Welcome Back

Well, hello there!

I've taken a shamefully long hiatus from blogging, although I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Lots of stuff going on with work, vacations, Swine Flu (John, not me), and kiddos. FYI--if you are a healthy adult who is not pregnant, you'll feel pretty bad with Swine Flu for a couple of days, but it doesn't last nearly as long as the regular flu, and from what I hear it isn't quite as rough as the regular flu. I was taking care of John for a week, and I never caught it.

Also, kids will be kids, and they will get hurt, no matter what you do. It's impossible to watch them all the time, especially on small indoor playgrounds where there is no room for parents to sit in there and supervise. That being said, it is a terrifying and sad thing to see someone so tiny be in pain. It is also very cute to see a tiny little person with a giant cast dancing. I'm glad she isn't hurting anymore, and that she will have the cast off within a couple of weeks.

I've had a couple of modeling gigs recently, and am really excited to be doing plus-sized modeling. I was in two ads in the paper locally, which was really exciting. I feel like I'm getting more and more comfortable with it each time, and hope to have many more experiences with it. I always wanted to be a plus-sized model. Scout's honor--I always thought that would be really cool. And since the average American woman is a size 14 these days, I may have more and more work. That doesn't mean that I am going to stop trying to lose weight and be healthy. And that doesn't mean I am not concerned that America is suffering from an obesity epidemic. Sure, everyone has the right to eat what they like and be as sedentary as they choose. That doesn't mean that I have to follow the crowd.

I recently re-read "Skinny Bitch", which always makes me laugh and makes me think. The last time I read it, I decided to try my hand at veganism, but that was a little bit of a stretch for me. Plus, it makes grocery shopping inconvenient when you're married to someone and have a couple of stepchildren who love their cheese and meat and such.

So, I'm attempting to take smaller steps to feel better about what I eat--for my conscience as well as for my well being.

First, (and this has nothing to do with animal cruelty or slaughterhouses but everything to do with being bloated and jittery and being vain about my tooth enamel) I have given up sodas and caffeine. This was extremely hard to do, since I lurrrrrrve Coke Zero. Plus, the headaches were terrible for a week. However, after about two and a half weeks, it is not as big of a deal now. My main concern at first was drink mixers...which lets you know how skewed my priorities can be sometimes. Hello Bloody Mary.

Actually, if I was being really strict about it from a health perspective, I wouldn't drink any beer or hard liquor, and would limit myself to organic, sulfite-free wine. I did get a sulfite free bottle of Syrah from Whole Foods the other night for (brace yourselves) $5.90 AFTER tax. The first glass was a little astringent-tasting. After the first glass, I really enjoyed myself with it and sang its praises. Although, I should stick to one glass...maybe two...to enjoy its health privileges.

I also did some hard thinking about the issue of meat, and where it comes from. I've often checked our local Whole Foods market for grass-fed beef, but they never have any. I read about the terrible conditions that animals are kept in, the hormones and antibiotics used to keep them alive and jumbo sized, the things they eat (calves eat feed with cow's blood in it--gross), and the way they are killed and prepared for consumption. Now, don't get me wrong--I REALLY enjoy a nice filet mignon, lamb, or a big ole greasy hamburger. I even like hot dogs and sausages. I've never been a fan of chicken, but I do enjoy turkey once or twice a year at holiday time. But could I live without meat? It will be hard, but I think for the most part, yes. However, there is no way in hell that I could live without seafood. I grew up on the coast, after all. I'm still trying to figure out how I could live without Barq's rootbeer. At least it is caffeine free, if I indulge once or twice a year.

Being a Pesco vegetarian means that you eat fish, eggs, milk, honey...it's less strict than just plain vegetarianism, and much less strict than veganism. But, hey, it's a start. I've not eaten meat on purpose for about two weeks. I ate part a croissant that had swiss cheese in it, and then realized towards the end that it had a little ham in it. Whoops. And in the first couple of days I ate a whole bowl of chicken soup out of sheer forgetfulness. But, all in all, not bad. I'm eating a lot more vegetables right now, and am really in love with winter vegetables like squashes right now. I made a really awesome butternut squash soup, using applesauce and curry rather than heavy cream. Delicious, and John LOVED it. John roasted some corn on the grill, and I don't think I want to have it any other way now. When he grills a steak or hamburger, he grills me a big ole portabello mushroom.

