Wishin' and Hopin'

For the ladies that care about these sorts of details...wedding stuff.

This is the bridesmaids dress that drove me to become a morning person. It's part of the Classics collection, style 242 in Euro Rose (red).

The shoes.

The place. The pictures on the site don't really do it justice. My brother Jesse was had his recption there as well. Lindsey will have her ceremony outside and then the reception immediately following.

The wedding is May 15th, which is 10 days before my anniversary, which is kind of cool. The decor is all red and white, with some Asian inspiration. It is going to look very pretty.

Most everything is done, but I have yet to get going on the shower plans....so I have a lot to do.

I Hate You So Much Right Now

No - not you.

With all the time my sister and I have been spending together lately, we end up reminiscing about the past here and there. The other night, we were discussing the first person that breaks your heart, and how you never fully get over that. Don't get me wrong, we weren't saying that you continue to mourn over the loss. You just continue to derive some sick joy whenever something goes wrong for them. Unhealthly? Yes. But honest.

That conversation started me thinking about the best songs to play when you have had a nasty breakup, or are thinking about that person who hurt you.

Gravel by Ani Difranco: You can't be a bitter yet empowered female without a little Ani Difranco. The juxtaposition of I abhor/I adore perfectly encompasses that feeling early on in the end of a relationship (and sometimes during).

Your House (hidden track) by Alanis Morrisette: I know, I know. The obvious choice by Alanis would have been "You Oughta Know", and as much fun as it is to scream that song when you are angry, it wasn't my top choice. This song is for the stalker in all of us. For that brief period when you are alone in your room, and can finally admit that you are not just angry, but really sad and miss him. Sad enough to break into his house and take stuff. Sad, and just a little creepy.

I Will Survive by Cake: Yes, I am aware that this song was originally done before Cake (was Gloria Gaynor the first?) but there is something more convincing about the Cake version. I mean, he really doesn't sing. He just talks in a melodic way. Nothing says I couldn't care less about you anymore than not even bothering to sing the song.

Cheers Darlin' by Damien Rice: I wish this had been around long ago. Bitterness while in attendance on their special day is classy.

Caught Out There by Kelis: Long before her milkshake brought all the boys to the yard, she was a very angry girl. Screaming is cathartic. Particularly while driving. And throwing things at people.

You Are Nothing by Olive: It's very comforting when you finally can say you are better off and its the other person who is missing out in the end. (I especially enjoy a song that can use the term "laissez-faire")

I am sure there are many that I am missing, but those were the first to come to mind. What are your favorite "end-of-relationship" songs?

Sir Mix-A-Lot Would Be Proud

And yet another morning at the gym.

Workout was good this morning, but felt like it took forever. Barely 15 minutes into it I was seriously considering cutting it short. I was tired, out of breath, and prematurely feeling the burn. As the lyrics, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" rang out from my mp3 player (10 points if you know what song was playing) I felt compelled to skip to a "cool down" song. I was in no mood to be motivated. I showed up earlier this morning, 5:15 rather than 5:45, so my usual gym pals had not yet arrived. So for a brief period I tried looking around the room and giving out more nicknames. There was Quentin Tarrantino (who was suprisingly buff) and Butter Face (if you don't know what that means, I will explain it later), but this wasn't holding my attention like it usually does.

I had to complete the workout through sheer will. For those of you who haven't figured it out by now, I am not so much blessed in the will power department.

But I did it. I managed to make it through by continually telling myself that I only had five more minutes to go. At the 40 minute mark, my body caught up with my brain and realized that my sneaky brain had succeeded in tricking it into being sweaty and hurting. At this point it screamed, "I demand satisfaction!!" and I got off the elliptical. I did my "I have no clue how to use weights" routine and headed out the door.

But not without a little chat with Clappy. Yes, my new best friend Clappy and I have finally exchanged words. We discussed what a nice gym we were in, and how I had been working out every morning. Clappy extended words of encouragement, and some claps. We did not discuss the horrors of back fat, but I have begun to lay the groundwork. Someday I will learn how to destroy this clever foe.

