If Ann Landers Was Stacked and Talked About Dicks June 17, 2009

PROGRAMMING NOTE: If you find me a bit lax in the recent maintenance of the new GOALS FOR 2009 page, I assure you, the fault is not my own. The post smuggling culprit is the inventor of the BluRay who has lured me into a seedy life of lightless home confinement, consuming copious amounts of 300. Yeah, you know how dogs are trained to salivate at the sound of a bell? I now have a similar response to the words sparta(n), king, and blade/sword. And a little bit to man and woman.)

Now back to our regularly scheduled program…

With the exception of Dingo-who had a simple query of clarification- I’ve been playing Ann Freaking Landers all week. And it’s only Tuesday. It would be kinda cool, but for 2 things- (1) I hate talking on the phone and (2) my advisees realized that I work normal business hours. Dispensing free advices don’t pay the bills, y’all. I gotta work. Like normal people do when it’s light outside. But Joel missed that memo and decided 9:00am was the best time to seek my approval to have the sexy time with a Filipino cougar. Really? That’s 7am in California! Did he just wake up with a giant boner and think “Jenn will know what to do with this!”? I’m not sure if I mentioned that my boss, Big Gay Al, and I share a fabric-covered cubicle wall. I hear every darlin’, honey, and giggle that drawls from his mouth. So it’s hard (I mean challenging) to make sex tutorial with a Fundamentalist pseudo-virgin sound like an academic advising phone appointment. “No, you cannot use Teabagging as a General Culture requirement. You really should try Fellatio II or Introduction to Foreplay to ensure that your subject is satisfied.” Then my a former colleague from Money Grubbing Whore, Inc. called to inquire about the proper way to inspect her boyfriend’s junk for foreign lady juices. You know, because she found an email from another woman he dated 15 years ago so that must mean he’s dipping his stick in someone else’s engine, right? Again, another tough discussion to spin, but I got skills, yo, so I pulled it off and Big Gal Al was none the wiser. (Or he chuckled his way through the my side of the conversation and offered to buy me coffee).

The good news is I’m slowly coming out of last week’s mini-depression.  It smacked me in the face with sack full of bricks and I just couldn’t pull my shit together. I am someone who’s every feeling and thought is projected on face like a bad movie, so I’m not sure who I fooled with forced smiles and quiet breaks from eye contact. The upside is that bursting out into tears at work greatly reduced the incessant requests to borrow my stapler. It’s scary when stuff like this has no trigger, no beginning, no cause. It just sits Indian-style on the tip of your nose waiting for your next move.

But I think I found the source.  My trainer gave us all a meal plan to supplement our bootcamp classes. The meal plan he gave us is not radical. It’s not one of those plans that makes you eat the testicles of fire ants or measure food in thimbles, it just an increase in protein and veggies.  Duh!  I think 33 years of preservatives and high fructose corn syrup were resisting their departure by zapping me with an unshakable mood. After the first week on the meal plan, I lost 3 pounds and have found my way to the other side of madness. I’m fine now. It’s just scary to think about what I have been doing to myself.  That I’ve created a system, a body, whose very function is attached to the consumption of mononitrate, pyridoxine hydrochloride, and calcium silicate.Slynrro did a post about going gluten-free changing her physiology, despite what she was being told by doctors. What about you? You got any advice that shows doctors of full of poo? What about foods that you gave up/added to your diet that impacted your mood?

Ah, an opportunity for me to learn from those who can give advice without using the word dick.

Ann Landers would be proud.

Ladies and Gentleman, Start Your Resolutions January 2, 2009

Resolutions. A recycled list of promises. A to-do list for a life less ordinary. More of this and less of that to give you more than you had the year before. If you think it, it will come. Or go away. Resolutions are hope. Society’s accepted truth that we are all a work in progress and, with adult beverage industry encouragement, we throw ideas into the universe and expect results to boomerang in 365 days or less. I’m older and wiser and know that a 40 point list is unmanageable. It’s 2009, I’m opting for quality over quantity. And my 2-week vacation head start will increase my chances of success.

(In theory)

1. READ

The Hour I First Believed took it out of me. Over 700 pages of history and background and character development and tangled drama. I picked up Choke by Chuck Palahniuk, thinking it would lighten the load on my membrane. Not so much. I find myself flinching at his abuse of the words “for serious”. For all I know, it’s a groundbreaking piece of literary genius, but it sounds like frat boy phraseology to me. I think I need a break from male authors. For serious.