And that's another thing. I'm not going to be all "holier than thou" about my food choices. Most of the vegetarians I know I really respect, because they never bring it up. John wants to eat meat, and that's fine. I never asked him not to. If I eat at someone's house, I won't make a big deal about it. I'll just eat what I can and keep it a non-issue. I remember a dinner long ago with vegan acquaintances who refused to eat anything and looked at the rest of us with haughty disgust all night. It really turned me off to the word "vegan" for a long time. I'm not doing this to make other people have to listen to me preach...I'm doing this for me. Already, my stomach feels better, and my face is thinner. So, maybe it's half conceit, half concern...but I don't feel too bad about my reasons.

Oh, and I got my "Shake Weight" from the infomercial. It is just as hilarious as you think it would be. To "up the ridiculous ante", it even makes a funny "whiff whiff whiff" sound when you shake it, like it has gas. But I stop giggling and really feel the burn during the 6 minute work out DVD that came with it...especially in my shoulders. I don't think I'm doing it quite right yet, but as my wrists get stronger, I'm sure I will get better at it.

My gym closed last week...I'm waiting to see if another one opens in its place. But not too long. I can go from month to month at another gym nearby. So, we'll see how that goes.

I'm feeling kind of puny today, and am enjoying the sunbeam I am sitting in quite a lot. I think some butternut squash soup will really hit the spot right now.

Until next time...

"No Offense"

At a party the other night, someone insulted what I and my husband do for a living while talking to us, immediately following the comment with "no offense." Yes, this person already knew that was our livelihood, so it wasn't an "accident". I know that the appropriate response to "no offense" is "none taken." But COME ON. We sell insurance to protect people's loved ones from financial ruin if they die or become disabled. We don't murder kittens. (I suppose now the make-believe "polite" thing to do would be to say "all you professional kitten murderers out there, no offense.")

Can someone explain to me how saying "no offense" excuses you from a rude or thoughtless comment? Saying "no offense" does not make what you are saying less offensive. Does that mean you can get away with saying "I've always felt you were fat and stupid and lazy. No offense." And then the recipient is supposed to say "None taken." Seriously?

In my mind, there's only ONE way to get away with saying something like that without being tactless. It goes a little something like this:
"I used to think __________________. No offense. But NOW, I realize that _____________." I think that if you cannot say that and it be true, then just DON'T SAY ANYTHING. It doesn't make you look good in the other person's eyes. It makes them realize that you don't respect them or what they do. So they'll probably try to steer clear from you in the future.

I don't think I'm going to be quite as nice as I have usually been in situations like that from now on. I think I might respond with something along the lines of "why would you feel the need to say something like that to me?" Because, let's be honest, saying "bless your heart" doesn't excuse the fact that you are insulting someone either. I don't care how silky your voice sounds when you say it. You're still a viper.

On another note, I got a letter in the mail to let me know that my gym is closing at the end of this month. Just when I was getting comfortable with going. For me to go to a gym, it has to be convenient and inexpensive. When I say convenient, I mean ultra-convenient...like really close to my work or home. Otherwise, I'm not going to go. I can be honest enough to admit that. I'm a little beside myself about this right now, and am not sure quite what to do about it.

Tonight I'm going to bake some hearty bread and contemplate what my fitness future holds...while trying not to eat too many of the buttery rolls I baked last night for the "Our Town" strike that were not ready by the time strike had ended. Poo.

Irked

Things that irk me, Volume I:

• The fact that I cannot say "rural" without sounding like I am drunk.
• The fact that I cannot say "horror" without sounding like I am making a judgment on some woman's source of income.
• Credit card commercials where they swipe the card upside down so that you can read the name of the card. Yeah, think about it. The strip is on the TOP people! Come ON! The whole commercial is a LIE! (Okay, this goes beyond "irks me" to "makes me completely insane")
• Strangers who insist on trying to engage me in conversation when I obviously have my antisocial face on. And the topic is usually politics or something bizarre like what prisoners are going to do to Michael Jackson's murderer when he gets to jail...this actually happened to me during the purgatory that is the Comcast customer service line.
• When people are oblivious to the fact that they are not good singers...and insist on singing an eight minute long audition song. That's right, I skip the American Idol audition episodes. Off-key people make me sterile. My ovaries hurt when they sing.
• Wet sock (when one or more of your socks gets wet while you are wearing them. LeAnne has my back on this.)
• When my sock seams aren't perfectly straight and aligned.
• People who like to eat candy in crinkly wrappers during my (or anyone else's) solos...ANNNNDDDD
• People who bring small children to shows...ANNNNNDDD
• Old people who make running commentaries during shows ("I think that one's going to die, Myrtle.""I hope so, Gladys, I'm tired of looking at her.") It's like those old guys on the Muppets...but not funny...
• People who leave their blue tooths on constantly. It is the ultimate nonverbal "talking to you isn't as important as a call I MIGHT get." It takes it to the next level if you are interviewing the person for a job and they either have their bluetooth on or actually TAKE A FRIGGIN CALL WHILE YOU ARE INTERVIEWING THEM! "NEXT!"
• People with no manners. Were you raised in a BARN? Nothing--wealth, status, looks, occupation, "importance", etc.--ever "clears" you of rudeness. Remember that whole "do unto others" thing? Perhaps you don't mind being treated like scum. Revise the golden rule to "Do unto others as THEY would have you do unto THEM." More on a certain subcategory later...
• People who refuse to reprimand their maniac children in public because they are either too lazy or think their children are too special or precious to warrant discipline.
• Alternately, people who punish their children in public to an extent where I worry about the child's welfare.
• "Christians" who are full of hatred. I heard someone say recently that it's much more enjoyable to be right (meaning "correct", not conservative) than it is to be compassionate. Let that sink in for a minute...I'll wait. (Elevator muzak version of "Girl From Ipanema" plays in the background.) Oh sure, trot out some scripture that validates you excluding some group of people from grace or even kindness. Yeah, that makes it okay to condemn. Jesus said "feed my sheep." Jesus said "love thy neighbor." He didn't say "except for THOSE jerks."
• Donuts. They are, in fact, satan. Nothing redeeming about them whatsoever. But so damned tasty. Argh.
• Bitchy women. You ain't THAT pretty.

THAT guy...and THOSE girls...

So, I went to the gym tonight...although I would have much rather laid listlessly on the sofa, listening to the drizzle outside. I wore my iPod tonight, in case I had another run-in with THAT guy.

Oh, you've probably run into someone quite like him. Not necessarily in a gym...the guy who is determined to make your personal experience all about him.

At the gym I frequent, there is a main room with the cardio theater and weight machines and then all the big-boy muscle man weights that make guys yelp and grunt and howl, and then there is another separate "circuit training" room. This room has weight machines and cardio equipment around the perimeter and mats in the center to do your crunches and whatnot on. The personal trainers use this room when they are working with folks. I like (or, I should say, LIKED) to leave my iPod off in this room, as the music they play in it is of a good tempo to do crunches or weight reps to, while neither killing yourself nor feeling like a slacker. On the day I am recalling, I elected to do some crunches to get started. I typically do normal crunches for an entire song, non-stop. Yeah, I know. I'm hardcore. Then on the next song I'll work the side abdominals for a verse and a chorus and then switch sides. Then it's back to regular crunches and then the lower abdominals. So, you see, I have it all timed out to music instead of numbers. That way I'm not thinking "ohmagawd, I've done so many of these! I'm gonna dieeeeee...." I'm just singing along with a song in my head and trying to match my crunches to the tempo.

And then THAT guy comes in.