Mood: a little sleepy, a little hungry, but otherwise content
Music: Innocente by Delerium

My Life Just Isn't THAT Exciting...

I didn't post anything yesterday (obviously). I didn't make it to the gym because I spent the early morning hours getting blood drawn, and I figured it would probably be a bad idea to workout when I've been fasting, and working out after was definitely out of the question (walking was difficult enough).

Got back to the routine this morning, so still doing pretty ok on the workout plan.

Actually, I may be doing better than I thought. I weighed in at the doctor's office on Tuesday; I lost FIVE pounds. That's definitely a good motivation to keep it up.

The doctor's visit was otherwise uneventful. He told me nothing useful, and dismissed all of my problems as if I were making them up. I'm young and my blood pressure is 100/70, so I must be in perfect health! Stupid doctor. At least he gave me a prescription to take when I am in pain that, as I discovered that evening, allows you to feel NOTHING. At all.

Hopefully I will have something more interesting to say later.....

Payback

I should have guessed that after spending yesterday morning talking about my fellow gym members, not in the most flattering way, that it would come back to me.

This morning it was their turn to give me a nickname, and that nickname would be "Training Pants" or "Girl Who Wets Herself", depending on how creative they wanted to be.

As I drove to the gym this morning, I was drinking a very large glass of water. On the almost empty road, someone decided to swerve in front of me, so I swerved, in turn, to miss them. You know what happened. The cup of water was mostly on my pants now. And not just anywhere on my pants. On the upper and inner part of my left thigh. If I had tried to pour the water in a manner that would make it look as if I had forgotten my Depends, I could not have done a better job.

At this point, my vanity nearly got the best of me. The battle between continuing on to the gym, or giving up and heading home was a close one. I mean, can you blame me? And of course, because I know how I watch people and make up stories about them, I assume that others will do the same.

But I was strong. I walked up the stairs to the gym, scanned my ID, and headed straight for the hair dryer in the bathroom. I had a plan. I would simply spend a few minutes drying the pants and I would be spared the potential embarassment that awaited me. I began to dry the pants, ignoring that fact that my thigh was now burning from the heat of the hair dryer. It won't take too long - minor discomfort is worth not being "Pee-Pee Girl". I was starting to see some progress. And then the dryer shorted out. Evidently, if you hold a cheap dryer very close to the object you are drying, the heat becomes to intense, and as a safety, it stops working. So now, the wet spot looked more like a large unidentifiable stain. I sighed, and realized that I needed to get over myself and get my butt out of the locker room.

I avoided eye contact with everyone as I headed straight for the elliptical.

Blind Justice kept staring in my direction in a very Creepy Creeperson kind of way.

The morning got better after that. I stayed on my elliptical for 45 minutes (mostly because it blocked the "stain" from view, and by time I finished it had dried completely) and Clappy smiled and winked at me this morning. As if to say, "You're working out even though you lack bladder control. That's dedication." Good ole Clappy - he judges no one.

And now I am sitting happily in my office, sans water soaked pants, sides hurting, but contented that I accomplished yet another day of working out.


Mood: Pleased with myself
Listening to: The Luckiest by Ben Folds Five

Nicknames are bad.....names.....

5:45 a.m.
Planet Fitness.

As I started working out this morning I found that the same set of songs that I have been listening to on my mp3 player (which only holds about 20 songs) while I work out were not doing their usual job of keeping me from focusing on how long I have been working out. My short attention span makes it impossible for me to exercise for any decent span of time without the aid of something else to focus on. Usually, my odd combination of Britney Spears, the Postal Service, and songs played at my old high school's pep rallies are enough to hold my attention. This morning though, the predictability of what was going to play next, combined with skipping through half of the songs since I have now played them out, made not-concentrating on my workout very difficult.

It became imperative that I find another way to get my mind of off the heavy breathing and muscle pain.

As I looked out at my fellow gym mates, I sized up a familiar crowd. People who work out at this hour have a routine, so after going for a couple of days you realize that the same people are here all the time. So as I exercised, I began to give out nicknames.