2. WRITE

Yeah, the stress on my reading has clung to my writing and they’re both swirling down the not-getting-shit-done drain. But The ABFF is keeping me focused and a concrete plan is emerging. It takes a village, blah, blah, blah.

3. GET IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER EASTERNER

Insurance (at least MY insurance) doesn’t cover acupuncture. Deductibles and co-pays for tiny needles in my back? Um, that’s valuable shoe money. Perhaps, I’ll adapt my back pain into a quirky signature stride.

The allergist basically told me that allergy testing is false 50% of the time and there is a chance for false positive and false negative results, so you’d never really know what thing you’re specifically allergic to. Interesting. What I meant when I said “I may have a food allergy that is interfering with my ability to lose weight” was “I need you to grab that fancy memo pad and diagnose me with a fatal allergy to cheesecake, warm chocolate chip cookies, and potatoes”. Isn’t that a given when chubby chicks ask for food allergy testing?

4. INCREASE MY WIFELY RATINGS

Sex with me is awesome when I inebriated. I promised The Hubster all kinds of drunken New Year’s debauchery since he manned up to be the designated driver/walking ATM for the evening. Alas, gin+dancing+uncomfortable shoes= wife passing out while The Hubster’s in the shower.

I believe I am starting 2009 in a deficit here.

5. WORK OUT

Reinvention takes cash. Acupuncture, physical therapy, weight loss clinics. Wanna lose 30 lbs in 30 days? No problem. A few pregnant lady hormone injections and two-grand should do it. Oh, and your insurance may not cover it all so we need you to pay 50% of that that up front. Will that be cash, check or charge?

I believe this is what the addicts call rock bottom. A big bold piece of reality. A chapter from life’s ironic little instruction book titled “Hope You Enjoyed That Impulse-Trip To Vegas Because, At A 24% Interest Rate, You’ll Be Paying For It For Awhile. Sure, You Came Away With A Festive ‘How Many McDonald’s Cheeseburgers Fit Into A Hotel Toilet?’ Anecdote, But It’s A Hard Good Day When You Realize Your Weight Is Higher Than Your Checking Account Balance”. Color me positive because I’ve decided to view my destitution as a growth opportunity. A character builder. The point in the movie where I turn shit around, secure a mysterious makeover, and steal my nemesis’ lover. Take THAT, Skinny Bitch!

No money means no short cuts. No prestidigitation. Just good old fashioned exercise. Unfortunately, the physical therapist said step aerobics, my one true joy of exercise, is damaging my knees.. Blasted! So I am on the hunt for alternate exercise options. I started Jillian Michaels “30 Day Shred” program. 20 pounds in 30 days. Oh, holy hell. It should be called”3o Variations on a Push-Up.”

AND I started an 8-Week beginners running course. Did I mention I hate running? It’s not an exercise intended for the big boobie brigade. There’s a whole lot of shakin’ going on when I strap on some shoes and hit a trail. Sports bars only assure my twins are bouncing in unison. Like 2 brown orchestra conductors. Plus, I fear the thought of becoming one of those people. A runner. People who drone on and on about blisters and negative splits. Stitches and wicking. If I end up using “lactic acid” in an everyday conversation, someone is going down!

But I’m being good.

Switched to egg whites. Take shots of acai juice. Embrace V8 Fruit Fusion because that’s as close as I plan to get to a vegetable. Ever. No more soda…starting tomorrow because mama needs some caffeine to work this hangover.

6. DRESS LIKE AN ADULT

I’ve decided to attempt the dreaded weave. I know, the tangled mound of fake asian ‘who do you think you’re foolin?’ hair to give the illusion of photographic hair at all times. It’s a costly, fear-inducing process. Picking the hair alone would make Goldilocks all “Say, you got any more beds I can try? What about the porridge?” Not too shiny, not too long, not too cheap. Then, finding a stylist who knows what she’s doing is worse. A good one will leave you like this:

Another one would leave you with an 8-week supply of hats, hoodies, and head scarves. So cross your fingers, eyes, and toes that I DON’T end up like this:

UPDATE:  The Weaver suggested going for a curly-do since a The Sanaa/Gabrielle  require more maintenance.   For some reason, I had a paralyzing fear of curls.

Luckily, the end result was something like this: