year about high fructose corn syrup. Of course I’d heard of HFCS and knew it wasn’t good for you, I just hadn't done anything about it yet. His challenge was to read the labels as I went grocery shopping. Turns out, HFCS is in EVERYTHING. So step one was to cut down the amount of HFCS I was exposing myself to. I started doing more grocery shopping at places like Trader Joe’s, and occasionally Whole Foods, where I was hard pressed to find food with HFCS in the ingredients. When I go to a brand name grocery store (Safeway, Fred Meyer, etc.), I do my best to stay out of the middle of the store. I have also attempted to not buy things I see advertised on TV. You know those Yoplait yogurt ads that look enticing and make eating yogurt sound good for you as well as delicious? Turns out the second ingredient in most of their products is HFCS.
Step number two was to eat more natural foods. Fresh fruit, vegetables, meats, etc. My fridge is now stocked with some pretty healthy foods. I learned something though in doing some research and label reading. Just like HFCS is in everything man-made, there are chemicals in or on just about everything. And if you want natural or organic foods, it’s going to cost you.
I was recently going over my spending for the past three months. Thanks to my favorite budgeting program, mint.com, I’m able to see exactly how much I’m spending and what I’m spending it on. Aside from learning that I need to cut back on shopping, I was shocked at what I’ve spent on food these past three months. We’re not talking excessive eating out, it was all on groceries. By attempting to eat healthier and ingest fewer chemicals, my grocery bill has just about doubled.
Each year when the weather gets cold, I sit around my apartment wearing layers and blankets. By mid November, I finally have a conversation with myself, reminding me that I have a good job and can afford heat. I had to have a similar conversation with myself regarding my grocery bills. There are other ways I can cut down the bill, less impulse purchases, making a menu, etc., but I feel like it’s worth it to pay a little extra to be putting fewer chemicals in my body.
Trying to eat more natural foods makes it so I have to plan a little more. I have to think about what I’m going to eat the next day and prepare a lunch the night before rather than just grab a frozen dinner. I have to spend some additional time in the grocery store reading the list of ingredients. I have to spend more money to buy fruit not covered in pesticides and meat that isn’t running rampant with growth hormones. It makes me thankful I’m in a position to be able to afford those things. And while I’m not obsessive about it (if someone offered me a regular apple I’m still going to eat it), I feel pretty good knowing that I am making my conscious effort. And it’s lasted three months already. So there gym-going resolutioners.
It started during a conversation with a co-worker late last year about high fructose corn syrup. Of course I’d heard of HFCS and knew it wasn’t good for you, I just hadn't done anything about it yet. His challenge was to read the labels as I went grocery shopping. Turns out, HFCS is in EVERYTHING. So step one was to cut down the amount of HFCS I was exposing myself to. I started doing more grocery shopping at places like Trader Joe’s, and occasionally Whole Foods, where I was hard pressed to find food with HFCS in the ingredients. When I go to a brand name grocery store (Safeway, Fred Meyer, etc.), I do my best to stay out of the middle of the store. I have also attempted to not buy things I see advertised on TV. You know those Yoplait yogurt ads that look enticing and make eating yogurt sound good for you as well as delicious? Turns out the second ingredient in most of their products is HFCS.
Step number two was to eat more natural foods. Fresh fruit, vegetables, meats, etc. My fridge is now stocked with some pretty healthy foods. I learned something though in doing some research and label reading. Just like HFCS is in everything man-made, there are chemicals in or on just about everything. And if you want natural or organic foods, it’s going to cost you.
I was recently going over my spending for the past three months. Thanks to my favorite budgeting program, mint.com, I’m able to see exactly how much I’m spending and what I’m spending it on. Aside from learning that I need to cut back on shopping, I was shocked at what I’ve spent on food these past three months. We’re not talking excessive eating out, it was all on groceries. By attempting to eat healthier and ingest fewer chemicals, my grocery bill has just about doubled.
Each year when the weather gets cold, I sit around my apartment wearing layers and blankets. By mid November, I finally have a conversation with myself, reminding me that I have a good job and can afford heat. I had to have a similar conversation with myself regarding my grocery bills. There are other ways I can cut down the bill, less impulse purchases, making a menu, etc., but I feel like it’s worth it to pay a little extra to be putting fewer chemicals in my body.