First, I watched Blind Justice work on his abs. I call him Blind Justice because he looks like the actor who plays a blind cop in a new series on ABC. The series looks like it sucks and everytime I see the commerical promoting it, I get visibly angry. Who is paying for these ideas? Anyways, back to Blind Justice, the man doing crunches. I watch him for awhile and keep waiting for him to feel his way to the next machine, and then someone comes up to him and asks him why he is working out like he has something to prove, and he pounds his fist on a weight bench and yells something that is supposed to make us all go, "Wow, you tell them blind man", but really it just makes me long for the days of good writing on TV. Like Sports Night. I then realize that I am thinking more about the show then the guy still doing crunches and laugh to myself as I move on to the next unsuspecting person.

Captain America is new here. I haven't seen him all last week. He looks like his line of work would be something like....computer programmer. There is a big American flag on his t-shirt, ergo the name. The manly tribal tattoo on his ankle seems to clash with his glasses and khaki shorts. At a machine that works your arms he does about 5 reps; during each his eyes grow really wide and he smiles really big. This is Captain America's workout grimace. After he finishes his 5 reps he sits for several minutes stretching his neck, checking his pulse, and looking very tired. Captain America makes me feel good about myself. I hope Captain America sticks with his morning routine. Moving on...

Baldo and Pastie were an interesting duo. The two men worked out together - Baldo seemed to be the leader; buff and wearing a sweatshirt that made him appear even larger, but with shaved head that appeared very small in comparison to the rest of his body. Pastie was, well, pasty. I watched as they critqued each other's posture, pointed at things, and analyzed each bit of their workout. Then I realized that Baldo and Pastie were looking in my direction. I had not thought about the fact that as I was formulating my names and stories for all of these people, I was also staring at them. This is a no-no in the gym, unless you want "help working out." (You ladies know what I am talking about.) So I had to end my Baldo/Pastie time very abruptly, and be sure I didn't even accidentally make eye contact the rest of the morning.

I give nicknames to the women I work out with as well (I know some of you were wondering if I spend my entire workout scoping out the men...shame on you).

There is Sharon Osbourne, who I have mentioned before. Her nickname is for the obvious reason that she looks like her. This version of Sharon Osbourne however, is insanely fit and could easily kick my butt. I keep wanting to ask her what her routine is, as I wish I had her abs and guns. But then I remember that the real Sharon Osbourne scares me, so this one by default scares me as well.

Hoops comes in every morning with her boyfriend, De-something. Hoops always wears the tightest shorts known to man when she works out. She has long black hair, past her waist, and never pulls it back when she works out. Hoops always wears big hoop earrings. I am waiting for one to get caught in a machine. De-something seems to be training her for something; perhaps she is trying to work on her career as a model in one of those magazines with the big trucks in it. You know, the ones guys say they look at for the cars, but in reality it's for the big-booty/breasted woman lying across the hood. De-something has a tattoo on his upper arm that says "DE"-something I can't make out. He looks like he could snap Captain America in half with one hand. I stop staring at De-something out of respect for his massive strength and hard core looks. Yo.

My favorite early morning gym person is a personal trainer. I call him Clappy. He always is training some older, slightly overweight woman. The woman always look happy, even though he is making her do exercises that I refuse to do in front of people, because they hurt and they don't exactly look attractive. He is nice to everyone and is always clapping, cheering them on. Clappy is my new friend. I have never actually spoken to Clappy, but one day I will get up the nerve to ask him about back fat.

At this point in my workout I realize I have been going for a solid 35 minutes. This plan should work for a little while...until I have named all of the early morning people. Then I will have to devise a new plan to keep my attention away from working out. Operation: Ipod Shuffle.

Mood: annoyed by Launchcast insistence on playing Lindsey Lohan on my station
Listening to: Regret by New Order

Hot Armendiener!

Speaking of diets, these folks seem to have it down. They have a whopping 4% obesity rate, compared to 33% rate of most Americans.

