I got a phone call from the cutest boy ever yesterday. We have so many things in common . . . similar taste in music, we both like to play on the beach, we like to run, on and on the commonalities go. Did I mention he’s five?
He called with a special request . . . could I please make him a Rihanna CD? The kid knows his music. Last time I visited I brought Lady Gaga with me which was a huge hit. While driving around in Hawaii we had a great time listening to the hip hop stations (when we weren’t listening to Lady Gaga). Like I mentioned before, we have very similar tastes in music, although mine is slightly more eclectic, which likely comes with age. I haven’t quite figured out if enjoying the same taste in music makes him a really cool five-year old or me a really lame late twenties something year old. Or both.
Here’s the thing though, he doesn’t just like the music – he actually knows quite a lot of the lyrics. A kid after my own heart. I had a college roommate that once told me her goal in life was to know all the lyrics to songs like I do. I think I have a protégé in the making with my favorite five-year old. The best part of the whole conversation was not only did he know which CD he wanted, he had it all planned out how I could get it to him. He’s going to pick it up when his family drives through Portland in a couple weeks.
I love people that enjoy music as much as I do, and its amazing to me that he likes music as such a young age. Although if I’m going to be sharing my iPod playlist with someone so young, I should probably start thinking about buying the non-explicit albums. So far the worst thing I’ve taught he and his sister to say is “pardon me?” and I’d kind of like to keep it that way. None the less, the Rihanna CD will be made and ready to go for him when he gets to Portland.
June 1, 2010
May 6, 2010
The Compliment
I am a big fan of giving compliments. I mostly due it when it is actually warranted, such as when a friend gets a cute new hair cut or have some shoes I covet. I’m also not opposed to giving the unwarranted compliment when it’s expected and proper to do so. “Oh, you look so beautiful in your wedding dress.” “Your baby is so cute!” I also use the compliment as positive affirmation. If I’m ever in some type of relationship with guys, friends, pseudo romantic or otherwise, I try very hard to never criticize. Instead, when they dress well for a change, they get the gushing compliment about how much I like their outfit. Or how great their hair looks when it’s combed. Or how delicious the frozen pizza tastes (because hey, at least they made the attempt).
I am very clear in my compliments. I like your sweater. That haircut looks great on you. Those shoes are fantastic. You get the idea. Upon occasion, I also receive compliments. And I’ve noticed a trend. The compliments I get from girls are crystal clear and make perfect sense. The ones I get from guys . . . not so much.
For example, a guy friend of mine just walked past my cube. “Your shirt is bright today.” Ummm . . . I don’t know what to do with that. Are you just being observant? Is that a good thing? I’m so confused. After further clarification, I discovered that he did indeed like the color of my shirt.
I don’t understand where the difference in compliment giving comes from. Presumably, many people grow up with a male and female adult figure in their life as well as the possibility of siblings of the opposite sex. We’re exposed to people of the opposite sex every day. We all put on pants one leg at a time. How is it that we do something equally as simple, giving compliments, in such different ways?
The only direct comment I ever get from guys is “you look tired.” To which I always respond, “thank you.” Here is a tip boys . . . if you think I look tired, I KNOW I look tired and am trying to cover it up and hoping desperately that no one else notices the dark circles under my eyes. But I appreciate you taking the time to point it out. I say all this with a hint of sarcasm, as I know the guys aren’t trying to be mean, they’re just commenting. In their own special way, they’re showing that they’re concerned about why I look so terrible.
Alas, compliments are just one more thing I don’t understand about the boy brain. While I’m never quite sure what to do with comments such as “your hair is darker” and “your earrings are long,” I do appreciate the attempt. Despite the confused look you see on my face when you tell me something like that, please keep your “observations” coming.
I am very clear in my compliments. I like your sweater. That haircut looks great on you. Those shoes are fantastic. You get the idea. Upon occasion, I also receive compliments. And I’ve noticed a trend. The compliments I get from girls are crystal clear and make perfect sense. The ones I get from guys . . . not so much.
For example, a guy friend of mine just walked past my cube. “Your shirt is bright today.” Ummm . . . I don’t know what to do with that. Are you just being observant? Is that a good thing? I’m so confused. After further clarification, I discovered that he did indeed like the color of my shirt.
I don’t understand where the difference in compliment giving comes from. Presumably, many people grow up with a male and female adult figure in their life as well as the possibility of siblings of the opposite sex. We’re exposed to people of the opposite sex every day. We all put on pants one leg at a time. How is it that we do something equally as simple, giving compliments, in such different ways?