Trying to eat more natural foods makes it so I have to plan a little more. I have to think about what I’m going to eat the next day and prepare a lunch the night before rather than just grab a frozen dinner. I have to spend some additional time in the grocery store reading the list of ingredients. I have to spend more money to buy fruit not covered in pesticides and meat that isn’t running rampant with growth hormones. It makes me thankful I’m in a position to be able to afford those things. And while I’m not obsessive about it (if someone offered me a regular apple I’m still going to eat it), I feel pretty good knowing that I am making my conscious effort. And it’s lasted three months already. So there gym-going resolutioners.
March 29, 2010
Journeys and Wanderlust
Somehow I’ve gotten myself a reputation. Thankfully it’s that I travel all the time, not anything worse. I do travel a fair bit, but I don’t feel like it’s excessive. I’m young and single . . . what am I supposed to spend my disposable income on?
Everyone I know, from friends to mere acquaintances, ask me where my next trip is. It’s not as though I go somewhere exotic or exciting all the time, I just make an effort to get out of Portland and go see some place new. Or someplace old, depending on where my friends are who have a free couch for me to sleep on. Even the president and CEO of the company I work for regularly asks about my next trip. Good thing I work in an environment where they don’t look down on you taking time off! I even had a friend assume I wouldn’t be at her wedding because I already had travel plans. That made telling her I couldn’t make it due to a trip much easier.
This traveler reputation has actually worked out well for me. You know that awkward small talk you have with acquaintances or people you haven’t seen in a while? This turns out to be a great starter conversation piece. And it is much less infuriating than being asked if I’m dating someone and if not, have I thought about online dating? Because they know someone who just got married who met their spouse online, etc. etc. etc. But I digress. I’ve actually had conversations that were interesting and animated instead of awkward with friends and strangers about the places I’ve been.
Most of the time, I actually do know what and where my next trip is. I usually have them planned out about a year ahead of time. For example, last month I went to San Diego. In a few weeks I’ll be in Hawaii, then Canada, then Priest Lake, ID, and then likely Sunriver for Labor Day. I’m to the point now where I feel a certain amount of pressure to have a trip planned though, just for conversation sake. And now it’s been a few years since I’ve been overseas, so I’m feeling some pressure to put Europe on the docket. Some people are peer pressured into doing drugs, I’m feel pressure to travel.
While I have a reputation for a number of things, from being a picky eater to a shoe whore, I do enjoy being the person that travels. And leaving every now and again helps to remind me why I love Portland so much. Besides, life tends to be more interesting when you’re counting down the days to your next adventure.
Everyone I know, from friends to mere acquaintances, ask me where my next trip is. It’s not as though I go somewhere exotic or exciting all the time, I just make an effort to get out of Portland and go see some place new. Or someplace old, depending on where my friends are who have a free couch for me to sleep on. Even the president and CEO of the company I work for regularly asks about my next trip. Good thing I work in an environment where they don’t look down on you taking time off! I even had a friend assume I wouldn’t be at her wedding because I already had travel plans. That made telling her I couldn’t make it due to a trip much easier.
This traveler reputation has actually worked out well for me. You know that awkward small talk you have with acquaintances or people you haven’t seen in a while? This turns out to be a great starter conversation piece. And it is much less infuriating than being asked if I’m dating someone and if not, have I thought about online dating? Because they know someone who just got married who met their spouse online, etc. etc. etc. But I digress. I’ve actually had conversations that were interesting and animated instead of awkward with friends and strangers about the places I’ve been.
Most of the time, I actually do know what and where my next trip is. I usually have them planned out about a year ahead of time. For example, last month I went to San Diego. In a few weeks I’ll be in Hawaii, then Canada, then Priest Lake, ID, and then likely Sunriver for Labor Day. I’m to the point now where I feel a certain amount of pressure to have a trip planned though, just for conversation sake. And now it’s been a few years since I’ve been overseas, so I’m feeling some pressure to put Europe on the docket. Some people are peer pressured into doing drugs, I’m feel pressure to travel.
While I have a reputation for a number of things, from being a picky eater to a shoe whore, I do enjoy being the person that travels. And leaving every now and again helps to remind me why I love Portland so much. Besides, life tends to be more interesting when you’re counting down the days to your next adventure.
March 15, 2010
The LBC
Before Dawson had a creek and Ryan moved to the OC there was . . . LBC.
LBC, also known as Little Beaver Creek, was the road I lived on in high school. And unlike the Creek and the OC, it definitely did not warrant a television show. At the time, it was 90% dirt road that made about a five mile loop off of the highway. The nice thing about living out on the LBC was there were a bunch of other kids out there. It was almost as good as living in town, except instead of living blocks apart in town; you lived either 20’s (as in acres) or miles apart.
This past weekend I was up visiting my brother and we were reminiscing about high school. After comparing the number of times we lettered (I was the clear winner), how we extricated ourselves from having to practice with the band but still played at away games and our half-assed attempts at competing in the Science Olympiad, our talk moved on to life on the LBC.
One of the things I’m most remembered for amongst my friends is doing something stupid while driving. Living in a small town, three people had called my parents before I even made it into the parking lot at school. Thus, my punishment was my car being taken away for a couple of weeks. So I did what any smart ass teenager would do in that circumstance. Knowing that my parents fully expected that this meant I would have to suffer the teenage embarrassment of riding the bus to school, I called my friend Seth who lived just down the road and asked if he could give a ride to school for the next couple weeks. Since he was likely to run into the same problem eventually, he readily agreed. The parents were not pleased with this turn of events, but knowing they hadn’t been specific and I had outmaneuvered them, opted to leave it alone. They’d probably be even less pleased if they knew I had a bet going with my friends as to when they’d get tired of picking me up and driving me around and give me my car back.
I know I wasn’t the first kid, or the last, to get their car taken away for being a dumb teenager. In fact, I’m pretty sure it happened to every kid on LBC at some point. And we all offered each other rides when someone lost their car for a period of time. Unfortunately, not only did we all live up the same road, a whole lot of our parents worked together and all of them knew each other (small town thing again). Once the story of how I outsmarted my parental units got out, any time a kid lost their car, an additional punishment was clearly stated, “And you will ride the bus. Riding to school with someone else is not an option.”
So while we never had an opportunity to bond together while standing outside a school board meeting shouting “Donna Martin graduates,” the kids of LBC were there for each other when it mattered. Which was usually when one of us was carless for being an idiot.
LBC, also known as Little Beaver Creek, was the road I lived on in high school. And unlike the Creek and the OC, it definitely did not warrant a television show. At the time, it was 90% dirt road that made about a five mile loop off of the highway. The nice thing about living out on the LBC was there were a bunch of other kids out there. It was almost as good as living in town, except instead of living blocks apart in town; you lived either 20’s (as in acres) or miles apart.
This past weekend I was up visiting my brother and we were reminiscing about high school. After comparing the number of times we lettered (I was the clear winner), how we extricated ourselves from having to practice with the band but still played at away games and our half-assed attempts at competing in the Science Olympiad, our talk moved on to life on the LBC.
One of the things I’m most remembered for amongst my friends is doing something stupid while driving. Living in a small town, three people had called my parents before I even made it into the parking lot at school. Thus, my punishment was my car being taken away for a couple of weeks. So I did what any smart ass teenager would do in that circumstance. Knowing that my parents fully expected that this meant I would have to suffer the teenage embarrassment of riding the bus to school, I called my friend Seth who lived just down the road and asked if he could give a ride to school for the next couple weeks. Since he was likely to run into the same problem eventually, he readily agreed. The parents were not pleased with this turn of events, but knowing they hadn’t been specific and I had outmaneuvered them, opted to leave it alone. They’d probably be even less pleased if they knew I had a bet going with my friends as to when they’d get tired of picking me up and driving me around and give me my car back.