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Day 4 of my made up diet plan. I arrived at the gym at 5:45 after consuming a slice of whole wheat bread (I discovered after Day 1 of working out that exercising on an empty stomach early in the morning results in great pains and dizziness). I spent 37 minutes on the elliptical (my normal amount of time is 20 minutes) and then did a series of exercises for the side and back fat (otherwise known as the unwanted pieces of meat that bulge out of an ill-fitting bra). Then some time on the arms and calves. Watched in shame as the Sharon Osbourne look-a-alike at my gym kicked my workout's butt. Got home to see that the man (not to be confused with "The Man") has made me breakfast - sign that he must approve of the working out kick.

Three out of the four days on the plan have been early morning gym days. How do I feel? At the moment, it hurts when I laugh, bend, and/or sneeze. BUT, I do feel more energetic, my already low riding pants seem to be riding lower, and I have a sense of accomplishment.

Yes. Three days at the gym gives me a sense of accomplishment.

For those of you who don't know, I have trouble committing to anything. I inevitably miss any kind of regular appointment to do anything. I have never stuck with a hobby for more than a few weeks (which is why I know a leeetle bit about a lot of different things). I read books voraciously, not beacuse they are interesting, but for fear I will give up before I am done. I get bored with things very quickly. If my husband hadn't been so determined, I would probably still be single. So yes, I am happy about my three days.

Of course, I could easily drop this new routine like I do with everything else. Which is why I am writing about it here, so there is some form of accountability. So stay on me people! (Dee, you especially, cause you looked hot last time I saw you...my jealousy of your newly acquired extra-hotness is a great motivator :) )


Mood: suprisingly energetic for pre-10 a.m.
Listening to: Delicate by Damien Rice

Free shoes

I wish I could figure out where they threw out all their defective stock. These would make great gifts.

Weirdest Telephone Solicitation to date...

In my office I have two numbers that ring at my desk. One number is the line that anyone who actually is supposed to be calling the office calls in on. It has a California area code and is not listed here in Florida. The other one is a local number here in Florida. Most calls that come in on this line are solicitations. I still answer this line since we use it as a backup number, but 9 calls out of 10 end very arubtly.

This time I picked up the phone to this: "You know Michael Jackson was messed up from the beginning, growing up on the West Coast. West Coast fools be jacked up. You see his hair back in tha' day? He was already becoming a woman...."

The MJ monologue continued and then there was a pause.

"Hello. Would you be interested in Sprint services?"

Normally, I say no, or just hang up before solicitors can expect to get a response. But instead I just laughed and said something to the effect of, "buh-wah?*"

The man then started to tell me about Snoop Doggs hair. I wasn't sure what kind of new sales pitch Sprint was trying, but I have to admit that they did have my attention.

"You want yo' own website?"

"Ummm...no, I'm fine."

"I'm sure, but that wasn't what I asked. Don't you want a free website?"

"Don't need one, but thanks."

"Awww...you just wanna talk about Snoop some more, huh?"

"Not really, but I enjoyed listening, thanks."

"Next time I'm chargin' for it. Ha ha! Be good, mami (pronounced much like mommy)."

Click.

Best sales pitch. Ever.


*buh-wah - an exclamation that comes out when you have no intention of saying anything but the shock and confusion results in some sort of sound

30 pounds in 90 days!

My little sister is getting married in May and has asked me to be the maid of honor. I, of course, readily accepted, since this was asked not out of obligation ("you're my sister, so I guess I have to have you in the wedding") but instead because my sister and I are actually very good friends.

Having said that - I hate her. In that, "Oh my god, did you see that girl? She has a perfect figure and a great personality and I hate her" kind of way. My sister is one of those people blessed with a speedy metabolism, which combined with her inheritance of the height gene from some mystery relative makes for someone who looks good in almost anything they wear.

And then there is me. I can't complain too much, but if there is such a thing as a "Freshman 10" when you get married, then I have definitely experienced that. About three times over. So with the upcoming wedding, and the need to be in a red strappy tea length dress, I figured it was about time I did something about the "Marriage 30", as I like to refer to it.

