andrea tells you about oil pulling

Also, the miracles of MCT.

First of all, oil pulling has nothing to do with poor sad little pelicans suffocating under a layer of crude thanks to maleficent petroleum companies. (But if you didn't watch Rachel Maddow yesterday, be sure to check out her evisceration of BP's feel-good "save da birdies" spot. I'm sure it must be online. Oh, here, servicey. Do we like Rachel Maddow? Of course we do. She's awesome.)

What oil pulling actually is, is an ancient Ayurvedic technique that is--I wouldn't say trendy, but--it's a thing. I came across it accidentally on the internet. Well, duh. Anyway, one would think I would have PTSD about the whole Ayurvedic business, because my boss at the Evil Massage Place was really into it, having studied at the Chopra Center, but one cannot slur a whole ancient tradition just because some less than honest and forthcoming people are into it. So I have an open mind. And oil pulling is this: one swishes a mouthful of oil around one's mouth and through one's teeth vigorously for ten to fifteen minutes (!) and then spits it out. Why? Because it is very good for one's gums and teeth, reversing gum disease and whitening one's teeth and killing all the bacteria in there and getting all the debris out that one can't get at no matter how conscientiously one brushes and flosses. Apparently it makes one's hygienist extremely happy with one, or so internet chit chat would indicate. One small problem is what to do with the spat-out oil. Spitting a mouthful of oil into one's sink every single day would probably make one's plumber very happy too! And what kind of oil do people use for this? Well, several are popular because they have particularly antibacterial properties. Safflower, sunflower, and especially, coconut oil.

Which leads me to MCT oil. Do you know what that is? My son did. In fact, he kinda gave me the "duh" face when I asked if he'd heard of it. "Yeah. Medium chain trigycerides." Duh. Everyone knows that. What those do, apparently, is rev up the metabolism and increase fat burning in the body. They help with ketosis. And that is how I heard of them. D has heard of them because he orders his omega 3s from bodybuilder.com, and the gym rats are all into the MCT oil. And if you don't have the "pure" extracted MCT available, what contains a good load of it? Coconut oil. Besides pulling it through their teeth, people put it in their coffee, cook all their meals in it, and drink it by the spoonful. Uh, only a tablespoonful a day at first, because it you aren't adapted to it, too much is gonna lead to nausea and some probable time in the bathroom.

So, I wanted to try the MCTs before I ever heard of the oil pulling. I asked D to let me know when he was going to order from bodybuilder, so I could buy some with his order and save on shipping. Well, he didn't. And so I wandered into the Vitamin Shoppe the other day and asked if they sold it. They were out or something. But they did have coconut oil. In capsules. Since I wasn't sure I was going to be able to suck it down in my coffee anyway, I said what the hell and bought a bottle. Of course once I got them home and did the math, I figured out that I'd have to take twelve a day to make a tablespoon. Rip.off. But I've been taking them since Sunday and, if they're not doing anything else, they are keeping me regular! Then today I managed to find actual coconut oil (which is actually solid at room tempurature) at Shaws.

So I will be oil pulling! What can it hurt?

xoxo

seriously, i give up

I killed four bugs today before I even left the house, one of which was a moth which I'm sure was eating my effing sweaters before its untimely death, and one of which was a little tiny black thing that was crawling on my arm and which made me go (mentally), "OMG! What is it? What if it's a bedbug?!!?" despite the fact that I was not in bed, it was daylight, and it was not attempting to bite me. I feel like I am teetering on the verge of another bad anxiety period. But maybe it's just PMS. One never knows. (But if you think that thing was in fact a bedbug, please do not write and tell me so. Thanks! You're swell!)

So then I left for work, missed my bus, walked down to the bus stop where all the people want to talk to me to wait for the next one, and yes, spent twenty minutes with this kid who would not shut up, insisted that he knew me, insisted that I must have used to work at Marshalls, asked intrusive personal questions, told me he realized he was asking intrusive personal questions *and* that he was talking way too much, wanted me to pretend to the bus driver that I was his wife... It was fucking exhausting. And I'm pretty sure the reason he thinks he knows me is that he used to be my patient when he was a little kid. He told me how old he is, and the age is right for the person I am thinking of, as are certain of his physical characteristics, but he introduced himself by a different first name than the one I knew him by. On the other hand, the first name I knew him by (with the same first initial) was quite "ethnic" and maybe he just wants to go by something less unusual. In any case, it was exhausting. Did I mention that? Even when D was manic, he wasn't manic "at you" like that.

In any case, you would think I would have learned my lesson by now: don't walk down there, and put your damn earbuds in. I am really sick of people, by which I mean men, not giving me my own little personal space bubble in public. All of yous: I don't want to talk to you, and just because I'm a girl doesn't mean you have a right to talk at me. (I'ma make an exception for probably-convict-Perry, though. He was amusing and charming.) But this has been happening way too much lately. I gotta practice my "just fuck off" face in front of the mirror, because I'm apparently looking too approachable of late.

I'm done bitching!

xoxo

do me a favor

...and take a look at this website and tell me if it sounds shady and/or culty to you. They recently opened a franchise very conveniently located to my home and work, and from what you can see through the windows, it looks quite nice. Plus, the $20 per session of private/semi-private personal training is extremely reasonable, because that shit's expensive.

On the other hand, I know I do not want to follow their nutritional plan. The six small meals a day thing is really, really bad for me. It might do something good for other people's blood sugar and metabolism, but it just makes me ravenous with all the glucose spikes. Plus, the sample menu in the instructional video? 81 grams of carb in just the breakfast, including yogurt with sugar in it? I couldn't watch any more once they started talking about special "no cholesterol" eggs. If they believe cholesterol in your diet causes high blood cholesterol perhaps they should read some studies done after the fucking 1980s. So, no, I would not be following their food plan. But it doesn't seem optional.

Secondly, the whole "we don't accept everyone" thing is obviously a marketing ploy. I don't think people who buy franchises are looking to turn away anyone's bucks. It's all a cross between "if we make you think it's exclusive, you'll want it more" and the culty "oooo, you're special, we like YOU, won't you give us money?" Plus, what does "be coachable" mean? I'm thinking--and you guys know me, so correct me if I'm wrong--I probably am not. I have well-documented issues with authority.