I know I wasn’t the first kid, or the last, to get their car taken away for being a dumb teenager. In fact, I’m pretty sure it happened to every kid on LBC at some point. And we all offered each other rides when someone lost their car for a period of time. Unfortunately, not only did we all live up the same road, a whole lot of our parents worked together and all of them knew each other (small town thing again). Once the story of how I outsmarted my parental units got out, any time a kid lost their car, an additional punishment was clearly stated, “And you will ride the bus. Riding to school with someone else is not an option.”
So while we never had an opportunity to bond together while standing outside a school board meeting shouting “Donna Martin graduates,” the kids of LBC were there for each other when it mattered. Which was usually when one of us was carless for being an idiot.
March 3, 2010
Knockers
When you go to the same gym every day at the same time, you start to recognize the people that keep the same schedule as you. These become people you smile at in passing, grumble with in January when the New Years resolution people are taking all the cardio machines and stare awkwardly at trying to place them when you see each other outside of the gym. Some of them are characters and make going to the gym an experience. There is the really tall guy who wears really short running shorts. The guy who always changes the angle of the rowing machines for no particular reason. The girls who run, and I use the term run loosely, with their hair down and perfectly coifed. And my current favorite character . . . Knockers.
One of the great things about Knockers is she stands out in a crowd. So much in fact, that when I mentioned seeing her at the gym to a co-worker who frequents the same gym, she knew exactly who I was talking about. Complete strangers would be able to finish each others sentences when trying to describe this girl. Person 1, “The one who wears,” Person 2, “that hot pink scrap of nothing?” Person 1, “And who never,” Person 2, “actually sweats?”
Knockers got her nickname for obvious reasons. She is the Pamela Anderson of the Pearl 24 Hour Fitness. You know how guys watched Baywatch because it had large breasted women running with no support? Yeah, that’s Knockers. She has giant implants, and wears a tiny, spaghetti strapped hot pink tank top and no bra. When she runs, even I can’t help but stare at her. It’s similar to watching a car accident, where you can see it happening in front of you and know there is nothing you can do to stop it. One, or both, of those fake boobs are bound to come flying out of her top at any minute.
While I watch her in amusement (because if you wear a tank that covers less than a string bikini, and try to run in it, you deserve what’s coming to you) and wonderment that indecent exposure hasn’t yet occurred, my favorite part might be watching the people around her. To be more specific, to watch the guys watch her run . . . without falling off their cardio machines. Yesterday, a guy spent his entire time on the treadmill with his head turned sideways just staring.
Thank you, Knockers, for making it easier to figure out which guys attending the Pearl gym are actually straight. And for giving us gym goers another form of entertainment beside our iPods and TV. Because if the TV in front of us is set to Oprah instead of ESPN, you can be damn sure we’re staring at you while you run.
One of the great things about Knockers is she stands out in a crowd. So much in fact, that when I mentioned seeing her at the gym to a co-worker who frequents the same gym, she knew exactly who I was talking about. Complete strangers would be able to finish each others sentences when trying to describe this girl. Person 1, “The one who wears,” Person 2, “that hot pink scrap of nothing?” Person 1, “And who never,” Person 2, “actually sweats?”
Knockers got her nickname for obvious reasons. She is the Pamela Anderson of the Pearl 24 Hour Fitness. You know how guys watched Baywatch because it had large breasted women running with no support? Yeah, that’s Knockers. She has giant implants, and wears a tiny, spaghetti strapped hot pink tank top and no bra. When she runs, even I can’t help but stare at her. It’s similar to watching a car accident, where you can see it happening in front of you and know there is nothing you can do to stop it. One, or both, of those fake boobs are bound to come flying out of her top at any minute.
While I watch her in amusement (because if you wear a tank that covers less than a string bikini, and try to run in it, you deserve what’s coming to you) and wonderment that indecent exposure hasn’t yet occurred, my favorite part might be watching the people around her. To be more specific, to watch the guys watch her run . . . without falling off their cardio machines. Yesterday, a guy spent his entire time on the treadmill with his head turned sideways just staring.
Thank you, Knockers, for making it easier to figure out which guys attending the Pearl gym are actually straight. And for giving us gym goers another form of entertainment beside our iPods and TV. Because if the TV in front of us is set to Oprah instead of ESPN, you can be damn sure we’re staring at you while you run.