Two days ago, I realized that I had precisely three months (for the math impaired that is where we get the 90 days from) to get back to a satisfactory weight. That puts my goal at 2.5 pounds a week. Based on my research, one to two pounds of weight loss per week is a healthy rate of loss, but 12-24 pounds in 90 days! didn't have the same exciting sound. (This means I don't actually expect to lost 30 in 90, but if I aim for it and miss by 5-10 pounds I will still be a happy camper).

How am I doing this? Weight Watchers? Atkins? South Beach? E-Diet? Low-carb? Cardboard? Whatever Oprah did? So many options...I had a lot of research to do.

Weight Watchers: I need to eat based on some sort of point system evidently. No can do. College calculus, yes, basic math when I am hungry, no way. And I have to pay some sort of fee. Another negative for the WW.

Atkins: My brother tried this diet when he was about 20. I distinctly remember trying not to retch at the site of his meal of Hormel chili, cut up pieces of hot dog, and several cubes of cheddar. Unless the feeling of retching returns upon trying this diet, I don't see how it will establish lasting weight gain. Or health for that matter. I like my arteries unclogged, thanks.

South Beach: I have to admit - I did no research. Some pretty woman I knew went on this diet and raved about it. If I were to try it and have it not work, I would probably just end up hating pretty woman that rave about diets. And I don't like the name. South Beach. What does that have to do with the diet? Will I end up dressing like people on South Beach if I go on this diet? **shudder**

E-Diet: This diet seems to consist of paying for information you could probably find if you really wanted to, and tracking everything that you could be tracking in a notebook for free. The diet for the lazy. Which, if you are lazy, isn't that part of the problem in the first place, fatty?

Low-Carb: I like bread. I like pasta. Whole grains are at the bottom of that pretty food pyramid. That means I should eat lots. Eating low carb is somehow rejecting every elementary teaching I have ever been exposed to. In addition, most low carb products have a variety of "fake sugar" in them. I won't gain weight if I eat these products because I am too busy THROWING UP the chemicals used to create them.

Cardboard: So far, if you don't factor in taste, this seems like a good plan. Fiber is cleansing.

What Oprah did: Oprah can afford to give a studio full of people a brand new car. People. Anything this woman does is going to be a success because she can afford to control the universe. That is not in my budget.

After much research it would seem I got nowhere. But in reality, I am trying something simple enough for me to understand, and basically free. Watch calorie intake. Eat more vegetables. And go the gym I am already paying for at 6 am 4-6 mornings a week.

I just saw a couple of you choke on your diet soda. Yes. Me. Up early. At the gym.

Will this plan work? Stay tuned......

Combatting the office dullard

In my new occupation as an executive/personal assistant, I am fortunate enough to no longer have to deal with the inane chatter of officemates of past jobs. However, it seems that today one of my friends was dealing with that exact problem. So I, in my always helpful manner, offered her some counsel in ways to deal with a difficult officemate.

My first suggestion was to observe this. I always found his suggestions to be quite helpful.

The second suggestion encouraged my friend to become skilled in the art of confrontation. Is someone in the office bothering you? Tell them. Here is my exact advice:

Although I no longer need to utilize this since I work in an office by myself, I used to have an officemate that was always talking about herself. On the occasions when the rest of us would be having somewhat enjoyable conversations, she would take them for an unpleasant turn by "one-upping" and making them all about her.

My solution was to point this out. Loudly. In front of others.

Por Exemplo:

Annoying officemate: "Oh I know exactly what you mean. I remember when I wrecked my car and my daddy bought me a brand new one that was even better. I was so embarassed."

Me: "Ummm....first of all, wha? Second, no one cares. Third, please don't say you were embarassed, when clearly, you couldn't wait to tell us."

Annoying officemate: **uncomfortably silent**

Me: ***much happier***

This kind of response works in all sorts of conversations.
Gossipy officemate: "Did you hear what (insert random office skank's name here) did the other day?"

You: "No, but if it is anything like what I hear about you, please keep it to yourself. It's quite a burden holding on to ALL of your secrets."

Gossipy officemate: **confused look, walks away**

Have I actually tried these methods of staving off office annoyance, you ask? Most definitely. A younger more timid version of me would never have dared, but I have learned that sometimes subtlety doesn't quite cut it.

What have you found to work in this situation?