Finally, the accountability thing is very vague and ominous. I could get into some very sick and twisted fantasies about what I would like my buff and terribly good-looking trainer to do if I don't meet my goals, but dudes, I bet they charge you extra penalty fees. (M1 goes to TOPS and they have to pay a token fine if they've gained weight at weigh-in, but I'm betting slick upscale franchise gyms would ding you more than a token amount.) And then, if they're shady, they could easily rig the scales or bodyfat measurement to make it seem like, oh, sorry, you haven't quite made goal, you haven't been working hard enough! Extra charges for you this week!

I think I've probably talked myself out of this, but whadda you think? Am I being overly cynical? Should I drop in and let myself get the sales spiel and argue about their diet plan? Now that I've dropped pretty much all the fat I wanted to, I really want to get everything tightened up and non-flabby and I know that means weights. So it's very very tempting.

xoxo

i.r.bored

It's Saturday morning, I'm at work, and I have nothing to do. Well, I do have a pile of archival CDs that need to be indexed and labelled, but that task is so very very tedious, I am pretending to myself it doesn't exist. I always say that I don't understand how anyone could ever be bored now that we have the interwebs, but I dunno. I am not being diverted at the moment.

So I think the answer to that is, of course, to blog. Then you guys can be bored right along with me. It's genius. First I'll tell you what I inexplicably spent money on yesterday, because I know my purchases are of endless interest. Ahem. I was reading a discussion *on the internet* about bras (that was diverting me!) and I wanted to pimp out my strapless bra, because it is the only strapless bra that I have ever owned that is comfortable and doesn't move, slip, etc etc. It has opened up a new world of summer clothing options for me. I wore a strapless maxi dress the other day! So armed with the number on the tag, I googled to see exactly what it's called, and I posted about it. But the googling led me to online lingerie shops, and because I was avidly reading everyone else's posts about their favorite bras, I kinda got overly excited and bought myself three new ones. Which, seriously, I think all the ones I wear now are like two years old, so a couple of them could be retired. On the other hand? I got my house insurance bill in the mail yesterday (not due till August though) and I had said to my dad, "I think I'm just going to pay the total amount, not do the quarterly thing." So you'd think a person who had decided just a couple hours before that they were going to pay off a big bill wouldn't be buying semi-pretty underwear willy nilly! Especially a person who has caved and started using the A/C. Oh, well. Just think of all the money I'm saving growing my own tomatoes. Ha!

See, I'm less bored already. My own stoopid sense of humor always cheers me up.

Oh, and you know what I used the other night? For Christmas, someone had given me a lavender aromatherapy kit, which I hadn't used, because I'm scared I'm allergic to lavender. Why's that, Andrea? Oh, I have this one ID photo (that I really should have retaken) in which my face is beet red because that week I had used some of the Benevolent L's crunchy granola health food store lavender sunscreen at the beach and had a reaction to it. Now, I think it's because lavender is known to cause photosensitivity, which makes it a fucking ridiculous ingredient to put in, y'know, sunscreen, but I've been kinda scared to use it in anything ever since. But this aromatherapy kit I got had pillow spray in it. You spray it on your sheets and pillows before you get into bed and it's supposed to help you drift off into peaceful slumber. Eh. I'm not sure it did anything. You know what really helps you drift off into peaceful slumber? An orgasm. But they can't merchandise that. Well, no, that's not true. I *have* heard there are stores in which you can buy-- Oh, never mind.

See, now I am really amusing myself. Maybe I can go tackle that tedious, tedious project for an hour. ::sniff:: You have helped me more than you can know. ::tear::

xoxo

updates you've all been waiting for

Oh, hush. Just pretend you listen to anything I say. I won't know the difference.

First of all, and extremely exciting (if you are me): my cherry tomato plants have little tiny green tomatoes on them, waiting to turn yellow! Have we found a species of vegetation Andrea cannot kill? Perhaps! I am psyched. It also occurs to me that I can use them to torture and/or behaviorally modify (pick which term you like) my son when they ripen. D loves garden cherry tomatoes perhaps as much as he likes any food. Very much a favorite. Well, since he's still fairly paranoid about going out into the yard or on the deck, I figure I can tell him he can have all the tomatoes off my plants that he wants, but he's gotta go out and pick them himself. I don't think it'll work--he's pretty good at passing up things he would otherwise really like to have or do in order to avoid the things that make him super anxious--but I'ma give it a shot. Oh, and in other gardening news, I planted some basil like last year, this time from seeds from Burpee instead of, like, Target, and it took it literally over six weeks to sprout. Germinate. Whatever you call it. That seems extreme. And some of the other seeds from Burpee didn't sprout at all. I call bullshit. I'm sticking to Target next year. On the other hand, Burpee did sell me tomato plants I haven't been able to kill, so there is that. And the basil is looking nice presently even if it was slow. And I do like getting their catalogue in the mail every January because it gives me hope. They do have some positives.

Secondly, my resolve to have nothing to do with the Red Sox till my wrath towards them has abated has been thwarted. Both the men in my house, separately, informed me immediately upon my arising "Pedroia got three home runs!!!***" I mean, I don't think I even got a good morning from either of them first. And then I had to listen to how fucking Papelbon blew another save--though it didn't matter because of Pedroia. So, my point is, I cannot boycott them even if I try. Nobody will shut up about the baseball in my house. Sigh.

And lastly, I broke down, gave in, caved. I put the A/C on last night. I couldn't take one more night of trying to fall asleep in 98% humidity. On the downside, there goes spending my electric bill money on pedicures and beer. On the upside, I weighed myself this morning and I was 3 pounds less than the last time I weighed myself on that scale. I think when it's really hot and humid in my house, my body retains water.

xoxo

*** Except my dad calls him "Detroia", like Detroit. This is an improvement over what he used to call him. I think he spent his entire rookie year butchering his name in ways that frankly were unfathomable even for a deaf man, so we don't even try to correct "Detroia" anymore. Close enough.

first thing's first

We are not going to talk about last night's abortion of a baseball game. No, no, no. No.

Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you that it was brought to my attention that other nations, such as the one Carla Bruni's husband runs, have a Minister of Sports. Why do we here in the greatest country in the world not have such a cabinet position? I think Mr Obama should get right on that. Never mind the Gulf and that situation in Afghanistan. Like he's gonna fix any of that anyway. (Bill Clinton was at the World Cup. Maybe he wants to be Minister of Sports! Lots of female olympic beach volleyball players to chat up.)

And speaking of chatting up, let's have a quick review of how to know the person you are attempting to chat up is less than interested. If your intended target is, say, reading, and you speak to them, and they answer politely but immediately try to return to their reading, they would like you to cease and desist. If your intended target answers your conversational gambits, but does not ask you any questions in return (i.e. "what do you do for a living?" is not answered with, "oh, I'm a such and such, what do you do?"), they would like you to cease and desist. And, finally, if they in desperation pointedly mention their "boyfriend" (girlfriend, spouse, whatever), they really would like you to cease and desist. Paying attention to this little bit of social intelligence may not get you laid more, but it isn't gonna get you laid less, lemme tell you.

Okay! Everyone have a lovely afternoon and stay out of that killer humidity. And if you must venture out into the killer humidity, use some product in your hair. (Is this a full-service blog or what?)

xoxo

like i was saying

See? I feel better already.

xoxo

i told you current events were too depressing

See here.

If I wanted to live in the Bible Belt, I woulda moved there. Stop messin' with my blue state paradise RMV. (Yes, yes, I know, it really isn't under their control. That does not make me less disapproving.) Honestly, I think all these "cause" license plates should be disallowed. To have a political/social/religious statement advocated on something issued by the state implies governmental agreement with said statement, even if falsely. If they absolutely must have these things to generate profit, perhaps they should be limited to issues that could not possibly be controversial to anyone. I mean, like, is anyone *in favor* of children getting cancer? (Actually some of the militant anti-children haters one runs across on the internet probably are, if it keeps the little bastard from sitting next to them on an airplane. Sigh.) But I'm sure if we thought hard enough we could come up with something everyone is in favor of. Kitten orgasms? Something. Put out a license plate supporting that, bitches.

Okay, I'm done getting worked up about things today. I'm just going to look at lolcats and online shop for things I don't intend to buy until my urge to rant dissipates.

xoxo

just remember

It's never your fault, and if it is, never admit it.

What brings this up, Andrea? Oh, apparently, it is Risk Management Month (once again I say: who knew?) and in honor of such, we've been getting a Risk Management "tip of the day" in our work email. I dearly wish I had had time to write this post while I was still at work, so I could quote verbatim***, but for the short version, see above.

Never admit to the patient you've screwed up. Never admit or suggest to the patient that someone else has screwed up. If you feel the need to apologize to or console the patient or the family because of a bad outcome, you may do that, as long as you do not admit you or anyone else is, or could possibly be, at fault. I've been reading these "tips" and thinking various thoughts. One thought may have been, "How do these Risk Management wonks sleep at night?" Another may have been, "See, this is exactly what is wrong with this society." And a third may just have been, "Oh, yeah, clinicians! we're just like American politicians!"

If I myself were in the position of having had an adverse consequence from medical care, whether because of human error or bad judgment, I would be much less likely to sue their asses if my caregivers apologized and took the blame. People make mistakes. If there is anyone reading this who would like to say they've never ever made an error in the course of their job, I would like to tell them they are a big fat lying liar. Everyone makes an occasional error, no matter how knowledgeable, skilled, conscientious, and careful they are. When you go into surgery, or the ER, you hope that today is not that day for your surgeon, nurse, anesthesiologist, etc, and that if it is, someone else catches it before anything bad happens. But if you are not a complete and clueless idiot, you know it could happen. You accept there is some risk involved in any treatment. That's why you sign those consent forms no one reads. But for a mistake to be made and then no one will admit to it? That's the kind of thing that pisses people off inordinately.

Now, I'm sure the Risk Management wonks are very good at their jobs--or they wouldn't be getting paid far, far more than I do, right?--and if they say "never admit" is how you protect yourself from lawsuits, who the hell am I to disagree? But it all feels as if it's lacking in both honor and morality to me. Do you remember a few weeks ago when some pitcher whose name I cannot remember and cannot be arsed to google right now because I'm already taking too long to write this was cheated out of his perfect game when the first base umpire made an outrageously bad call? Well, Mr Indemnity was kind of teasing me about why I hadn't written a frothing-at-the-mouth type blog post about that, and I had to say, I was not frothing. The umpire in question, upon seeing the replay, immediately took full responsibility for fucking it up and made an abject apology to the pitcher (who, himself being a class act, very graciously accepted it, saying what I said above: everyone makes mistakes.) Maybe it's completely different because there's no legal precedence for suing someone because they falsely took away your perfect game. But I can't help but think the world is a better place when everyone behaves like that.

In my quest to be a better person, that's one of the things I've been working on for years: taking responsibility for my own behavior and apologizing if I have wronged someone else, whether by accident, from negligence, or from pure weakness, without making excuses for myself. It's the last part that's the hardest for most of us to get right, I think. Explanations are fine, but letting explanations lapse into excuses is not. Imagine if that umpire had apologized and then said, "...but I couldn't help it because my view was obscured" or "if only MLB allowed instant replay on these calls, it wouldn't have happened." A whole different thing than "I take full responsibility and I am so very sorry." Anyway, that is what I am shooting for. I don't think I am there yet or maybe anywhere close, but I'm working on it day by day. But I'd better not AT WORK, I suppose!

xoxo

*** Though I'm kinda thinking that leaking that stuff in a public forum may possibly be the kind of thing that gets one fired. Or given a timeout, a spanking, something.

things I feel compelled to tell you

1.) I was up really late last night, having watched the end of the Sox game (and why did a 2-0 game take approximately three and a half hours? because it was a national broadcast, silly), and so it came to pass that D put on CNN and I got to see (and you *can't* unsee it) the Larry King show. It must have been a repeat because they mentioned "June" as if that were some time in the future. But, in any case, his guest for the whole show was Mick Jagger. Now, you may or may not remember, but a couple years ago I saw that Stones concert movie in IMAX, and the prospect of Mick's face, not to mention Keith's for god's sake, sixty feet high was a little frightening, but I lived through it. Can I say? Mick has either gotten work done since then or, perhaps, put on twenty pounds, because his face on Larry King looked twenty years younger. He looked *really* good, such that I could remember why exactly I found him incredibly sexy when I was 18. But if that is due to plastic surgery, I don't know. I mean, he's Mick fucking Jagger. That seems beneath him. Also, listening to him be interviewed for 45 minutes, it really struck me that he seems like an extremely smart guy. Not just smart-for-a-celeb, but really smart. So, I guess the moral of this story is that I've come back around again, and if the opportunity arose, I'd do him. If he wore like three condoms.

2.) D had a psych appointment this morning which meant, of course, that we also went to the ghetto Shaws market. And I saw something I have never seen before. The woman ahead of us, having shopped for half a cart full of food, and having ran it through the checkout line, and having had it rung up and bagged, then decided that the total was too much and that she wasn't buying *any* of it. So she told the cashier, thanks but no thanks, abandoned the cart there ahead of us, and walked out. Wow. Just...wow.

3.) I recently had an appointment with one of my patients who is D's age, but whom I have known since she was probably five or six. I see her just once a year these days. She is at least severely learning disabled, and may perhaps be technically classified as mildly retarded, but frankly, she presents as no less bright than many of the people you and I deal with every day. She also has some psychiatric issues. Like all these kids we've seen forever and whom I only see annually or so at this point, it's always nice to see her come in and hear how she's doing. Today I was extremely surprised, because she had a whole new hair color. A natural blond, she is now dark auburn. I asked her what made her decide to become a redhead. She told me that the cat she'd had most of her life had had to be put down, and that she didn't take it very well. In fact, she became quite depressed over it. So she told me she went dark with her hair "to match her mood." Does that sound like someone whose IQ is in the retarded range? I think not. There's a certain level of insight there. I dunno. Sometimes I think a lot of neuropsych testing is complete crap. (D had some the first time he was hospitalized his senior year which drew some conclusions that were fairly laughable. I really don't know how they get away with calling it a science.)

4.) Are you all getting ready to see Ubaldo kick some Red Sox butt on Wednesday? Lackey's pitching! Excuse me while I laugh hysterically.

Happy official first day of summer and/or Monday, whichever you prefer to celebrate.

xoxo

Addendum: Did you SEE my Freudian slip before I fixed it? Ha!

i need to register a protest

...with the Tampa Bay *Devil* Rays.

I'm sure nobody will have noticed this but me, but apparently they ran out of relief pitchers, so they asked Mr James Shields to pitch an inning. Which he did. And he got the win. Mr Shields is, if you do not remember, one of my fantasy guys. Do you know how valuable it is in fantasy terms to have one of your guys get a win while only using up one inning? Pretty damn fucking valuable.

However, since I DID NOT HAVE HIM IN MY LINEUP BECAUSE WHO THE HELL WOULD THINK HE WAS EVER GONNA MAKE A RELIEF APPEARANCE, it is all just a sad academic footnote to me. Devil Rays, do not ever do that again, 'cause it just pisses me off, 'k?

In somewhat related news, everyone (except perhaps my kid, who is tangentially interested, and, y'know, the commissioner) in my real life snickers when I start talking about fantasy baseball. I think you all, and everyone else, should try harder to be nicer to geeks. Making fun of people's nerdy hobbies is just rude. Also, I know better than to bring up weight loss and low carb eating theories except in very very low doses, because THAT makes people's eyes glaze over. So, basically, I cannot talk about anything I'm currently interested in. I think I got a better reception when I was blathering on about Buddhism and Hoarders, fer crissake.

I would try to develop more socially approved topics of conversation but I don't have any cute grandchildren, nor do I have a husband to bitch about, I don't get to go on any vacations, I'm sick of politics and current events are too depressing, and talking about one's pets is NOT as socially approved as people seem to think it is. I guess I'll have to settle for being a good listener and expending all my conversational mojo in here where y'all can click away when you're sick of me.

xoxo

first beach day of the year

And it was fabulous. I'm too tired to say much more, but it was lovely, and I'm sure that the vitamin D I soaked up more than made up for the possible skin cancer and the probable age spots I incurred. Also, I ate no chips, so it is possible. The minor downside is that I apparently missed a really good Sox game.

Now I'ma go to bed without showering off the sand that is still stuck to me. One of the minor upsides to being a poor pathetic spinster who sleeps alone except for her cat, yo! Hope you all enjoyed the perfect weather in whatever way you like best. And Happy Father's Day!

xoxo

if it's friday, it must be random

1.) First of all, lemme just tell you or remind you that Ubaldo won another game yesterday. I am hoping the rotation works out such that he will pitch against the Sox when they are in Colorado next week, but I haven't stopped and figured it out yet. It has been suggested to me that I price plane tickets to Denver, but alas, I have neither the budget nor the lifestyle to consider such things. More's the pity. Also, I need to register a complaint. When Ubaldo was 12-1, I read some list of pitchers who had started out their seasons thusly. The one that stuck in my mind was Roger Clemens 1986 (and as Mr Barma said to me, "And look how that turned out." Ha!) Then when Ubaldo won number trece yesterday, I read that Roger Clemens started the 1986 season 14-0. Both of these facts cannot be correct, and one would think online sports news sources would have better fact-checking. Boo! I wish I knew off the top of my head, but at the beginning of the 1986 Sox season I had a newborn baby and was getting approximately three hours sleep a night. That fucks with one's ability to form long term memories. (Except I know Chernobyl was in the spring of '86 because I was home on maternity leave following it. Did Roger Clemens's stellar pitching help those poor Ukrainians? NO.)

2.) What else happened in the spring of 1986? Celtics won an NBA championship. Unlike last night. And that's all I have to say about that, except to note that it will have made both my son and Our Lil MILF very sad. Which, y'know, I think is a good thing overall. These kids these days have become too used to the Pats and the Sox and even the Celtics winning stuff like playoff games and championships. They need to learn the heartbreak of a crushing loss like we Boston sports fans of old. It's character-building!

