I love the Winn Discount in my 'hood. It took me a while to discover it. Mom was visiting me around the time I was moving from my first Brooklyn apartment in Carroll Gardens to my second Brooklyn apartment in Cobble Hill, just three blocks away or so. She was gossiping with my neighbor for a bit during the move and the woman mentioned Winn. Which was just up the street from my old place. And she was shocked and appalled that Mom had never heard of it and that I had never been there. And so Mom trudged over and fell in love. And bought an ashtray and lectured me for not getting out more.
It's one of those great places that sorta seems to have everything and they have it for rather cheap. This Twinkle copper and silver polish that my Mom hasn't been able to find in years? Winn has it. Backyard parties need a cheap tablecloth, cups and possible a baby BBQ? Winn has it. I couldn't find my wrench to work on my shower head of doom and didn't really want to spend a lot of money on a new one? Went to Winn. Got a decent wrench AND a pipe wrench all for under $10. Plastic tubs and wrapping paper and bathroom trash cans... all at Winn. Good times.
And just recently I was scouring all over looking for fly paper. No one has any. You can get a Raid spray thing that bombs your whole house, but it involves spending half an hour outside of the house with the cats and I fear I'd want to wash all my pots and pans and dishes after. And I don't have a dishwasher. Sooooo... I want fly paper. And finally on my way home from work I remembered WINN! Oh yeah, they had it. Flies are dying horrible deaths in my apartment right now. Good times. And while I was there, the woman at the check out counter complimented my purse. Such a happy place. Winn Discount.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Friday, August 19, 2005
Pot Luck
I work with Economists. Nerdy economists. With fairly poor social skills. Very awkward folks to be around sometimes. I think when I started here I sorta terrified them. With my talking about things other than finance. I'm just wacky that way. One of the guys I work with, who has come a long way socially since I first started with the group, once responded to my hello with, "What? What? Do you need some data?"
But since that time Sheena and I have become friends and Lovey joined the group and now things are a bit livelier. And we work very hard to find ways to entertain ourselves to keep from losing our minds. We sneak out for the occasional movie. We joke around all the time. We bitch and moan and mock. We have huge (covering entire conference room tables with food and drink) parties for our own birthdays and the occasional holiday. And on Thursday we decided to try a pot luck, just for the hell of it. And because the fussiest of my bosses was out.
We had seven layer dip, hummus, veggies, chipitos (the first tortilla chip to come out against double dipping), a chicken poppy seed casserole, fruit salad, and a very garlicky guacamole. Oh, and chocolate chip cookies. We've been the most popular section of the floor for two days now. With everyone wanting to know what the occasion was. And of course the whole time we were here gorging and talking smack about the firm every member of management on our floor walked by. Good times.
We think we'll do it again soon. Maybe I'll even make Spaghetti Pie!
But since that time Sheena and I have become friends and Lovey joined the group and now things are a bit livelier. And we work very hard to find ways to entertain ourselves to keep from losing our minds. We sneak out for the occasional movie. We joke around all the time. We bitch and moan and mock. We have huge (covering entire conference room tables with food and drink) parties for our own birthdays and the occasional holiday. And on Thursday we decided to try a pot luck, just for the hell of it. And because the fussiest of my bosses was out.
We had seven layer dip, hummus, veggies, chipitos (the first tortilla chip to come out against double dipping), a chicken poppy seed casserole, fruit salad, and a very garlicky guacamole. Oh, and chocolate chip cookies. We've been the most popular section of the floor for two days now. With everyone wanting to know what the occasion was. And of course the whole time we were here gorging and talking smack about the firm every member of management on our floor walked by. Good times.
We think we'll do it again soon. Maybe I'll even make Spaghetti Pie!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Slacker
I have been a horrible slacker. In so many ways. For one thing, I've slacked with the blog. Others have commented upon it. Including Daddy. Apologies. I will try to be better. Especially since one of the main reasons I started this damn thing was to encourage me to write regularly.
I have also slacked in many, many other ways. Which I've come to realize lately as I complain about one thing or the other. (I complain a lot, I'm a Gemini.) In many of the cases the person I'm complaining to (complaining at?) expresses sympathy and while I appreciate that sympathy I end up saying, "well, I only have myself to blame" or some variation on that. I have brought all these evils upon myself and now I'm going to have to work about a thousand times harder to fix everything so it can be maintained with average effort.
My Lawn. My beautiful, beautiful back yard. After my glorious day of mowing a million years ago I have neglected it. It was too hot or I was too tired or I wanted to do some weeding before mowing again or I had big plans or I know nothing about gardening (this last one is very true, I know NOTHING - Help ME!) blah blah blah. Whatever. I pussed out and now it's a jungle. The grass is super tall and I may have to whack it down before I can even mow it. Weeds have grown up so big and bad I think they might have devoured my azaleas. The back area which could be a great garden of some sorts is almost completely made up of weeds. The hammock is covered in twigs and things. The porch is littered with dried earthworm carcasses. It's a jungle. And it's my own damn fault. And I have to fix it. I've been yanking tall big weeds and pulling vines that are growing into the lilly bed. I have a few more hours of this before I can mow. 'Cause I want to try and yank the weeds out by the roots now that I can see them as weeds, which I don't think I'll be able to do so well once I've mowed them down. After I do that I'll mow. And after I mow I'll need to do more weeding and attack the back plot. And salvage the hammock. And sweep the porch. And clean the grill. All the while doing whatever I can to save the azaleas. I've cleared the weeds from them and have been watering them. But they're so brown and sad and I fear it might be too late. Still, it's not too late for the whole yard. And maybe after all this work I can have a yard that requires only a few hours of mowing and weeding a week in the spring and summer and only a few hours of maintenance a month in the fall and winter. We shall see.
The House. My apartment has gotten gross. It's a cute place but I have become the world's worst litterbox cleaner. And of course I chose to claim this title in the summer. When it's hot. And stinky. When the flies come out to play. Ah. The flies. One particularly bad time I just let the box go. For way too long. And the flies came. And now they won't leave. And I'll have to buy fly paper. And pray. And hopefully the flies will be gone soon. And one day the cats will remember that they're supposed to pee in the box and not on the floor beside the box. And life will be good. But, sadly, it's not just the catbox. Cat hair is on everything because I have some kind of aversion to my vacuum (maybe I need the Roomba). And I own too much crap and need to get rid of it. And I need to learn more about this verb "dust". I'm familiar with the noun "dust" as said noun is all over my furniture. I need to file all my papers and keepsakes away. I need to have a stoop sale and unload all the crap I collect because I have my Dad's compulsion to buy, buy, buy. I need to admit I'm never going to listen to the majority of my cassette tapes again and unload them. Things like that. I need to do my dishes and clean my fridge and reorganize my pots and my linen closet and all that crap. And I've started. Tuesday night, while avoiding more weeding (I weeded on Monday so hush up) I decided to clean the cat box which led to vacuuming which led to mopping which led to a pretty floor. Yay. And I tried out this pet hair/odor carpet thing last night that kinda works. You still need to put some effort into the vacuuming but it helps. Anyway, lots to do there, but I'm working on it.
My Fat Ass. As explored earlier this week, my eating and exercise habits are just embarrassing and it's led to a fat butt and a thick heart. Sometime in my adulthood I decided that eating a bag of chips while waiting for the mac (of boxed mac & cheese) to boil and then eating another bag of chips with the mac & cheese constituted an acceptable dinner. There are many other food crimes I used to commit on a daily basis, but I think I've embarrassed myself enough. You get the idea. And, as with everything else, it's all really my fault. My doctor was talking about getting me to a nutritionist and was asking me about how many calories I eat in a day. He was thinking I must have a slow metabolism and might need some help. And then I explained I eat about 3000 - 4000 calories a day. The fat ass, is all my own dam fault. I don't want to be as big as I am. I want to be in better shape. But until now I've never really wanted it enough. I would try diets for a while and eventually say screw it and inhale food again. I have tried different gyms and work outs and eventually gave those up. But it's just too much of a problem for me and now I must fix it. And I'm making progress so far. I'm down 10 pounds from my late June doctor's visit of doom. I'm paying more attention to what and how much I put in my mouth and I'm going out walking and all of that. Plus, the housework and yard work is making me more active and thus helping the ass as well. Though my poor interweb and TiVo are starting to feel a little neglected. Poor, poor little TiVo. Stuffed full on all those Daily Shows and bad shows I won't admit in writing that I watch.
My Job/Career. Once upon a time I was going to save the world. Then I was going to go to med school and become a doctor. And then I decided I was going to be an actress. The hell? A career where who you know and how you look matters more than anything else combined? Yeah, that's a wise choice for me. Or not. But I chose it, so I came to New York to do a little theatre and hang out while waiting for my fiance to graduate, at which point we could move elsewhere. The fiance didn't work out, New York and I fell in love and the acting attempt was rather half-assed. I quickly became disillusioned with the NYC theatre scene and decided to take a break and just make money and have a good time. That break has lasted years and years and I think I'm finally admitting I'm never going back to acting full time. Or even mildly part time. My current job pays me fairly well, but it's a crap job and I'm never going to go anywhere in it. And this is where I've been for a couple of years. But I don't know what to do and I don't know how to get out of the rut. But I have to get out of it. I have to find a job that gives me something more than a paycheck. It might just be me sending my resume out and seeing what sticks, trying something in theatre production or management. Or maybe going back to school and looking into becoming a therapist. I don't know. But I have to do something and I have to do it soon. 'Cause I'm tired of being a slacker in a job that kind of embarrasses me and makes me angry way too often. And that's the one thing on this list I've made almost no progress on. But it's on the list. This anti-slacker list.
I'm never going to land a husband now, am I? Now you all know the truth? The bad housekeeping, the fat ass, the constant complaining. Dammit.
I have also slacked in many, many other ways. Which I've come to realize lately as I complain about one thing or the other. (I complain a lot, I'm a Gemini.) In many of the cases the person I'm complaining to (complaining at?) expresses sympathy and while I appreciate that sympathy I end up saying, "well, I only have myself to blame" or some variation on that. I have brought all these evils upon myself and now I'm going to have to work about a thousand times harder to fix everything so it can be maintained with average effort.
My Lawn. My beautiful, beautiful back yard. After my glorious day of mowing a million years ago I have neglected it. It was too hot or I was too tired or I wanted to do some weeding before mowing again or I had big plans or I know nothing about gardening (this last one is very true, I know NOTHING - Help ME!) blah blah blah. Whatever. I pussed out and now it's a jungle. The grass is super tall and I may have to whack it down before I can even mow it. Weeds have grown up so big and bad I think they might have devoured my azaleas. The back area which could be a great garden of some sorts is almost completely made up of weeds. The hammock is covered in twigs and things. The porch is littered with dried earthworm carcasses. It's a jungle. And it's my own damn fault. And I have to fix it. I've been yanking tall big weeds and pulling vines that are growing into the lilly bed. I have a few more hours of this before I can mow. 'Cause I want to try and yank the weeds out by the roots now that I can see them as weeds, which I don't think I'll be able to do so well once I've mowed them down. After I do that I'll mow. And after I mow I'll need to do more weeding and attack the back plot. And salvage the hammock. And sweep the porch. And clean the grill. All the while doing whatever I can to save the azaleas. I've cleared the weeds from them and have been watering them. But they're so brown and sad and I fear it might be too late. Still, it's not too late for the whole yard. And maybe after all this work I can have a yard that requires only a few hours of mowing and weeding a week in the spring and summer and only a few hours of maintenance a month in the fall and winter. We shall see.