He's in great shape, you can tell. Freakishly good. However, he's huffing and puffing and groaning like he just ran a marathon and gave birth simultaneously. And maybe rescued a bunch of tied-up cheerleaders on a railroad track on his way into the room. Like, so loud that you wonder if he needs an ambulance called. But, as he immediately walks over to a reverse incline bench and starts doing situps holding a medicine ball, I figure he's probably not dying or even having an asthma attack. As he is making the decision to continue, I try to stop paying attention. He proceeds to count his reps out in an exceedingly loud manner. No, this guy did not have in earbuds of any kind, like you might think...we've all accidentally done things while really loud music was playing in our ears, and that's laughable but excusable. But he was pretty much just shouting in an extremely quiet room that is not really large enough to warrant shouting for any reason whatsoever. You could tell that everyone else in the room was extremely annoyed too, as he was prohibiting anyone else from counting their own reps, and was drowning out the music. You could also tell by the quality of his voice while counting that the guy probably wasn't hearing impaired, so I probably won't go to hell for blogging about this. (I make no promises.) Now, remember, we aren't in the big tough-guy weight section of the gym...or the pixie girl cardio theater. There are mostly women in this section, and a few men who come in to do some of the weight machines, but they are all usually silent and uber-focused. The women who were in the room on this particular occasion were older (and not in that fun cougar sort of way,) or fairly heavy-set...so it's not like he was in high cotton, if you know what I mean. And I didn't see any cute boys, if that's what he was hoping for.

But back to the "hero" of our story. Once he finished his herculean crunch efforts, he starts striding around the room, grunting and growling while he huffs and puffs and mops up sweat in a dramatic fashion. I wanted to scream, "We all get it! You're the Alpha Male in the room! We bow to your prowess. Now lower the volume or get the hell out!" I would not have been surprised if he had started peeing on random apparati to mark his territory. Perhaps he expected us to all start taking off our granny panties or something. This went on for an exceedingly long period of time, while he explored the agony and the ecstacy of several of the things the room had to offer. Eventually, pretty much everyone else had cleared 0ut of the room. If he had been talking to himself in a motivational style while this was going on, I would have probably found it really funny and stuck around to listen. But, as it was, I was just really annoyed.

So now I know to wear the iPod at all times, so that no douchebag ever tries to make my workout time (and everyone else's) all about him. Perhaps I'm overly sensitive...but geez, man! Go work out in the big boy section where everyone makes lots of noise...or build a home gym if you can't exercise without making lots of Rambo noises. Maybe it's because I never attended a church where it was okay to make noise other than at "appropriate" times. Oh well. That's what iPODs are for, I guess.

While I'm on the topic of being distracted at the gym, a lesson I am trying to learn is to never compare or compete with THOSE girls. You spot them when they walk in the door, and just know they are going to head your way. They don't look like they need a gym. Some are actually so thin that they look weak...like their spine is visible from the front. I see a few that have TERRIBLE posture, as they obviously have no muscles holding them upright...but they never miss a day of cardio punishment. For some reason, they usually get on the cardio machine next to you ("the non-threatening fat girl") and go to work at an impossibly intense pace. Which, of course, you try to match for some odd reason. Or, if you aren't trying to "keep up", you're stealing glances every so often, noticing that HER thighs don't do that weird ripple thing when SHE runs. And then you worry that she thinks you are checking her out....so you just stare at one of the TVs that are always tuned to some show that you don't really want to watch while working out, but don't think about changing channels until after you've already committed to be on a machine for a half-hour. Tonight, instead of Glee, which I REALLY wanted to watch, I watched stunt drivers flip cars and see who could slide them on their roofs the farthest while listening to "Dancing Queen" by ABBA on my iPod. VERY odd juxtaposition. Dukes of Hazzard would have been more fitting.

Time for bed. In summation, my main thing to work on, besides the actual "getting into shape" part, is to stay focused 0n what I am doing and yet staving off the boredom that leads me to compare/compete/criticize others. Then, maybe some day I can be one of THOSE girls. But better and more wholesome with a winning personality.

Getting Started

I've been itching to write something for quite some time now, but feared I had nothing "useful" to say. Apparently, I've finally gotten past that. Ha. Saying useful or important things doesn't seem to be the main priority of others, or so it would seem. So I'm going to tell myself that I'm off the hook in that regard.

I want to write something that isn't politically charged or angry or polarizing. With any luck, I can accomplish this. My blood pressure rises every time I get on Facebook, turn on the news, read a magazine...and I'm tired of it. I want to write something that doesn't have anything to do with my "real" job, or the current health care debate, or anything that makes my nostrils flare in indignation. I just want to write about me. I don't know if I am all that interesting without any gimmicks, so I'll try to start with a theme or two. If it wanders off course in the future, perhaps we'll start over or rename the blog. I don't know yet. I used to be indecisive, but now I'm just not sure...

(I'm also a big fan of points of ellipsis and quotation marks and throwing grammar rules to the wind in favor of creativity. I am unapologetic.)

I'm in the process of trying to figure out exactly what I want out of life. In January, I will turn 30. I've never really committed myself to doing anything that I think would make me really proud of myself. Perhaps now is the time to start. There are lots of different things I could do to this end.

I would like to get into great physical shape. Nothing scary...just the best physical shape I can possibly maintain. I've never been in "good shape" for longer than a month or two. It just hasn't been something I've been able to maintain. I love food. LOOOOOOOVE food. And I hate exercising. I like to sit still and read a book or watch TV. I'm not a fan of sweat or smelling unpleasant. Sleep is my favorite activity in the world. I am the girl who told multiple military recruiters that I would be a detriment to our country, and despite my grades in school, they did not, in fact, want me. That I was a coward and lazy and a whiner who tried to avoid discomfort at all costs. That, for the sake of of our military future, they should take me at my word and look elsewhere. It's still all true, although I try to keep the whining as an internal monologue these days.

I always wanted to be quasi-famous. The local celebrity. I wanted to know that my performance ability as a singer or an actress would pay the bills, and maybe get some praise...nothing excessive, of course. I also wanted to be thin and gorgeous, but without a lot of effort. I remember a time in a long-ago and far-away gym when there was a woman on the elliptical machine next to me--thin, gorgeous, perfectly manicured fingernails barely gripping the handrests, tanned, hair and makeup as if she was about to have her photo taken, workout getup perfectly matched-- exercising at a pitifully slow speed so as not to break a sweat or muss anything. After about 20 minutes, she dabbed her nonexistent sweat with a towel and left to seize the rest of her day. I had been there for (this was on a Christmas break from college) about an hour and a half, trudging away, red-faced, pudgy, and with sweat forming those oh-so-flattering rings under my sports bra. (Couldn't sweat create false defined abs on your workout shirt? That would be more motivating.) I had eaten nothing but egg whites and bean sprouts for weeks, trying to get into good enough shape to be cast as a lead in a musical I was dying to perform. (As a side note, I got cast in the chorus, despite losing 30 pounds in a month.) I would return to the gym later that afternoon, to do yet more cardio. And I couldn't help simultaneously thinking as I watched that lovely woman leave the gym, "you bitch" and "LUCKY!!!"

I don't know exactly when I will get off the fence and decide to procreate. A year from now, at earliest, I suppose. I'm only half joking when I say that it would depend on the theatrical seasons of multiple venues--what shows they are doing, that is. One of my greatest fear is, if I look like this NOW...what am I going to look life after I have a child or two? Another related fear is, what if I get into really great shape and then get really conflicted about getting pregnant and "ruining" everything. What if that ends up being yet another reason I never achieved a theatrical career, regardless of how small? I never claimed to stick to rational thoughts. I do know this--if and when I do have a baby, I want to be a warrior about it. I want to be in good shape at the time I get knocked up and feel really healthy and strong. So, if for no other reason, that's a good motivator to kick my ass into shape.

Plus, I think I would have better theatrical and print gig opportunities if I was to whittle down and firm up. The closer I can get to becoming exclusively a performer, the more fulfilled I will feel. The time has come for me to stop denying that fact. I wanna sing and act and anything related. I feel most complete when I am performing. Everything else is just distraction. I am not as extroverted as most in this profession, so it's hard for me to just come right out and say this. But there it is. I will also try to write about this particular quest.

The thinnest I ever have been (post puberty) was my junior year of high school when I was a size 10 during the production of L'il Abner. I was that size for a couple of months, and have not been smaller than a 12 since.That may not sound that small...but I felt like Cindy Crawford all the same. I would LOVE to get back there. I know it's most important just to "feel good." Whatever. My vain pride needs a boost. I want to KNOW that I look good. I am a 12 now, thanks to the UAMS program, but I am starting to creep back up towards a 14. I'm not keeping a food journal, I'm not watching my calories, I'm not attending the gym as often as I should...and I'm starting to fear that I resemble a beach ball with a head and appendages.

So, I have created a blog about my current experiences in self-betterment. Yikes. We'll see where we go from here...