3.) I read an article yesterday about "disposable clothing" and the environmental and social impact of that, the moral being buy less and if you do buy, buy this fairly expensive and pretty damn ugly clothing made by these few designers who are actually "green" and socially responsible. Can I just say, I am sick of feeling guilty about everything I do. Every action that we do has far-reaching consequences, and thinking that if I do x which is a good thing without considering that also means y which negatively impacts something else is stoopid. Like, yeah, I've bought some of my new work clothes from the Gap recently. Yes, they were probably made in sweatshops. Yes, the textile factories that produced the cotton they are made of use lots of energy and pollute the water. If I and people like me didn't buy them, however, probably those sweatshops slaves would lose their jobs and a crappy, crappy abusive job is preferable to STARVING. Plus the college kids who sell me those Gap clothes would lose their jobs, and where would their beer money come from then? And if the college kids don't have beer money, the local drinking establishments tank, which means more job loss. And if there are no bars and clubs, where do the up-and-coming musicians play? Do I want to be responsible for the death of live music because I didn't buy a cheap cardigan to cover up my cleavage? I mean, hopefully I don't need to give you all an irony alert tag, but you see my point. The economic, social, and environmental impact of everything we do is so complex, it's impossible to do some mythical "right thing." Also, let me say this: yes, I wouldn't have to have bought all these new work clothes if the ones I bought 3 years ago hadn't fallen apart, but I cannot help that either. I didn't save all my well-made clothes from 1980 which didn't fall apart when you washed them 20 times and my workplace probably frowns on me showing up in garments with visible holes in them. It's not in the dress code but I think it is implied. (Side point: in the comments on this article, a bunch of women suggested the green answer to all this is buying vintage. I can only assume they are all college students, because as much as I love vintage, you cannot wear it to a regular job. Vintage looks vintage. Okay, if you're a hairdresser or a record store clerk or that extremely adorable waitress at the Gulu that I have a girl crush on, but most professional people can't dress like that at work. Real life slaps your idealism upside the head once again.)

4.) Remember how I bitched in here about that Tom Myers fascia film commentary/lecture that cost $50 to attend? Well, I saw M2 this week and while she did not attend either, some other friends of ours did. One of them left her a message about it afterwards, which I will paraphrase. "He said everything we know and everything that he was about to tell us is wrong or will be wrong in five years, which made me wonder why I was sitting there listening to it." Ha! Glad I saved my fifty bucks.

5.) Read "Good Calories, Bad Calories" by Gary Taubes. Then report back. (Maybe the science in that will all be proven wrong in another ten years, but for now it's pretty compelling.)

6.) Have a great weekend. It's gonna be hot, hot, hot. I would like to go to the beach, but I cannot eat potato chips. How can I reconcile those two things?

xoxo

it would be EPIC

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i love this!

This is a quote from the blog of a personal trainer named Martin Berkhan, which I saw linked to elsewhere:

"Never attempt to train yourself into a caloric deficit. Don't spend hours on the treadmill. Diet comes first, cardio second. The dumbest fat loss strategy ever devised is used by people that wake up early in the morning before going to work to do cardio and follow that up with "recovery shake." Congratulations, you just wasted two hours of your life. Cardio is good for cardiovascular health, but most people use cardio as a fat loss tool - and force themselves through regimens that aren't very conducive to their daily routine (or mental sanity). Next time, skip the shake and the cardio. Sleep two hours longer, but skip breakfast and fast until lunch time. This way you can create the same caloric deficit with the added bonus of feeling more rested and having saved more time. You'll be much better off."

As you can see, he is apparently a proponent of Intermittent Fasting and laziness. My kind of guy! I think I need to start reading him regularly.

I am tempted to tell you the good and the bad of my own fat loss battle, but I know y'all aren't interested. Too bad. I'm gonna tell you anyway. So, the good. I went shopping this weekend and finally I think I have enough warm weather work clothes. The good part is that I've been kind of in-between two sizes, so when I was trying things on, I brought both sizes in. However, in every case, the smaller size fit better now. Yay!

The bad? Well, in the evil, evil fitting room in Macys (truly, the lighting in there is so horrible, I don't know how they sell anyone anything), I got a good look at the back of my arms in one of those 3-way mirrors. Holy shit, but I now have this saggy flabby skin in my arm/armpit/back area. I'm sure it looks worse in there than it does out in the world, but still. Now I'm self-conscious about it. And I was feeling so good about wearing my spaghetti strap dresses and such. Boo!

In summary, you should not get up early tomorrow and run, but I should probably go lift some weights.

xoxo

smilin and stylin

I read an article yesterday, which I will not even link to, about how different breast shapes have gone in and out of vogue over the last 50+ years. And I'm not talking the shape the brassieres of the day made them into, 'cause that's too easy. No, I'm talking how nekkid boobs published in Playboy in 1955 differed from the ones published in 1968 differed from the ones published in '76 etc etc, all the way to the present day. Looking at a pictorial retrospective was...enlightening? Or weird. One of the two.

If you're a woman, it's kind of hilarious to figure out which decade yours are. Mine are kinda 70s crossed with 50s. I think.

In a similar vein, I also read a recent article with pictures of all your shirtless sword-and-sandal movie actors through the decades (because of Prince of Persia) and it is amazing how the "six pack" is such a recent invention. I mean, obviously those same set of abdominal muscles were always there, but no one cared to develop them such that they were popping out all over the place until very recently. Which may be why they really don't do anything for me. No one had them in the 70s, so I didn't imprint on them. On the other hand, we did have massive chest hair fetishization in the 70s and I've never been down with that. So never rule out the force of personal preference, I guess!

It's really interesting to me how we end up physically attracted to what we are physically attracted to, how culture plays a role and how it doesn't. And how some people have such a strong "type" and others do not. Let's, for example, take a few of my celebrity fantasy boyfriends. What do Anthony Kiedis, Neil Gaiman, and David Duchovny have in common? Physically, probably not all that much. (And my lust for Mr Gaiman is more cerebral than physical anyway, though he's hot for a writer--which is, y'know, damning with faint praise as they say.) But why do I think Anthony and David are sexy? It's something about the look in the eye. That can't go in and out of fashion. It can't even be quantified. (Anthony, sweetie! If you're into 70s boobs, you know who to call! Ha!)