March 1, 2010
Bras
You know why women are addicted to shoes? Because they always fit. You can gain or lose a few pounds and your shoes will still fit. You can have a pair of shoes for 10 years if you want because unless your body undergoes some strange metamorphosis, like pregnancy, your feet stay the same size for most of your life. Thus you can amass massive quantities of shoes on the assumption that you're going to be able to use them until there are holes in the soles.
Like pants, shoes are slightly frustrating in that you can wear any number of sizes depending on who makes the shoes. For example, in running shoes I wear an 8 because my feet swell when running and I value my toe nails. In a pair of dress shoes, I tend to wear a 7 or 7 ½ depending on the type of dress shoe, if it is cheaply made or not and whether or not it will stretch. What do shoes have that makes them superior to all other forms of clothing? They come in half sizes, so you’re almost always guaranteed to find some that fit.
You know what else should come in half sizes? Bras. I have a number of friends who would argue that bras are a waste of money anyway, but anyone who actually needs to wear a bra would agree with me. After shedding a few pounds, I find that my current bras are too big. Yay! So I did what any girl who cannot shop in the actual Victoria Secret store because all they carry are push up bras or scraps of nothing, I hopped on the website and ordered some in a smaller size. Upon arrival, I discovered that like pants, I was between sizes. Are you freaking kidding me? All I’m asking for is a bra that fits! I’m left trying to make the decision of a bra that is too big or a bra that creates the boob version of a muffin top. Neither is flattering.
If you think about it, the bra sizing system is completely ridiculous. Nothing else that we wear comes in sizes A through F. Those are letters that go on a report card, not on your bra. Plus, it goes against everything we’re taught growing up. In school, everyone wants an A and if they had given out AA’s in school, I’d have wanted one of those too. No one wants an F. Except in bra world it is completely backwards. Everyone wants to be a C or D, something that did not fly on my report card growing up. It’s completely unnatural.
So while we’re re-doing the bra sizing scale because it is ridiculous, we may as well make it more useful. Let’s add half sizes, because the only people I know who fit into a bra perfectly don’t need to wear them in the first place.
Like pants, shoes are slightly frustrating in that you can wear any number of sizes depending on who makes the shoes. For example, in running shoes I wear an 8 because my feet swell when running and I value my toe nails. In a pair of dress shoes, I tend to wear a 7 or 7 ½ depending on the type of dress shoe, if it is cheaply made or not and whether or not it will stretch. What do shoes have that makes them superior to all other forms of clothing? They come in half sizes, so you’re almost always guaranteed to find some that fit.
You know what else should come in half sizes? Bras. I have a number of friends who would argue that bras are a waste of money anyway, but anyone who actually needs to wear a bra would agree with me. After shedding a few pounds, I find that my current bras are too big. Yay! So I did what any girl who cannot shop in the actual Victoria Secret store because all they carry are push up bras or scraps of nothing, I hopped on the website and ordered some in a smaller size. Upon arrival, I discovered that like pants, I was between sizes. Are you freaking kidding me? All I’m asking for is a bra that fits! I’m left trying to make the decision of a bra that is too big or a bra that creates the boob version of a muffin top. Neither is flattering.
If you think about it, the bra sizing system is completely ridiculous. Nothing else that we wear comes in sizes A through F. Those are letters that go on a report card, not on your bra. Plus, it goes against everything we’re taught growing up. In school, everyone wants an A and if they had given out AA’s in school, I’d have wanted one of those too. No one wants an F. Except in bra world it is completely backwards. Everyone wants to be a C or D, something that did not fly on my report card growing up. It’s completely unnatural.
So while we’re re-doing the bra sizing scale because it is ridiculous, we may as well make it more useful. Let’s add half sizes, because the only people I know who fit into a bra perfectly don’t need to wear them in the first place.
February 25, 2010
Karma . . . What A Bitch
When the news about now “not so Silent Bob” getting kicked off a Southwest flight for being too large to fit in a single seat, I found myself intrigued and read many opinions thoughts and articles about the fiasco. Ironically, I found myself in the opposite situation the next day on a flight to San Diego. Assuming that the plane doesn’t crash at some point during the flight, there is little worse than eyeing the seat numbers as you walk down the aisle of an airplane, and realizing that your seat is next to the giant person taking up their own seat and part of yours.