The only direct comment I ever get from guys is “you look tired.” To which I always respond, “thank you.” Here is a tip boys . . . if you think I look tired, I KNOW I look tired and am trying to cover it up and hoping desperately that no one else notices the dark circles under my eyes. But I appreciate you taking the time to point it out. I say all this with a hint of sarcasm, as I know the guys aren’t trying to be mean, they’re just commenting. In their own special way, they’re showing that they’re concerned about why I look so terrible.
Alas, compliments are just one more thing I don’t understand about the boy brain. While I’m never quite sure what to do with comments such as “your hair is darker” and “your earrings are long,” I do appreciate the attempt. Despite the confused look you see on my face when you tell me something like that, please keep your “observations” coming.
May 5, 2010
My Mom
With Mother’s Day rapidly approaching, I thought it made sense to do a blog about my mom. While she’s not perfect, she’s pretty freaking fantastic as far as moms go. I sent her a gift last week because I wanted to make sure it got there on time. In the card I told her that my brother and I had totally lucked out in the mom department, and I wasn’t kidding.
Somehow she managed to raise my brother and me to be contributing members of society. We have college degrees, jobs and are able to support ourselves. I have no idea how she did this. Somewhere between endless hugs and groundings (which seemed endless at times), we grew up to be good kids and good adults.
She spent endless hours sitting in cars and on bleachers, following us to games all over the state. And perhaps more importantly, stayed away from them when asked. She played countless games of “Tall Bird, Short Bird,” with my brother (a terribly boring and mundane board game). She pushed us out of our comfort zones and then accepted the early independence we found from our experiences. She made us learn how to cook and clean, which even my brother is thankful for now that he realizes girls like to visit a clean apartment and are suckers for guys who can cook. She helped us learn how to fight the battles that were important to us and was ready to step in if needed. She let me do anything I wanted to my hair, except put a streak of blue in it. She let us learn how to fail. She didn’t bat an eye when I broke a light practicing setting in the house trying to make the varsity volleyball team.
I feel lucky and grateful that I came out of childhood and on the other side get to be friends with my mom. She’s someone I can talk to about anything, although I only tell her about 90% of what actually happens (trust me, your mom doesn’t need or want to know everything). Best of all, we can recognize that we’re driving each other crazy (we’re still mother and daughter after all) and need a break with no hard feelings.
Many people collect things. Some collect coins, dolphins, spoons, etc. The only collection that ever stuck with me was quotes. Yet another thing she supported me in, despite its ridiculousness. So in honor of my favorite mom, I have compiled some of her most memorable quotes, or things she said that impacted me, to share (I’ll keep updating as they come to me):
• It takes pain to be beautiful.
• Look for the rack with S-A-L-E on top.
• It’s not my job to be your friend.
• You have the whole rest of your life to be married.
• Eat or starve.
• I'll pay you $20 if you foul out of this game.
• A “C” may be average, but you aren’t average.
• You’ve been 35 since you were 3.
• Have fun.
Somehow she managed to raise my brother and me to be contributing members of society. We have college degrees, jobs and are able to support ourselves. I have no idea how she did this. Somewhere between endless hugs and groundings (which seemed endless at times), we grew up to be good kids and good adults.
She spent endless hours sitting in cars and on bleachers, following us to games all over the state. And perhaps more importantly, stayed away from them when asked. She played countless games of “Tall Bird, Short Bird,” with my brother (a terribly boring and mundane board game). She pushed us out of our comfort zones and then accepted the early independence we found from our experiences. She made us learn how to cook and clean, which even my brother is thankful for now that he realizes girls like to visit a clean apartment and are suckers for guys who can cook. She helped us learn how to fight the battles that were important to us and was ready to step in if needed. She let me do anything I wanted to my hair, except put a streak of blue in it. She let us learn how to fail. She didn’t bat an eye when I broke a light practicing setting in the house trying to make the varsity volleyball team.
I feel lucky and grateful that I came out of childhood and on the other side get to be friends with my mom. She’s someone I can talk to about anything, although I only tell her about 90% of what actually happens (trust me, your mom doesn’t need or want to know everything). Best of all, we can recognize that we’re driving each other crazy (we’re still mother and daughter after all) and need a break with no hard feelings.
Many people collect things. Some collect coins, dolphins, spoons, etc. The only collection that ever stuck with me was quotes. Yet another thing she supported me in, despite its ridiculousness. So in honor of my favorite mom, I have compiled some of her most memorable quotes, or things she said that impacted me, to share (I’ll keep updating as they come to me):
• It takes pain to be beautiful.
• Look for the rack with S-A-L-E on top.
• It’s not my job to be your friend.
• You have the whole rest of your life to be married.
• Eat or starve.
• I'll pay you $20 if you foul out of this game.
• A “C” may be average, but you aren’t average.
• You’ve been 35 since you were 3.
• Have fun.
April 27, 2010
Oahu, Take Two
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.
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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)