The House. My apartment has gotten gross. It's a cute place but I have become the world's worst litterbox cleaner. And of course I chose to claim this title in the summer. When it's hot. And stinky. When the flies come out to play. Ah. The flies. One particularly bad time I just let the box go. For way too long. And the flies came. And now they won't leave. And I'll have to buy fly paper. And pray. And hopefully the flies will be gone soon. And one day the cats will remember that they're supposed to pee in the box and not on the floor beside the box. And life will be good. But, sadly, it's not just the catbox. Cat hair is on everything because I have some kind of aversion to my vacuum (maybe I need the Roomba). And I own too much crap and need to get rid of it. And I need to learn more about this verb "dust". I'm familiar with the noun "dust" as said noun is all over my furniture. I need to file all my papers and keepsakes away. I need to have a stoop sale and unload all the crap I collect because I have my Dad's compulsion to buy, buy, buy. I need to admit I'm never going to listen to the majority of my cassette tapes again and unload them. Things like that. I need to do my dishes and clean my fridge and reorganize my pots and my linen closet and all that crap. And I've started. Tuesday night, while avoiding more weeding (I weeded on Monday so hush up) I decided to clean the cat box which led to vacuuming which led to mopping which led to a pretty floor. Yay. And I tried out this pet hair/odor carpet thing last night that kinda works. You still need to put some effort into the vacuuming but it helps. Anyway, lots to do there, but I'm working on it.
My Fat Ass. As explored earlier this week, my eating and exercise habits are just embarrassing and it's led to a fat butt and a thick heart. Sometime in my adulthood I decided that eating a bag of chips while waiting for the mac (of boxed mac & cheese) to boil and then eating another bag of chips with the mac & cheese constituted an acceptable dinner. There are many other food crimes I used to commit on a daily basis, but I think I've embarrassed myself enough. You get the idea. And, as with everything else, it's all really my fault. My doctor was talking about getting me to a nutritionist and was asking me about how many calories I eat in a day. He was thinking I must have a slow metabolism and might need some help. And then I explained I eat about 3000 - 4000 calories a day. The fat ass, is all my own dam fault. I don't want to be as big as I am. I want to be in better shape. But until now I've never really wanted it enough. I would try diets for a while and eventually say screw it and inhale food again. I have tried different gyms and work outs and eventually gave those up. But it's just too much of a problem for me and now I must fix it. And I'm making progress so far. I'm down 10 pounds from my late June doctor's visit of doom. I'm paying more attention to what and how much I put in my mouth and I'm going out walking and all of that. Plus, the housework and yard work is making me more active and thus helping the ass as well. Though my poor interweb and TiVo are starting to feel a little neglected. Poor, poor little TiVo. Stuffed full on all those Daily Shows and bad shows I won't admit in writing that I watch.
My Job/Career. Once upon a time I was going to save the world. Then I was going to go to med school and become a doctor. And then I decided I was going to be an actress. The hell? A career where who you know and how you look matters more than anything else combined? Yeah, that's a wise choice for me. Or not. But I chose it, so I came to New York to do a little theatre and hang out while waiting for my fiance to graduate, at which point we could move elsewhere. The fiance didn't work out, New York and I fell in love and the acting attempt was rather half-assed. I quickly became disillusioned with the NYC theatre scene and decided to take a break and just make money and have a good time. That break has lasted years and years and I think I'm finally admitting I'm never going back to acting full time. Or even mildly part time. My current job pays me fairly well, but it's a crap job and I'm never going to go anywhere in it. And this is where I've been for a couple of years. But I don't know what to do and I don't know how to get out of the rut. But I have to get out of it. I have to find a job that gives me something more than a paycheck. It might just be me sending my resume out and seeing what sticks, trying something in theatre production or management. Or maybe going back to school and looking into becoming a therapist. I don't know. But I have to do something and I have to do it soon. 'Cause I'm tired of being a slacker in a job that kind of embarrasses me and makes me angry way too often. And that's the one thing on this list I've made almost no progress on. But it's on the list. This anti-slacker list.
I'm never going to land a husband now, am I? Now you all know the truth? The bad housekeeping, the fat ass, the constant complaining. Dammit.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Thickness in the heart
So, it turns out I am too fat.
I haven't been a skinny little thing since I was a little girl. And a little while after that I was curvy and mostly happy with my body. Well, I was a girl growing up in America so of course I dieted and stressed about my weight and hated my thighs. It's a rite of passage these days. Sadly. But really, I was cute and all. In great shape; dancing, running around, active, not eating too badly. It was all good.
And then in college it started to go wrong. I'm not entirely sure why. Probably because of a whole bunch of things, as is usually the case. I wasn't dancing anymore. I spent more time being still than I used to. I developed horrible eating habits and learned I was capable of consuming whole bags of chips. I got older so my metabolism probably shifted some. I also just started to do fewer and fewer active things. So... I gained a lot of weight.
And I moved to New York. And went through much stress. And lost a bit of the weight. And it was good. But then, I went back to the bad college habits with twice the vigor. Consuming huge amounts of crap all the time. Spending lots and lots of time home in front of a computer and/or TV. Hermiting more than usual. Working at a desk job for 8-12 hours a day. Nothing scary. I have friends, I go out, I eat the occasional fruits and vegetables. It's not good. But it's not so bad I'd end up in a special interest story on fat hermits or something.
But that might be part of the problem. It was bad, but not so bad I worried much about it. I'd want to lose weight to be a little healthier or to be able to go hiking on harder trails or to look pretty or get massive amounts of sex (just kidding, Daddy). But it wasn't a huge thing for me. I've always kinda thought I was still cute and it's not like I can't do lots of physical stuff.
But, I've been to the doctor now. And at first he seemed happy about my attitude. I think he sees a lot of anorexics and bulimics and wasn't used to someone like me. Who has the opposite problem. Instead of seeing myself as fat even if I'm thin, I still have the idea that I'm the thinner girl I once was. I don't think I've ever truly seen how fat I am. Even when I think about how much I weigh, it didn't phase me. It didn't seem real. I would hear about people who looked huge and kind of unhealthy and they would weigh less than me and I would ignore that. Pshaw.
But I can't really Pshaw that now. Now I have to really look at my body. I'm not healthy It's not okay and I'm not able to go on like before, eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted (which is all the time). 'Cause I finally went to see a doctor for a physical. And we did some tests.
Now, it's nothing to freak out over. Right now I'm actually mostly healthy. But, all signs point to some seriously ugly health issues down the road. My blood work, my thyroid ulstrasound and my echocardiogram all show that if I don't fix things fast I'm well on the way to diabetes and heart disease, two of the very limited number of illnesses that do run in my family. And this has all scared the crap out of me. My doctor is a nice guy and keeps reminding me that I am healthy now. Which is good. But the echo showed I have some "thickness" in my heart. The hell. My god. I don't care how healthy I currently am. Hearing that freaked the fuck out of me. And thinking about it now it still scares me.
But, I need to keep a grip and remember that I'm lucky because I can fix this. The majority of this can be stopped and possibly even reversed if I just get my fat ass in shape. It's scary, but it's all under my control right now. If I sensibly lose weight and get more active I can fix this. And so I'm going to try. I've tried before and failed. Miserably. But now I have "thickness" in my heart. And hopefully that'll get me to where I need to be.
I also have a lot of support. Sheena and Lovey and Muppet all let me obsess about food and exercise as much as I want at work. Sheena is even cracking the whip over what I eat while I'm at work. Bitch made me give up half & half and mayo on my Subway sandwiches and American cheese on my breakfast burritos. And for that I hate her. And love her. Turnip is letting me vent and moan and whine and cry and is in it with me. And when it gets really hard my Mom is there to remind me that she had a heart attack and could've died and gave up smoking (a habit she had for longer than I've been alive) and I'm just being a damn pussy about the cheetos. Though she doesn't quite use those words. And I think when more folks figure out what's going on with me they'll probably be pretty good too. And won't make too many faces when I become that girl who can't talk about anything but food and calories. Oh dear god. Don't let me be that girl. Though, I guess right now I'd rather be that girl than the girl I will be if I don't get it together.
So. There you go. Just thought I'd share.
I haven't been a skinny little thing since I was a little girl. And a little while after that I was curvy and mostly happy with my body. Well, I was a girl growing up in America so of course I dieted and stressed about my weight and hated my thighs. It's a rite of passage these days. Sadly. But really, I was cute and all. In great shape; dancing, running around, active, not eating too badly. It was all good.
And then in college it started to go wrong. I'm not entirely sure why. Probably because of a whole bunch of things, as is usually the case. I wasn't dancing anymore. I spent more time being still than I used to. I developed horrible eating habits and learned I was capable of consuming whole bags of chips. I got older so my metabolism probably shifted some. I also just started to do fewer and fewer active things. So... I gained a lot of weight.
And I moved to New York. And went through much stress. And lost a bit of the weight. And it was good. But then, I went back to the bad college habits with twice the vigor. Consuming huge amounts of crap all the time. Spending lots and lots of time home in front of a computer and/or TV. Hermiting more than usual. Working at a desk job for 8-12 hours a day. Nothing scary. I have friends, I go out, I eat the occasional fruits and vegetables. It's not good. But it's not so bad I'd end up in a special interest story on fat hermits or something.
But that might be part of the problem. It was bad, but not so bad I worried much about it. I'd want to lose weight to be a little healthier or to be able to go hiking on harder trails or to look pretty or get massive amounts of sex (just kidding, Daddy). But it wasn't a huge thing for me. I've always kinda thought I was still cute and it's not like I can't do lots of physical stuff.
But, I've been to the doctor now. And at first he seemed happy about my attitude. I think he sees a lot of anorexics and bulimics and wasn't used to someone like me. Who has the opposite problem. Instead of seeing myself as fat even if I'm thin, I still have the idea that I'm the thinner girl I once was. I don't think I've ever truly seen how fat I am. Even when I think about how much I weigh, it didn't phase me. It didn't seem real. I would hear about people who looked huge and kind of unhealthy and they would weigh less than me and I would ignore that. Pshaw.
But I can't really Pshaw that now. Now I have to really look at my body. I'm not healthy It's not okay and I'm not able to go on like before, eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted (which is all the time). 'Cause I finally went to see a doctor for a physical. And we did some tests.
Now, it's nothing to freak out over. Right now I'm actually mostly healthy. But, all signs point to some seriously ugly health issues down the road. My blood work, my thyroid ulstrasound and my echocardiogram all show that if I don't fix things fast I'm well on the way to diabetes and heart disease, two of the very limited number of illnesses that do run in my family. And this has all scared the crap out of me. My doctor is a nice guy and keeps reminding me that I am healthy now. Which is good. But the echo showed I have some "thickness" in my heart. The hell. My god. I don't care how healthy I currently am. Hearing that freaked the fuck out of me. And thinking about it now it still scares me.
But, I need to keep a grip and remember that I'm lucky because I can fix this. The majority of this can be stopped and possibly even reversed if I just get my fat ass in shape. It's scary, but it's all under my control right now. If I sensibly lose weight and get more active I can fix this. And so I'm going to try. I've tried before and failed. Miserably. But now I have "thickness" in my heart. And hopefully that'll get me to where I need to be.
I also have a lot of support. Sheena and Lovey and Muppet all let me obsess about food and exercise as much as I want at work. Sheena is even cracking the whip over what I eat while I'm at work. Bitch made me give up half & half and mayo on my Subway sandwiches and American cheese on my breakfast burritos. And for that I hate her. And love her. Turnip is letting me vent and moan and whine and cry and is in it with me. And when it gets really hard my Mom is there to remind me that she had a heart attack and could've died and gave up smoking (a habit she had for longer than I've been alive) and I'm just being a damn pussy about the cheetos. Though she doesn't quite use those words. And I think when more folks figure out what's going on with me they'll probably be pretty good too. And won't make too many faces when I become that girl who can't talk about anything but food and calories. Oh dear god. Don't let me be that girl. Though, I guess right now I'd rather be that girl than the girl I will be if I don't get it together.
So. There you go. Just thought I'd share.
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