Large people must hate having to sit next to me because as soon as I see where my seat is I think to myself “Son of a Bitch!” and I’m 98% sure it is perfectly reflected on my face. I consider myself a medium sized person (short plus not stick thin equals medium) and I am uncomfortable in an airplane seat, so I can’t imagine being tall or overweight and having to fit into an airplane seat. I realize that large people are incredibly uncomfortable physically, and are likely fully aware that everyone getting on that plane is hoping that their seat is somewhere else. I felt bad for the large man sitting in the middle seat because he was clearly aware that half of his body was in my seat and half of me was in the aisle.
Most airlines have a rule that as long as you can get the arm rests down and buckle the seat belt without an extender; you technically fit into one seat. That is a load of crap because a person with broad shoulders doesn’t even fit into a seat correctly. We’ve all heard of a muffin top, right? When the fat rolls spill out over a pair of pants? The same thing happens over an arm rest people, except it goes both directions. The arm rest is like someone squeezed a tube of toothpaste from the middle.
To be fair, I have an exceptionally large personal space bubble, so I don’t like the fact that I have to sit next to anyone on a plane. But I really don’t care for other people taking up half my seat as well as theirs. I am incredibly uncomfortable touching strangers to begin with, I am even more uncomfortable having to touch legs or arms or shoulders with them in a confined space. I paid for a whole seat and I would like to use it. If you’re a hot single guy, we can negotiate arm rest usage.
As I was boarding my return flight to come back to Ptown, I realized that I had managed to seriously piss off the airplane gods. 19E. A middle seat, because that was all that was left when I bought the ticket. In 19D and F . . . . two people who were triple my size. As it turned out, they were husband and wife, who bought tickets with a seat in between them. I’m sure they were perfectly nice and also uncomfortable, but my body was physically sore the next day from being cramped into a tiny space while trying not to touch anyone else. Anyone larger than me would never have even fit in there.
While this is going to make me appear to be a very insensitive person, I’m taking the opposite side of Silent Bob. I understand where he is coming from and if the people on either side of him were okay with his being there, he should have been allowed to stay on the flight. But as a person who fits into the seat, I paid for my whole seat and I want to use all of it.
I have a long flight coming up in about six weeks. After the last experience, I’m a little nervous about the seating arrangements since my karma seems to need some redeeming. How does one get back on the good side of the airplane seating gods?
Large people must hate having to sit next to me because as soon as I see where my seat is I think to myself “Son of a Bitch!” and I’m 98% sure it is perfectly reflected on my face. I consider myself a medium sized person (short plus not stick thin equals medium) and I am uncomfortable in an airplane seat, so I can’t imagine being tall or overweight and having to fit into an airplane seat. I realize that large people are incredibly uncomfortable physically, and are likely fully aware that everyone getting on that plane is hoping that their seat is somewhere else. I felt bad for the large man sitting in the middle seat because he was clearly aware that half of his body was in my seat and half of me was in the aisle.
Most airlines have a rule that as long as you can get the arm rests down and buckle the seat belt without an extender; you technically fit into one seat. That is a load of crap because a person with broad shoulders doesn’t even fit into a seat correctly. We’ve all heard of a muffin top, right? When the fat rolls spill out over a pair of pants? The same thing happens over an arm rest people, except it goes both directions. The arm rest is like someone squeezed a tube of toothpaste from the middle.
To be fair, I have an exceptionally large personal space bubble, so I don’t like the fact that I have to sit next to anyone on a plane. But I really don’t care for other people taking up half my seat as well as theirs. I am incredibly uncomfortable touching strangers to begin with, I am even more uncomfortable having to touch legs or arms or shoulders with them in a confined space. I paid for a whole seat and I would like to use it. If you’re a hot single guy, we can negotiate arm rest usage.
As I was boarding my return flight to come back to Ptown, I realized that I had managed to seriously piss off the airplane gods. 19E. A middle seat, because that was all that was left when I bought the ticket. In 19D and F . . . . two people who were triple my size. As it turned out, they were husband and wife, who bought tickets with a seat in between them. I’m sure they were perfectly nice and also uncomfortable, but my body was physically sore the next day from being cramped into a tiny space while trying not to touch anyone else. Anyone larger than me would never have even fit in there.
While this is going to make me appear to be a very insensitive person, I’m taking the opposite side of Silent Bob. I understand where he is coming from and if the people on either side of him were okay with his being there, he should have been allowed to stay on the flight. But as a person who fits into the seat, I paid for my whole seat and I want to use all of it.
I have a long flight coming up in about six weeks. After the last experience, I’m a little nervous about the seating arrangements since my karma seems to need some redeeming. How does one get back on the good side of the airplane seating gods?
February 16, 2010
Stars, Stripes and Maple Leafs
Every two years, I become obsessed with the Olympics. I love watching them, hearing the stories about how someone overcame severe injury to race for gold or even how an entire poor city pitched in to buy their Olympic hopeful a pair of shoes. I’m a total sucker for all things Olympics, from the clothes on the athletes and spectators to Bob Costas (anyone else think his hair is looking unnaturally dark this winter?).
I always thought it would be an amazing experience to go to the Olympics as a participant. During the opening ceremonies, the commentators talked about how the majority of athletes there don’t have a chance or hope to medal, but are simply hoping for a PR. I would be perfectly happy with that. Alas, I’m one of those people who is athletic enough to be average at almost all sports and don’t excel at any one in particular.
While watching skiing the other day, I noticed a few skiers who had dual citizenship and were skiing for the country they had not grown up in. In this case, they were skiing for Australia and New Zealand rather than Canada. I always thought my dual citizenship would come in handy when the Middle East got their nuclear weapons together to bomb the US, I never considered athletics! That’s not entirely true, I have a friend from college whose brother wrestled for the Canadian team in Beijing since they also have dual citizenship. But who wants to be a wrestler?
All of this led me to wonder what could have become of my Olympic dreams if I’d been a dual citizen of say the US and Ethiopia. Or some other African nation that isn’t known for their winter skills. Instead, I have to have citizenship in two countries that are huge and always produce a ton of athletes and medal counts. I’d be quite an Olympic anomaly representing Egypt in the winter Olympics!
Alas, the Olympic dreams of my youth are gone. I’m content to be a spectator and watch people with amazing athletic skills dominate. Lindsay Vonn may win an Olympic medal, but I went to my high school prom. While it’s fun to wonder what it would be like be a participant, I’m quite happy to be at home cheering on my Stars, Stripes and Maple Leafs.
I always thought it would be an amazing experience to go to the Olympics as a participant. During the opening ceremonies, the commentators talked about how the majority of athletes there don’t have a chance or hope to medal, but are simply hoping for a PR. I would be perfectly happy with that. Alas, I’m one of those people who is athletic enough to be average at almost all sports and don’t excel at any one in particular.
While watching skiing the other day, I noticed a few skiers who had dual citizenship and were skiing for the country they had not grown up in. In this case, they were skiing for Australia and New Zealand rather than Canada. I always thought my dual citizenship would come in handy when the Middle East got their nuclear weapons together to bomb the US, I never considered athletics! That’s not entirely true, I have a friend from college whose brother wrestled for the Canadian team in Beijing since they also have dual citizenship. But who wants to be a wrestler?
All of this led me to wonder what could have become of my Olympic dreams if I’d been a dual citizen of say the US and Ethiopia. Or some other African nation that isn’t known for their winter skills. Instead, I have to have citizenship in two countries that are huge and always produce a ton of athletes and medal counts. I’d be quite an Olympic anomaly representing Egypt in the winter Olympics!
Alas, the Olympic dreams of my youth are gone. I’m content to be a spectator and watch people with amazing athletic skills dominate. Lindsay Vonn may win an Olympic medal, but I went to my high school prom. While it’s fun to wonder what it would be like be a participant, I’m quite happy to be at home cheering on my Stars, Stripes and Maple Leafs.
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