I’m a huge procrastinator. Always have been. For example, this blog
should have been written on Friday but here it is Monday morning and I’m
typing while letting my hair dry and trying to eat breakfast so I can
get to work. That pretty much sums up how I roll. Maybe I like being
under pressure, maybe I’m just lazy. Doesn’t matter – I’ve always been
this way. Sometimes my habits come back to haunt me.
I recieved a letter from my mom via snail mail and she had forwarded
something for me from the DuPage County Clerk’s Office. It was a summons
for jury duty – in the state of IL. I looked at it and thought, “Oh I
have to call them since I no longer live there,” and it went in THE
PILE. I’m sure most of you have a PILE – mail, things to do and
file,etc. that somehow end up on the buffet, on the table or on the
counter. So of course I forgot all about it. Until last week.
I looked at my jury summons and thought “Oh gee whiz (that’s not what
really went through my head, but this is a family show), I have to do
this NOW, because they want me to possibly report on Monday (it was
Wednesday), in IL. So I called and spoke to Ms. Jury Lady. Basically I
needed to prove to her that I was living in MD, not in IL. Seems pretty
easy right? Well thanks to my procrastination this became a serious
issue. Let me elaborate.
My husband is in the Army and by law I am not required to change my
residency. I never changed my legal residency to MD for a few reasons
that I’m not going into here – but it should be obvious that for a
procrastinator going through all the steps this entails is like asking
someone who is afraid of heights to cross the Bay Bridge in a
convertible. Also, I have been married for 16 years and in that time I
never changed my last name – legally. Meaning that the name attached to
my social security number was my maiden name, Moran. According to Ms.
Jury Lady, I needed to send her a driver’s license or state ID with my
maiden name and MD address attached to it (strike one), a mortgage or
utility bill with my maiden name and MD address on it (strike 2) OR a
pay stub……with my maiden name on it (strike 3). So as I type this I’m
on my way to IL for jury duty! KIDDING!!!!!!
Somehow over the years I had managed to get my married name on my
driver’s license, passport, tax forms and payroll but NOT on my social
security card/statements. So, since I was registered in the IL jury pool
as Moran and needed to prove I was now Bojan, living in MD. I had to
take a trip to the SS office, where I waited for 2 1/2 hours with about
five hundred other people. Suffice it to say, that people waiting here
were not exactly warm, fuzzy and happy! When my number was finally
called to see if I had all the correct documents to get a new SS card I
was given another number to wait until I was called to actually get the
process rolling. Are you tired yet? A short while later, all was right
in the world and I was officially Kelly Bojan. I made copies of things,
faxed everything to Ms. Jury Lady and am hoping there is not a bench
warrant out for my arrest in the Land of Lincoln. I was so proud of
myself for finally changing my name that I couldn’t wait to tell Mark
when he came home. He is an attorney and his response to me was “Well,
legally you didn’t change your name, you only changed the name attached
to your social security number. To legally change your last name you
need to appear before a judge and go through that process. ” I missed
him with the frying pan. I wonder how many years that would take me if I
decided to go for it?
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Cooking Perfection and Other Disasters (4/1/13)
n my mind I have to do most things perfectly, but I am hardest on
myself when it comes to cooking. I love to cook. I’ve said before that
cooking is like a meditation for me at times. I enjoy taking a whole
Friday afternoon or Sunday and cooking for the week so that we have
good, healthy food readily available. I also love to have people over
for dinner. I did this regularly when my husband was in law school and
we would cram 20 people into our 3 bedroom apartment using any surface
available for seating. Whenever I have people over I love to pull out
all the stops and just create food magic. Even when things come out
very well I am always criticizing my own food. It could be a little
more done. It could be less done. I should have braised instead of
roasted, or roasted instead of braised, used a higher temperature or a
lower temperature.
Now even though I’m a food perfectionist, I’m always fearless when it comes to cooking. Having dinner guests and making something I’ve never made before? HA! No worries here. I shall take that challenge. Knowing what you now know about me and my crazy foodie habits consider the following recipe: 1 perfectionist food nerd, 3 new never-been tried before dishes, in-laws over for dinner for the first time after we got married. Combine! Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
I was going to make a Bechemel Vegetable Lasagne using ‘no boil’ lasagne noodles. Basque stewed tomatoes. Spinach salad with warm bacon dressing. That Bechemel lasagne was a monster. Tons of prep for slicing the veggies uber thin, making the bechemel, only to have the noodles burn on the ends and not soften. At all. It was like dry wall between the veggie layers. The tomatoes? Watery tomato gruel. The salad? In my attemps to figure out what in the name of all things Escoffier ( you know, Auguste Escoffier, father of French cooking?) was going on with the lasagne, I let my bacon get too hot. In fact I burned it. Ever eaten burned bacon or better yet thought about using the fat rendered from it as a vinaigrette base? Mmm, mmm, retch! While all this is going on my husband is wondering why I am swearing up a storm. He is blissfully unaware that the whole meal is about to hit the fan. Then the worst thing that could happen happens. Mark’s parents show up. A half an hour early as I’ve learned they are known to do.
At this point I am very upset and on the verge of losing it. When I proceed to drop the whole bowl of salad on the floor the crack is audible as I hit my breaking point. I leave the salad on the floor, the tomatoes on the stove, and the lasagne mocks me from the counter as I walk into the back bedroom, proceed to lie face down on the floor like a 4 year old and bury my face in my hands and cry. My husband comes to find me. I will not get up from the floor. I will not come out of the bedroom. I am mortified. Mark’s parents are completely unaware of the situation. Between hitching sobs I tell Mark everything is ruined. I am embarrassed to face my in-laws who at this point I’m sure are thinking I am off my rocker and going to stick my head in the oven. We can’t order pizza as my mother in law has some severe food allergies. I have nothing for back up. I am completely and utterly defeated by this meal.
Eventually I slink out of the bedroom. My mother in law is cleaning up salad and my husband gets my coat and tells me we’re going out to eat. Mercifully he’s thrown the whole meal in the trash. Mark is trying not to laugh at me – not the cooking catastrophe, but my reaction. And in retrospect it’s pretty hilarious. Imagine me lying facedown in a dress and wearing an apron and crying into my hands? Over dinner? Perfectionism has it’s price in the ego department, especailly when things don’t go as planned. I’ve since tried to let go of those tendencies. And I’ve never made bechemel vegetable lasagne again.
Now even though I’m a food perfectionist, I’m always fearless when it comes to cooking. Having dinner guests and making something I’ve never made before? HA! No worries here. I shall take that challenge. Knowing what you now know about me and my crazy foodie habits consider the following recipe: 1 perfectionist food nerd, 3 new never-been tried before dishes, in-laws over for dinner for the first time after we got married. Combine! Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
I was going to make a Bechemel Vegetable Lasagne using ‘no boil’ lasagne noodles. Basque stewed tomatoes. Spinach salad with warm bacon dressing. That Bechemel lasagne was a monster. Tons of prep for slicing the veggies uber thin, making the bechemel, only to have the noodles burn on the ends and not soften. At all. It was like dry wall between the veggie layers. The tomatoes? Watery tomato gruel. The salad? In my attemps to figure out what in the name of all things Escoffier ( you know, Auguste Escoffier, father of French cooking?) was going on with the lasagne, I let my bacon get too hot. In fact I burned it. Ever eaten burned bacon or better yet thought about using the fat rendered from it as a vinaigrette base? Mmm, mmm, retch! While all this is going on my husband is wondering why I am swearing up a storm. He is blissfully unaware that the whole meal is about to hit the fan. Then the worst thing that could happen happens. Mark’s parents show up. A half an hour early as I’ve learned they are known to do.
At this point I am very upset and on the verge of losing it. When I proceed to drop the whole bowl of salad on the floor the crack is audible as I hit my breaking point. I leave the salad on the floor, the tomatoes on the stove, and the lasagne mocks me from the counter as I walk into the back bedroom, proceed to lie face down on the floor like a 4 year old and bury my face in my hands and cry. My husband comes to find me. I will not get up from the floor. I will not come out of the bedroom. I am mortified. Mark’s parents are completely unaware of the situation. Between hitching sobs I tell Mark everything is ruined. I am embarrassed to face my in-laws who at this point I’m sure are thinking I am off my rocker and going to stick my head in the oven. We can’t order pizza as my mother in law has some severe food allergies. I have nothing for back up. I am completely and utterly defeated by this meal.
Eventually I slink out of the bedroom. My mother in law is cleaning up salad and my husband gets my coat and tells me we’re going out to eat. Mercifully he’s thrown the whole meal in the trash. Mark is trying not to laugh at me – not the cooking catastrophe, but my reaction. And in retrospect it’s pretty hilarious. Imagine me lying facedown in a dress and wearing an apron and crying into my hands? Over dinner? Perfectionism has it’s price in the ego department, especailly when things don’t go as planned. I’ve since tried to let go of those tendencies. And I’ve never made bechemel vegetable lasagne again.
The Poison of Resentment (3/18/13)
It hasn’t been a good week in terms of my ‘Wah’ – you know – karma,
spirit, centeredness, groove, whatever you want to call it. I call it my
Wah. Don’t ask why, I can’t remember. Anyway, a few years ago when I
was in a very good place in my life one of my closest friends was not
being such a good friend to me. Instead of being supportive of the
things I was doing that were making me so happy and happy for my
happiness, for some reason she really laid into me about how she thought
that my choices were poor (they weren’t) and that I was “elitist
and judgmental ” That hurt. A lot. And while we worked it out, I have to
honestly say that it is – obviously- still bothering me. It is
bothering me even more because she is now doing some of the same things I
was doing when we had this whole blow up.
This feeling I’ve been experiencing is definitely resentment. I took off my big girl pants and put on my pouty, stamp my foot, whine and be petty pants. Those are some ugly pants, let me tell you! And the worst part about it is that I’m doing it to myself over something that happened years ago. When I hear about my friend experiencing success and happiness in the same endeavor, there is that nasty-girl voice in my head that says, “Does she remember when she crushed you over this same thing????” Oh, how I hate that voice….and that petty part of me that cannot seem to let it go. It literally feels like acid on my skin eating me alive. Of course she knows nothing about the way I feel because telling her would be too much of an adult thing to do. That, and she likely hasn’t thought of it in years and would think I am crazy. Which I probably am. But let’s not get off track here.
If you pay attention, the universe will give you a little tap on the shoulder, or maybe a whack on the head, to let you know what you need. Yesterday I heard someone say these two things about resentment: “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die,” and “The person you resent is behind bars and you are standing guard but they don’t even know they are in prison!” WOW. That was like a whack on the head! The only one suffering in my little melodrama is me. Did my friend hurt me? Yes. Did she ever apologize? I honestly don’t remember. Am I the one causing myself so much grief and pain by drinking the poison of resenting her YEARS LATER? We have a winner! Brilliant – let me make myself more miserable by putting my resentment in a super big gulp cup and chugging like I’m at a frat party! Woo hoo!!
So apparently I’ve come to the realization (for the millionth time but I seem to keep forgetting it) that the only one I can control is me and holding onto this is only making me feel angry, sad and really stupid. So how do I let it go? Well, writing about it helps. In fact I feel really good all ready as I prepare to end this blog. And when it creeps back in, because it will as I am only human, I just have to give it over to a power greater than me – the universe, God – and let peace come into my heart and soul. I envision myself unlocking her prison, throwing away the key and walking away from all the petty crap together. And what do you know – I think I’ve got my Wah back!
This feeling I’ve been experiencing is definitely resentment. I took off my big girl pants and put on my pouty, stamp my foot, whine and be petty pants. Those are some ugly pants, let me tell you! And the worst part about it is that I’m doing it to myself over something that happened years ago. When I hear about my friend experiencing success and happiness in the same endeavor, there is that nasty-girl voice in my head that says, “Does she remember when she crushed you over this same thing????” Oh, how I hate that voice….and that petty part of me that cannot seem to let it go. It literally feels like acid on my skin eating me alive. Of course she knows nothing about the way I feel because telling her would be too much of an adult thing to do. That, and she likely hasn’t thought of it in years and would think I am crazy. Which I probably am. But let’s not get off track here.
If you pay attention, the universe will give you a little tap on the shoulder, or maybe a whack on the head, to let you know what you need. Yesterday I heard someone say these two things about resentment: “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die,” and “The person you resent is behind bars and you are standing guard but they don’t even know they are in prison!” WOW. That was like a whack on the head! The only one suffering in my little melodrama is me. Did my friend hurt me? Yes. Did she ever apologize? I honestly don’t remember. Am I the one causing myself so much grief and pain by drinking the poison of resenting her YEARS LATER? We have a winner! Brilliant – let me make myself more miserable by putting my resentment in a super big gulp cup and chugging like I’m at a frat party! Woo hoo!!
So apparently I’ve come to the realization (for the millionth time but I seem to keep forgetting it) that the only one I can control is me and holding onto this is only making me feel angry, sad and really stupid. So how do I let it go? Well, writing about it helps. In fact I feel really good all ready as I prepare to end this blog. And when it creeps back in, because it will as I am only human, I just have to give it over to a power greater than me – the universe, God – and let peace come into my heart and soul. I envision myself unlocking her prison, throwing away the key and walking away from all the petty crap together. And what do you know – I think I’ve got my Wah back!
One Day Of Juicing (5/16/13)
Juice Cleansing or Juice Detox – it’s a hot topic right now. I keep
hearing about these things and reading about the celebrities who are
devoted to them. Beyonce lost weight quickly doing the Master Cleanse;
Gwyneth does a juice fast every season; even size 0 Sarah Jessica
Parker has downed juice in an effort to ‘cleanse’ herself. So of course
my curiosity was piqued.
First, I admit right here and now that I have NEVER been able to stick to any type of cleanse or fast that doesn’t involve eating solid food. I like food. I like chewing. I would never be the girl to go on a hunger strike! BUT, after a weekend indulging in not so healthy things and maybe because the juices sound so yummy and look exotic and interesting, I decided to do at least one day of the Blueprint Juice Cleanse. Maybe it could be a springboard into a more in depth eating overhaul. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it for ONE day. Just a day.
Of course they tell you not to just jump into this thing cold turkey. You’re supposed to prepare yourself by eliminating refined foods, meat and weaning yourself off of coffee. So naturally I just decided on Monday morning that I would do it that very day after a long weekend of over indulgence as we had an out of town guest.
I jetted over to Whole (paycheck) Foods and gathered my six bottles of BluePrint juices I’d be drinking. Sixy dollars later – yes, SIXTY DOLLARS – I was ready to rock out my day of juice fasting. At first everything was fine. I wasn’t even hungry when I woke up, probably due to the sheer amount of calories we’d consumed over the weekend. I didn’t mind the taste of the pond scum looking juice concoction that was my breakfast. And my lunch. The ‘snack’ of pineapple mint juice was very tasty.
As the day went on, I didn’t feel too bad. Then, around two I started to feel really, really hungry. My stomach started to protest this juice cleanse and was loudly telling me about it as I felt a gnawing in my belly accompanied by a lovely growling sound. The more I tried not to think about food, the more I thought about food. Instead of eating the cat (Cheeto was looking tasty, hair and all), I brewed some herbal tea that tasted like dirt and gravel. Tummy monster tamed for the moment I scraped my tongue to get rid of the tea taste, grabbed my dinner (more pond scum), and went back to work.
I was trying to hold off on my juicy dinner of more pond scum as long as I could in an effort to get through the night. As I was teaching all I could think about was my green juice just waiting to be chewed. Yes, they reccommend you ‘chew your juice’ to kick the digestive enzymes into action. Because apparently my stomach should be digesting itself. At least that’s what I was thinking at this point. I sucked down my pond scum manna on the way home and despite my drinking my weight in tea and water I was still hungry. I think I actually heard my stomach talking to me at one point, something about how I evil I was.
When I got home, I almost had a panic attack to see my husband eating. Real. Food. A turkey sandwich and Pirate Booty never looked so good. The sounds of him chewing that crunchy Pirate Booty almost drove me to madness. Instead of giving in I screamed some obscenities at him, grabbed my last bottle of juice (cashew milk with cinnamon and vanilla – sounds better than it tastes) and crawled away. I texted a friend telling her I felt light headed and a bit euphoric. And hungry. She told me to go to bed. I downed my juice and did just that.
I woke up today, feeling less bloated and really hungry. I had bought one extra juice and decided I might give today another go and had that for breakfast. But as I write this, my head is pounding, I feel very light headed and I’m pretty sure my stomach is going to go Alien on me and eat me from the inside out. So yes, I did it for one day. And I think that’s enough for me.
First, I admit right here and now that I have NEVER been able to stick to any type of cleanse or fast that doesn’t involve eating solid food. I like food. I like chewing. I would never be the girl to go on a hunger strike! BUT, after a weekend indulging in not so healthy things and maybe because the juices sound so yummy and look exotic and interesting, I decided to do at least one day of the Blueprint Juice Cleanse. Maybe it could be a springboard into a more in depth eating overhaul. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it for ONE day. Just a day.
Of course they tell you not to just jump into this thing cold turkey. You’re supposed to prepare yourself by eliminating refined foods, meat and weaning yourself off of coffee. So naturally I just decided on Monday morning that I would do it that very day after a long weekend of over indulgence as we had an out of town guest.
I jetted over to Whole (paycheck) Foods and gathered my six bottles of BluePrint juices I’d be drinking. Sixy dollars later – yes, SIXTY DOLLARS – I was ready to rock out my day of juice fasting. At first everything was fine. I wasn’t even hungry when I woke up, probably due to the sheer amount of calories we’d consumed over the weekend. I didn’t mind the taste of the pond scum looking juice concoction that was my breakfast. And my lunch. The ‘snack’ of pineapple mint juice was very tasty.
As the day went on, I didn’t feel too bad. Then, around two I started to feel really, really hungry. My stomach started to protest this juice cleanse and was loudly telling me about it as I felt a gnawing in my belly accompanied by a lovely growling sound. The more I tried not to think about food, the more I thought about food. Instead of eating the cat (Cheeto was looking tasty, hair and all), I brewed some herbal tea that tasted like dirt and gravel. Tummy monster tamed for the moment I scraped my tongue to get rid of the tea taste, grabbed my dinner (more pond scum), and went back to work.
I was trying to hold off on my juicy dinner of more pond scum as long as I could in an effort to get through the night. As I was teaching all I could think about was my green juice just waiting to be chewed. Yes, they reccommend you ‘chew your juice’ to kick the digestive enzymes into action. Because apparently my stomach should be digesting itself. At least that’s what I was thinking at this point. I sucked down my pond scum manna on the way home and despite my drinking my weight in tea and water I was still hungry. I think I actually heard my stomach talking to me at one point, something about how I evil I was.
When I got home, I almost had a panic attack to see my husband eating. Real. Food. A turkey sandwich and Pirate Booty never looked so good. The sounds of him chewing that crunchy Pirate Booty almost drove me to madness. Instead of giving in I screamed some obscenities at him, grabbed my last bottle of juice (cashew milk with cinnamon and vanilla – sounds better than it tastes) and crawled away. I texted a friend telling her I felt light headed and a bit euphoric. And hungry. She told me to go to bed. I downed my juice and did just that.
I woke up today, feeling less bloated and really hungry. I had bought one extra juice and decided I might give today another go and had that for breakfast. But as I write this, my head is pounding, I feel very light headed and I’m pretty sure my stomach is going to go Alien on me and eat me from the inside out. So yes, I did it for one day. And I think that’s enough for me.
To Buy Or Not To Buy....Because I Feel Obligated???? (8/27/13)
I have an issue with buyer’s remorse. Or I should say I have an
issue with feeling obligated to buy something and then I feel remorseful
not only for buying it when I didn’t intend to but then for returning
the item later. Like I have inconvenienced everyone involved, but I
don’t even think about the inconvenience I put myself through. I’ll
give you an example.
About three weeks ago I was in the mall and decided to stop in the Michael Kors store because a really cute oversized black wristlet with gommets all over it caught my eye. I am a sucker for anything that looks a little punk, bad-a**, or edgy. Not to mention the fact that I love the smell of leather and when I walk in that store sometimes it’s just to inhale the scent for awhile. Did you know they make leather scented candles? No? Well they do but there’s nothing like the real thing! So there I was admiring this bag. I picked it up and looked inside it and it felt so yummy in my hands and I was all in Happy Kelly Place feeling the leather, and the metal, smelling it and lost in leather la la land. But I used restraint and was a good girl and put the bag back. Yes, I did whisper a little good-bye to it, telling it maybe we’d meet again someday and I left.
Last week I was at the mall again and as I was traipsing by Michael Kors I noticed my leather grommeted friend was no longer on display. Out of curiousity (and maybe to smell the leather) I poked my head in and asked if they still had the bag. The sales clerk produced a blue one and I asked if the black one was still in stock. The sales clerk proceeded to dig around in some drawers until she produced that coveted wristlet and handed it to me. I had no intention of buying it (yes, I smelled it) yet as I stood there talking to the sales clerk I started to feel guilty that she went to the trouble of finding this for me. Then I felt as if I was wasting her time (there was no one in the store but me) and before I knew what was happening I was at the counter buying the bag! I literally had a conversation with myself at the register, while simultaneously talking to the clerk – no easy feat let me tell you.
My inner voice was saying, “You should tell her right now you’ve changed your mind. I mean, really do you need this? Yes you have the money for it, yes it’s really you, but you had no intention of buying this. But then she willl think you’re nuts! And she’s so nice! And you led her on thinking you would buy this!” all the while I was chatting with the clerk about who knows what. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be coming back over the weekend to return the bag. I mean, I didn’t need it, I didn’t intend to buy it so what happened? And more importantly why did I feel that because I walked into the store and felt the merchandise and that the clerk did her job that I owed her something? That’s the bigger question.
After some conversations with some friends I’ve found I’m not the only one who has done this or sometimes feels that way. I’m not quite sure what to do about this strange phenomena of mine except be aware of it and know that I’m being ridiculous and that if I just say no in the first place I will save myself a lot of trips to and from the mall! I still haven’t returned that wristlet. It was wrapped in tissue and still in the bag until a few days ago when I told a friend this story and showed it to her. We both admired it and she asked if I was going to keep it. I said I hadn’t decided. Then I made her smell it and as she inhaled that rich leather scent she closed her eyes and said, “Yes, you should keep it.” We’ll see.
About three weeks ago I was in the mall and decided to stop in the Michael Kors store because a really cute oversized black wristlet with gommets all over it caught my eye. I am a sucker for anything that looks a little punk, bad-a**, or edgy. Not to mention the fact that I love the smell of leather and when I walk in that store sometimes it’s just to inhale the scent for awhile. Did you know they make leather scented candles? No? Well they do but there’s nothing like the real thing! So there I was admiring this bag. I picked it up and looked inside it and it felt so yummy in my hands and I was all in Happy Kelly Place feeling the leather, and the metal, smelling it and lost in leather la la land. But I used restraint and was a good girl and put the bag back. Yes, I did whisper a little good-bye to it, telling it maybe we’d meet again someday and I left.
Last week I was at the mall again and as I was traipsing by Michael Kors I noticed my leather grommeted friend was no longer on display. Out of curiousity (and maybe to smell the leather) I poked my head in and asked if they still had the bag. The sales clerk produced a blue one and I asked if the black one was still in stock. The sales clerk proceeded to dig around in some drawers until she produced that coveted wristlet and handed it to me. I had no intention of buying it (yes, I smelled it) yet as I stood there talking to the sales clerk I started to feel guilty that she went to the trouble of finding this for me. Then I felt as if I was wasting her time (there was no one in the store but me) and before I knew what was happening I was at the counter buying the bag! I literally had a conversation with myself at the register, while simultaneously talking to the clerk – no easy feat let me tell you.
My inner voice was saying, “You should tell her right now you’ve changed your mind. I mean, really do you need this? Yes you have the money for it, yes it’s really you, but you had no intention of buying this. But then she willl think you’re nuts! And she’s so nice! And you led her on thinking you would buy this!” all the while I was chatting with the clerk about who knows what. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be coming back over the weekend to return the bag. I mean, I didn’t need it, I didn’t intend to buy it so what happened? And more importantly why did I feel that because I walked into the store and felt the merchandise and that the clerk did her job that I owed her something? That’s the bigger question.
After some conversations with some friends I’ve found I’m not the only one who has done this or sometimes feels that way. I’m not quite sure what to do about this strange phenomena of mine except be aware of it and know that I’m being ridiculous and that if I just say no in the first place I will save myself a lot of trips to and from the mall! I still haven’t returned that wristlet. It was wrapped in tissue and still in the bag until a few days ago when I told a friend this story and showed it to her. We both admired it and she asked if I was going to keep it. I said I hadn’t decided. Then I made her smell it and as she inhaled that rich leather scent she closed her eyes and said, “Yes, you should keep it.” We’ll see.
I Sweat Therefore.....I Sweat (7/2/13)
I am a sweater. As in “I sweat” – a lot. I’ve noticed that almost
every time I finish a workout someone makes a comment such as “I think
you need to workout harder,” or “I don’t think you’re sweating enough!”
This has happened as far back as I can remember. I know they are being
sarcastic, but I often wonder why people feel the need to comment on
it? It’s as if my sweating makes them uncomfortable. Literally, if it
is even a bit warm outside and I am walking around, even casually I will
start to sweat. So when people say I must have had a great workout?
Maybe. Maybe not. My sweaty self is a chameleon that way – I can fool
you!
I’ve apologized to trainers for my sweaty self as in “I’m sorry I’m so sweaty,” when their hands slide off my shoulders as they try to spot me on the Wunda chair during a Pilates lesson. Remarkably, I haven’t crashed yet as the instructor cannot even hope to get a hold on me because I’m slippery like an eel.
I’ve been asked if I just “stuck my head in the shower and really didn’t work out” because my hair is completely soaked upon finishing my workout. It’s like no one can believe that my hair would get that wet. Well it does – and then it continues to get wet even after I dry it because my body is still trying to cool me down. I am a champ at thermo-regulation!
I never look fresh in a flowy summer dress if I’m outside for any length of time and it’s hot and humid. I look hot. And humid. Yes, I look humid. Another word for this might be ‘wilty’ (no, not wilted. Wilty) like some spinach you forgot to put in the refrigerator. Amazingly, just like spinach I too can be refreshed if put under cold water! Funny but too true!
So there you have it. I’m a sweater. And yes, I know it’s really good for me, but sometimes it is a bit of a hassle. I know there are others like me out there. Just accept the simple facts of being sweaters and know we will always need a workout towel, if it’s really hot don’t even bother with make up, short hair can be your best friend and sweaty doesn’t necessarily mean smelly. But it does usually mean that our bodies are good at trying to cool us down, flushing out toxins and that we usually have good skin and shiny hair. So embrace your sweaty self – just know that your arms are bound to slide around if you touch your sweaty skin.
I’ve apologized to trainers for my sweaty self as in “I’m sorry I’m so sweaty,” when their hands slide off my shoulders as they try to spot me on the Wunda chair during a Pilates lesson. Remarkably, I haven’t crashed yet as the instructor cannot even hope to get a hold on me because I’m slippery like an eel.
I’ve been asked if I just “stuck my head in the shower and really didn’t work out” because my hair is completely soaked upon finishing my workout. It’s like no one can believe that my hair would get that wet. Well it does – and then it continues to get wet even after I dry it because my body is still trying to cool me down. I am a champ at thermo-regulation!
I never look fresh in a flowy summer dress if I’m outside for any length of time and it’s hot and humid. I look hot. And humid. Yes, I look humid. Another word for this might be ‘wilty’ (no, not wilted. Wilty) like some spinach you forgot to put in the refrigerator. Amazingly, just like spinach I too can be refreshed if put under cold water! Funny but too true!
So there you have it. I’m a sweater. And yes, I know it’s really good for me, but sometimes it is a bit of a hassle. I know there are others like me out there. Just accept the simple facts of being sweaters and know we will always need a workout towel, if it’s really hot don’t even bother with make up, short hair can be your best friend and sweaty doesn’t necessarily mean smelly. But it does usually mean that our bodies are good at trying to cool us down, flushing out toxins and that we usually have good skin and shiny hair. So embrace your sweaty self – just know that your arms are bound to slide around if you touch your sweaty skin.
Round And Round It Goes - (originally posted on 9/14/2013 on Evolutionsannapolis.com)
Thank God for compression pants! That is the only thought running
through my head lately. Ever since I decided to go back to school, it
seems that I am growing by leaps and bounds, and I don’t mean in a good
way. Yes, the stress hormone cortisol is having an effect on me and my
tendency to store belly fat (I refer to it as my ‘food baby’), but let’s
be honest so do the cupcakes. Yes, the cupcakes that have been making
an appearance in the offices at Evolutions. Because I care so much
about my co-workers I did poison test the cupcakes for them. See how
willing I am to take one for the team?
Of course I say all this with an air of sarcasm, but stress makes me want to eat. And shop. And shopping is no fun when you’ve appointed yourself Head Cupcake Tester and I find myself eating more. So why, why, why do I put myself onto this Merry-Go-Round of stressing, making poor food choices or eating when I ‘m not hungry, feeling bad about the way I feel and what I’m doing to myself, and then repeating that behavior? I don’t know. I honestly cannot answer, except to say that in some moments, not all, when faced with a choice about whether or not to eat the cupcake or buy the boots it’s as if my body has pulled a Linda Blair and I’m posessed. I act without thought, as if someone else has taken over my mind and my body. I don’t really stop and think. I just do. And about 30 seconds later when the damage has begun I realize what I’m doing. Some of you reading this may be thinking “Cop out!” but hey, I’ll bet my favorite handbag that I am not alone here.
I started recognizing this behavior pattern when my dad was dying and the autopilot reaction was much worse than it is now several years later. It hasn’t crept up on me in a long time, yet here it is again, rearing it’s ugly, over-indulgent head at another pivotal time in my life. So what to do? Buy bigger pants?? No, not an option. Recognition is a big part of it for me and admitting that it is happening. Which I’ve done here and now for the whole world to see – yay me! Now when that crazy moment strikes I will be ready because I know I’m vulnerable to it and I will be replacing that instant reaction of emotional avoidance with things like a walk, a phone call to a friend, meditation, a cup of tea or if I’m truly hungry how about something that actually has some nutrient density? That sounds like a good plan. One thing I’m not going to do is to beat myself up over it because that is not going to help. And I’m not going to poison test the new cupcakes that are now sitting in the office at this very minute, not 5 feet from me as I’ve officially resigned as Head Cupcake Tester.
See you in class and in the studio!
Of course I say all this with an air of sarcasm, but stress makes me want to eat. And shop. And shopping is no fun when you’ve appointed yourself Head Cupcake Tester and I find myself eating more. So why, why, why do I put myself onto this Merry-Go-Round of stressing, making poor food choices or eating when I ‘m not hungry, feeling bad about the way I feel and what I’m doing to myself, and then repeating that behavior? I don’t know. I honestly cannot answer, except to say that in some moments, not all, when faced with a choice about whether or not to eat the cupcake or buy the boots it’s as if my body has pulled a Linda Blair and I’m posessed. I act without thought, as if someone else has taken over my mind and my body. I don’t really stop and think. I just do. And about 30 seconds later when the damage has begun I realize what I’m doing. Some of you reading this may be thinking “Cop out!” but hey, I’ll bet my favorite handbag that I am not alone here.
I started recognizing this behavior pattern when my dad was dying and the autopilot reaction was much worse than it is now several years later. It hasn’t crept up on me in a long time, yet here it is again, rearing it’s ugly, over-indulgent head at another pivotal time in my life. So what to do? Buy bigger pants?? No, not an option. Recognition is a big part of it for me and admitting that it is happening. Which I’ve done here and now for the whole world to see – yay me! Now when that crazy moment strikes I will be ready because I know I’m vulnerable to it and I will be replacing that instant reaction of emotional avoidance with things like a walk, a phone call to a friend, meditation, a cup of tea or if I’m truly hungry how about something that actually has some nutrient density? That sounds like a good plan. One thing I’m not going to do is to beat myself up over it because that is not going to help. And I’m not going to poison test the new cupcakes that are now sitting in the office at this very minute, not 5 feet from me as I’ve officially resigned as Head Cupcake Tester.
See you in class and in the studio!
Stories From the Trenches - Grade School Outcast!
Lately I've been thinking a lot about grade school. I think it's because I'm about to start an elementary statistics class and I hate math. The reason I hate math has to do with a horrible math memory from kindergarten!!! Kindergarten was a particularly trying time for me. I was a storm in five year old form. Loud, somewhat destructive, always calling attention to myself because I was likely not listening or doing something I shouldn't be. I left a trail - whether it be of tears, toys or at kindergarten graduation, the petals from the flower corsage that Patty A's. mom had gotten for her (I had plucked them all off - she may have cried).
It seemed like I was always being put in the corner. My offenses included stealing from Chris M.'s plate at snack time, not sharing the big fat pink crayon, talking while we were supposed to be quietly coloring giraffes, talking while standing in line for the bathroom, talking while walking into church, talking during reading circle, talking in general. And hoarding the red strappy clogs from the dress up trunk - that was guaranteed corner time at least once every couple weeks. I loved those clogs. Sigh. But my most memorable kindergarten moment had nothing to do with me misbehaving. It had to do with me not being able to grasp the concept of zero during a math lesson.
I can see everything so clearly it is as if I stepped back in time. I was wearing red pants and a patchwork top, my hair in pigtails and I was sitting in a desk facing my favorite cinder block wall with a fat black crayon in my hand. And I was crying. I can see the worksheet on the desk. Who remembers purple mimeograph ink? I can still remember how it smelled, hot off the mimeograph machine. The problem was 6 + 0 = __. For whatever reason I could not get this concept. I remember sitting there while my teacher wrapped her hand around mine and wrote over and over again with that big fat black crayon 6,6,6,6; all the while saying the number over and over again.
I think a small part of me broke that day. Heck, I'm 42 years old and I still vividly remember that day and how I felt. More than anything I felt scared and ashamed. Every other time I was in the corner was a cake-walk compared to that time. Most likely because I knew I hadn't done anything wrong. It's funny, when I started writing this post I didn't intend it to go in this direction but here it is. I don't think it's a bad thing, it just is what it is. A memory, albeit one that really stuck with me and shaped me in some ways.
I start my stats class on Tuesday and honestly I'm really afraid and nervous. But I think it will be cathartic in some ways. It's time to show little Kelly that it's not that bad, it's just a class. And she can do it!
It seemed like I was always being put in the corner. My offenses included stealing from Chris M.'s plate at snack time, not sharing the big fat pink crayon, talking while we were supposed to be quietly coloring giraffes, talking while standing in line for the bathroom, talking while walking into church, talking during reading circle, talking in general. And hoarding the red strappy clogs from the dress up trunk - that was guaranteed corner time at least once every couple weeks. I loved those clogs. Sigh. But my most memorable kindergarten moment had nothing to do with me misbehaving. It had to do with me not being able to grasp the concept of zero during a math lesson.
I can see everything so clearly it is as if I stepped back in time. I was wearing red pants and a patchwork top, my hair in pigtails and I was sitting in a desk facing my favorite cinder block wall with a fat black crayon in my hand. And I was crying. I can see the worksheet on the desk. Who remembers purple mimeograph ink? I can still remember how it smelled, hot off the mimeograph machine. The problem was 6 + 0 = __. For whatever reason I could not get this concept. I remember sitting there while my teacher wrapped her hand around mine and wrote over and over again with that big fat black crayon 6,6,6,6; all the while saying the number over and over again.
I think a small part of me broke that day. Heck, I'm 42 years old and I still vividly remember that day and how I felt. More than anything I felt scared and ashamed. Every other time I was in the corner was a cake-walk compared to that time. Most likely because I knew I hadn't done anything wrong. It's funny, when I started writing this post I didn't intend it to go in this direction but here it is. I don't think it's a bad thing, it just is what it is. A memory, albeit one that really stuck with me and shaped me in some ways.
I start my stats class on Tuesday and honestly I'm really afraid and nervous. But I think it will be cathartic in some ways. It's time to show little Kelly that it's not that bad, it's just a class. And she can do it!
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
365 Days Without Facebook
I'm going to do something radical. At least I think it's radical. I'm going to delete my Facebook page. I don't mean just leave temporarily, which you can do. I mean permanently delete it. No more posting selfies, or pics of me and my hubs; no more posts of my adorable orange tabby Cheeto; no more quizzes, no more stalking friends....or foes. No more "staying connected". If you're still reading this you may wonder why I'm doing this and why it's such a big deal.
I've considered dropping off of FB for a long time now and I have a laundry list of reasons. My first and foremost reason is because I'm absolutely terrified to do it. Stop for a minute and think about that. I'm afraid to not be on a social media site - that I might miss something or lose friends or not stay in touch with people. That enough is reason alone for me. Facebook has become an addiction. Currently I look at Facebook no less than eight to ten times per day and that is way too much. At this point it's like Cheetos - I can't have them in the house because I will eat them. Same with Facebook - if I'm going to break my addiction, it has to be out of my reach.
Another reason is that if I'm being brutally honest the people that I feel are really "in" my life right now are not communicating with me solely through Facebook. I actually TALK to these people....on the phone or in person. Even though I'm going to piss a bunch of people off by saying this, the effort it takes to pick up the phone or meet for a coffee means so much more to me than if a person 'likes' my Facebook post or picture or story. EVERYONE is busy. No one is immune from the hectic pace of life but it's a sad day when we can't carve out 10 minutes to pick up the phone. I bet most people spend more than 10 minutes on Facebook each day. I know I do. That time and effort could be so much better spent calling a friend....even if I only get their voicemail. I want the majority of my social interactions to not come from behind a computer screen. That puts me on the hook to put more effort into my relationships and that's not a bad thing.
The really big reason though is that Facebook just makes me very sad. I suffer with depression and low level bi-polar disorder and I firmly believe that Facebook exacerbates that. Yes, I get envious when I see pictures of people taking amazing trips; of my friends back home hanging out and having a blast without me. I cannot stand the constant barrage of threads on animal abuse, child abuse, politics, religion, murders. It's like having the news on 24/7. Yes, these things are important and Facebook has helped to raise money, awareness, find children and pets. Yes, I can take steps to block this stuff from my newsfeed and I have. But it's only a stopgap. It never works for very long and I'm at a point where my mental and spiritual state needs some nurturing and Facebook just does not fit in with this plan.
I'm not judging anyone on FB, to each his own. I want to see how I'm affected by unplugging from the world's largest platform for one year. I'm hoping that I will find deeper connections with people rather than feel disconnected; that my overall mood and demeanor will improve; that I will use the probably thirty plus minutes a day I spent on FB to do something that brings me more satisfaction - or to clean the house! I will update the blog with my progress and/or withdrawl. In the meantime if you need to contact me, shoot me a text, email or pick up the phone. I will do the same.
I've considered dropping off of FB for a long time now and I have a laundry list of reasons. My first and foremost reason is because I'm absolutely terrified to do it. Stop for a minute and think about that. I'm afraid to not be on a social media site - that I might miss something or lose friends or not stay in touch with people. That enough is reason alone for me. Facebook has become an addiction. Currently I look at Facebook no less than eight to ten times per day and that is way too much. At this point it's like Cheetos - I can't have them in the house because I will eat them. Same with Facebook - if I'm going to break my addiction, it has to be out of my reach.
Another reason is that if I'm being brutally honest the people that I feel are really "in" my life right now are not communicating with me solely through Facebook. I actually TALK to these people....on the phone or in person. Even though I'm going to piss a bunch of people off by saying this, the effort it takes to pick up the phone or meet for a coffee means so much more to me than if a person 'likes' my Facebook post or picture or story. EVERYONE is busy. No one is immune from the hectic pace of life but it's a sad day when we can't carve out 10 minutes to pick up the phone. I bet most people spend more than 10 minutes on Facebook each day. I know I do. That time and effort could be so much better spent calling a friend....even if I only get their voicemail. I want the majority of my social interactions to not come from behind a computer screen. That puts me on the hook to put more effort into my relationships and that's not a bad thing.
The really big reason though is that Facebook just makes me very sad. I suffer with depression and low level bi-polar disorder and I firmly believe that Facebook exacerbates that. Yes, I get envious when I see pictures of people taking amazing trips; of my friends back home hanging out and having a blast without me. I cannot stand the constant barrage of threads on animal abuse, child abuse, politics, religion, murders. It's like having the news on 24/7. Yes, these things are important and Facebook has helped to raise money, awareness, find children and pets. Yes, I can take steps to block this stuff from my newsfeed and I have. But it's only a stopgap. It never works for very long and I'm at a point where my mental and spiritual state needs some nurturing and Facebook just does not fit in with this plan.
I'm not judging anyone on FB, to each his own. I want to see how I'm affected by unplugging from the world's largest platform for one year. I'm hoping that I will find deeper connections with people rather than feel disconnected; that my overall mood and demeanor will improve; that I will use the probably thirty plus minutes a day I spent on FB to do something that brings me more satisfaction - or to clean the house! I will update the blog with my progress and/or withdrawl. In the meantime if you need to contact me, shoot me a text, email or pick up the phone. I will do the same.
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