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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
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.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
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...
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...
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