We'll call my type "I can see your inner freak and I like him." That works, huh?

xoxo

the miracle of...

Do you like the redecorating in here?!? Of course you do.

Now then. Since I have been boring you all senseless, I see no need to change tacks. Let's discuss a couple pregnancy/birth related articles I've read today. Easy one first. Apparently there's been some kind of backlash (in the media at least) about dads in the delivery room. Well, I'm sure I've told you all before about how I snapped at my ex during labor because he was rubbing my back the wrong way and I made the student nurse, who I'd bonded with immediately, take over "because she knows what she's doing." You people think I'm a bitch when I'm PMSing? You should see me in excruciating pain! But, yeah, I woulda probably wanted to have my mom with me if I'd had a choice. Of course, she was a super squeamish individual, so that would never have worked out. If my grandmother hadn't been 80 by then, she would have been perfect. She woulda made me feel better *and* she'd have known what's what. I dunno. I guess that giving birth felt like such a primal and womanly thing to me, I wanted other women around me, even if (like my little student nurse) they hadn't given birth themselves or even seen it. But I also know I'm an outlier. Many many women rhapsodize about having had their husbands or baby daddies in the delivery room. So, I guess what I'm saying in this: everyone should do what they want. Do what you do. Easy peasy.

Secondly, there's apparently an 18 year old woman in Australia (her first name is Ambah. Spelled like that, yes indeed. White trashery knows no international boundaries!) who, having given birth at the tender age of 16 or 17, has now borrowed $13,000 to get a boob lift, tummy tuck, and vaginal rejuvenation so her body will return to its former glory. I'm not exactly sure why this is a news story, as uncomfortable as it may be to contemplate, because she's a legal adult who can unwisely borrow all the money she wants and have all the elective surgery she can convince her (Malaysian) doctors to perform. But I guess it surprises me most because I was under the apparently sad misconception, based solely on the one data point of, y'know, *me*, that the younger you are when you give birth, the easier it is for your body to snap right back. I mean, I gave birth at 23, had my pregnancy weight melt right off me effortlessly as soon as I was done nursing, never got a stretch mark on my belly***, and while said belly wasn't ever quite as flat as it was prepregnancy, I didn't have any loose or hanging skin there. I thought this was all because I was in my peak physical condition then, but apparently I was just damn lucky. Huh. (Also someone had told me to rub vitamin E oil on my belly as it was expanding, and I think that works. If you get knocked up, do it too and report back, 'k?)

***My boobs are another story, having been stretch-marked from puberty and then again from birth control pills, breast feeding, weight gains and losses, etc etc from age 12 to the present. They are pretty atrocious, but I will say, only one guy I have ever slept with ever made a remark about them, so I think that worrying about your stretch marks is one of the ways chicks unnecessarily make themselves crazed. No one gives a fuck about them but you.

And don't get me started about vaginal rejuvenation, especially in an 18 year old who's had one kid. Do some fucking kegels and knock a few thousand bucks off the surgery bill. What a scam. Probably thought up by some plastic surgeon who wanted a new sailboat *and* had a small dick.

Okay. That's all I have to discuss about procreation today. So far.

xoxo

just another reason

(photos courtesy of jezebel)

Here's my girl Rihanna at the beach in an unretouched paparazzi photo. Is she not the picture of a beautiful, healthy, genetically-fortunate young woman who apparently is not afraid to eat some actual food once in a while? Is she not perfectly lovely in every way? Is there even one thing to be criticized about her body? (Okay, it's possible she has ugly feet--we can't see them, after all--but everything visible is gorgeous.)



Now here's my girl Rihanna photoshopped on the cover of ELLE magazine to look thinner. Yes, thinner.



There is no way a woman can be good enough. None.

xoxo

invasive personal questions part 2

Oh, I should probably always just wait at my own bus stop, not walk down to the Dunkin Donuts, 'cause there's always other people waiting there and apparently they all like to chat. With me. Today I had a guy ask me if I took any psychiatric medications. Stop laughing. It wasn't a spontaneous question; it came up in conversation. Him, I felt totally comfortable laughing at and telling that was kind of too personal a question to ask someone whom you've just met, because he was totally flirting with me through the whole conversation, and when someone's flirting with you, you can give them a hard time.

We had quite the wide-ranging conversation, me n' Perry. (Name not changed to protect the innocent, unless he uses an alias when he flirts with chicks at the bus stop.) I told him things about the neighborhood, now-closed, skeery biker bar that he did not know, then I had to swear I'd never been in there. Ha! I also told him how he could've easily gotten where he wanted to go yesterday evening when he missed his bus and there wasn't another one for an hour and a half. He told me that's why women are smarter than men. (You're liking Perry already, huh?) And while Perry is not the future contractor second ex-husband of my dreams, something in the conversation leads me to believe that what he is, is a landscaper. Ooo, baby.

Unfortunately, other things in the conversation, like the fact that he was taking two buses to Danvers Square, then walking to Topsfield (that's a long fuckin' walk, look it up), leads me to believe that Mr Perry has recently lost his license, most probably for drunk driving or other very very naughty behavior. That's the problem with meeting people on the prison bus! Many of them are felons! In fact, Perry was very buff for a guy my age, and while I would like to charitably ascribe that to, like, landscaping and manly physical labor, there's always the chance he's just been lifting in prison. They've got good weight rooms there from what I hear.

Happy Tuesday, bitches! Get out there on the streets, because I think there's something in the air today. You too can probably get amusingly hit on by inappropriate people if you leave the house right now.

xoxo

i weep for the educational system in this country

As I mentioned, I've been reading the weight loss support forums. And as I've also mentioned, I don't hold any set-in-stone ideas about what constitutes optimal nutrition for everyone because there's a new study contradicting an old study contradicting another study every week. But I do know some basic scientific facts and I do know what logic is and I know how to use google to look up the basic scientific facts that I don't know off the top of my head. So as you might imagine, reading what other average (mostly) Americans espouse just about makes my head explode.

When I'm home perusing this shit on my couch during a Sox game, I read the most egregious offenders aloud to D for his amusement. Like yesterday? Let me first tell you that there are some people out there who call themselves carnivores and eat nothing but meat. They are usually a subset of the "Paleo" people who think we are evolved to eat nothing but what our ancestors ate a hundred thousand years ago or something. Some of them believe in eating raw meat. Good luck with that, and uh, what I said the other day about feeling better about yourself by eavesdropping on public transportation? Reading fringe forums on the internet is just as good!

So, to end the digression, yesterday some woman who is exploring this dietary concept says, "We're made of mostly meat and water, so it makes sense that we put that back in." I read that to D, who said, "What?!" and started laughing. "No, it doesn't." I won't tell you how many tries it took my kid to pass Spanish I, but the boy understands logical thinking. Psychotic disorder and all. Oh, and as another digression, if you've never read this, you should. It'll only take you a couple minutes.

Today, I could not hold myself back, and had to post an actual fact to rebut the people who were insinuating that someone who had one glass of wine Friday could be falsely showing ketosis because she's burning off the alcohol. From about 2 seconds of googling, I ascertained that one drink is metabolized in about an hour and a half, and even if you get shitfaced and your BAC is .15, all the alcohol is metabolized in about ten hours. So, no, none of us is still metabolizing what we drank Friday night. Jesus wept. Does no one know how to look up a fact? Do they not teach you that in school? Does anyone understand that some things *are* actually facts, not opinions? (Oh, wait, we have a whole birther movement in this country. Apparently not.)

I did hold myself back from contradicting the woman who claimed that *everyone*, no exceptions, who eats a high carb diet will get health problems from it eventually. I mean, I guess she could tell me my father, who, as you know, eats his body weight in donuts and CheezIts in a year, is still going to get diabetes in another ten years, but if I could live to 94 and *then* get diabetes while eating CheezIts all along the way, I think that's a fair tradeoff.

In summary, people are stupid and our schools teach them nothing about critical thinking.

xoxo

beauty in america

If you'd like to watch a documentary about all the shit I'm always going on about, here you go!

If you have Netflix, you can watch it instantly right now. Uh, yeah, instantly and right now are the same thing. I knew that. N E Way, while I will agree with some of the reviews that it does jump around a little too much and that many of the points covered we all already know, I still thought it was interesting. Most interesting? The 12 year old 6 foot tall model whose story is woven through the whole film and who is washed up by age 15. That's how you have perfectly firm and flawless skin without a trace of womanly fat: be twelve! Let's have adult women's "aspirational" images be of girls who haven't quite finished puberty yet but who are made up to look 25, and then we can wonder about why most of them are insecure about their bodies. Want to know why she's washed up at age 15? She's got 37 inch hips and without shaving off bone, they probably aren't getting smaller. Also interesting? The panel of douchebros who are interviewed throughout, expressing just about what you would expect from the worst of a bunch of douchebros in a pack--namely the most objectifying and obnoxious remarks about women and their looks that you would imagine--and they still get laid. Apparently. It's the Tucker Max phenomenon. One does admit he has a small dick, which is hilarious.

But the best part? At fashion week (I think) the filmmaker asks a bunch of celebs what beauty is, and who should pop up but Anthony Kiedis. He tells the filmmaker (a chunky, balding black man) that he is beautiful, 'cause he's got a gentle, soulful handshake. Oh, Anthony. Then at the very end, the filmmaker reflects on how honestly touched that compliment made him feel. I think this goes to my earlier post. If I met Anthony, I probably wouldn't be disappointed, because he seems like a sweet guy. A sweet, stoned all the time, surfer dude type guy, but nevertheless!

xoxo

domingo

You'll all be thrilled to know that I woke up feeling less like cutting a bitch today. Perhaps scrubbing the hell out of my kitchen yesterday and now having a clean floor in there has something to do with that. Perhaps. I will say this: I weighed like a pound and a half more on my scale this morning, nekkid, than I did on the scale in my boss's office yesterday, clothed, and I usually weigh a pound more on that scale. So apparently I am retaining a bunch o' fluid. This may be a sign in favor of PMS. Or maybe the humidity is still effing with me.

So, old business wrapped up, let's move on to new business!

Is everyone in Arizona really this douchey? Seriously? I think my favorite Dominican should refuse to pitch there. That'd show them. No, actually, he should pitch there with an attitude of, "oh, yeah, you got a problem with the Latinos? let's see your fastball, you racist fucks."

Did I tell you? I planted some (yellow) cherry tomato plants in containers on my deck and while I thought I had probably killed them while transplanting with my black thumb, they are actually doing great. One of them has a bunch of flowers on it, so I'm very excited. There's a lot of sun up there, and there's been just enough rain that I haven't had to water them too often, but they aren't getting drowned either. Our elderly neighbor whose yard backs up to mine and who used to give us some of his excess tomatoes told me he wasn't planting any this year since his all rotted in that horrible six weeks straight of rain we had last June and July. So I'm extra glad I might actually grow a few of my own.

Have any of you ever met a famous person that you had previously admired or been a big fan of and found out that they're actually an asshole? If so, did that affect your ability to admire their work/accomplishments? I have never really met anyone actually famous, though I was in an elevator with Joe Lansdale and his wife once. They seemed very pleasant in that chatting-with-strangers-in-an-elevator way, but I was too shy to tell him that I love his writing. We've also had at least a couple Boston sports figures, retired and unretired, have their kids seen in my department, but never such that I had to deal with them. Oh! And someone who used to be on SNL was seen at The Evil Massage Place when I was there, but I did not work on them, the shiatsu lady did. She said this person just seemed really, really tired. So I have no experience with this. Just curious.

My FIOS has been slightly wonky the last few days. Bite me, Verizon.

xoxo

the more things change

This apparently is going to be my 1005th blog entry. Who knew? In the grand tradition of this blog, I will now proceed to tell you what a pissy, pissy mood I am in. I hope this is due to PMS, because I am late and I would like to think my losing a few pounds has not fucked up my cycle completely, but it's probably just because I am a cranky bitch. Let the listing of grievances commence.

1.) It is approximately 120% humidity today. (Yes, I know that is scientifically impossible. Have you never heard of exaggerating for effect? God.) Turn on the A/C, you cheap bastard, I hear you thinking. Tempting but no. My electric bill last month was perhaps the lowest it has been in, I dunno, forever. I do not know how exactly that happened--I mean there have been other months in which neither A/C nor heat have been required--but I am now motivated to continue the trend. So I will suffer. But humidity is not kind to my hair and I do not enjoy the feeling of my clothes stuck to my body. It makes me cranky.

2.) Though the weather forecast has maintained for three days that today was going to rain most or all of the day, there has been no rain since I got home from work. I was, however, thus deterred from doing anything outdoors, like going for a nice walk or working in the yard. If I had gotten anything accomplished today--exercise or pulling weeds, say--I might be less cranky. But now I just feel super cranky, sluggish, and disgusted with myself.

3.) The cat puked upstairs at some point while I was at work. Upon discovering this, I said loudly to the other people who live in this house, "The cat threw up!" They pretended they did not hear me, OR that I was stating this for purely informational purposes. So the puke stayed there until I picked it up.

4.) There was some kind of bug flying around this house that I could not even identify but had to kill. I don't like insects and I especially don't like mystery insects and I don't like that the reason these motherfuckers can get into my house is that even the screens I have that are more or less intact have teeny holes in them from certain vomiting evil house pets.

5.) My house is a pit. I've been psyching myself up to really clean it for three weeks now and that hasn't happened. I don't have enough energy to work out, keep the outside of the house decent enough that the neighbors don't call the city on me, cook, run everyone's errands for them, *and* clean. I'm not even gonna say that I don't have the time, because I probably do, but I don't have the emotional energy. Something's gotta give, because I think a person deserves some time to sit on the couch watching baseball or take a trip to the frightening countryside. I envy people who have boundless physical and mental energy, but I am not them. AS YOU KNOW, I am lazy. Adding more regular working out and yardwork to the agenda with the coming of spring/summer means my house is now once again a pit. Okay, a semi-pit.

6.) And I hate everyone. That includes you. Yes, you. No offense. (This is sounding more and more like PMS, praise Jesus.)

7.) A bunch more interpersonal shit that I do not feel like detailing in a light and entertaining manner. Too bad, so sad.

We'll stop at seven. That's a lucky number. Now I'm going to go clean the fuck out of this house.

Namaste, bitches.

xoxo

if it's june

...that means it's time for more "post a bunch of random crap in one entry"!

First point of order. I have to emphasize that there is nothing that will make you feel more normal, more full of good judgment, and more in possession of general life skills than eavesdropping on public transportation. I highly recommend it when/if you start thinking, "Gee, everything in my life is so fucked up right about now." Today's example? A gentleman (probably my age) taking his son (probably in first or second grade) to school. Child does not have his spelling folder nor his glasses since they are at "mommy's house." Some discussion ensues about the fact that no one knew he was going to stay with dad last night, but it is mysteriously absent of details that would allow yours truly to figure out just why that is. Such a pity. Anyway, dad says, "Do you remember when I went to court? That's when the judge said dad could visit you." Um, okay, not sure that the MBTA is quite the venue for explaining to your seven year old about custody battles, but what the hell do I know? Anyway, then dad is talking about picking the kid up this afternoon. "You know Jennifer***? Who has dad's baby? [Ed note: look into a vasectomy, buddy] Jennifer who lives with Crystal? I'm going to have Jennifer give me a ride to come get you, so you're not stuck there. I don't want to go to mommy's house in case she's there, so we won't argue." Sadly, then we were at my stop and so I did not get to hear any more explaining of domestic difficulties to a child whose age is in the single digits. But that's some good parenting right there!

Secondly and still about the MBTA, I want to talk about manners and courtesy and so forth. The other day on my way back from Marcy's, on a packed rush hour Green Line train, I saw a woman who was probably in her thirties get up and give her seat to another woman who was holding a young child on her hip. What particularly impressed me about that was that the woman giving up her seat was dressed in "office clothes" and had on probably 3-3 1/2 inch heels, and it is not easy to stand on a Green Line train in heels. They take a lot of corners! It got me thinking that over the past several years almost**** every person I have seen give up their seat on the subway for someone else who needed it has been a woman in her mid-twenties to fifties. (This does not hold true for the prison bus, however. Those felons are pretty considerate towards the elderly and mothers with strollers.) I don't know why the college kids and men of all ages are generally so selfish and rude on the train, but that has been my observation of late. On the other hand, this morning at my bus stop, the (Central American) gentleman waiting with me stepped aside so I could board first. This always surprises me when it happens; it's certainly not necessary from my perspective that I board first 'cause I'm a chick, but it always makes me think, "aw, you've got lovely manners!" Occasionally I even say it! When I was in massage school and often taking the bus into town very early in the morning, there was a 40ish businessman that sometimes got that bus at my stop too, and he *always* did. Then the first time he actually spoke a sentence to me, I realized why. He was from the south. Ohhhhh.

And now for something completely different. I think I may have mentioned that since I started my little lose weight and get in shape mission, I've been reading some online forums about weight loss and low carbing and such. It keeps me from having to bore you all and my other family and friends by endlessly discussing what I'm eating and when and why and how many miles I did last week and blah blah. And I have to say, I'm pretty disturbed about some of it. There will be people who post who are at perfectly normal-to-low weights for their heights asking for tips on how to lose more because they are "stalled." Occasionally someone will pipe up and say, "uh, your body is probably trying to hold onto the weight because you're thin enough already" but five other people will suggest ways that someone who is (for example) 5'5 and 123 lbs can kick start their diet. I also see people posting their daily menus consisting of four or five hundred calories a day and *no one* says "um, hey, that's anorexia or at least very disordered eating." In particular there's one woman, frequent poster on one of the forums, who has gone from a size 26 to a size 14in four months eating, like, one bunless cheeseburger a day, and all she gets is congrats on her weight loss. It really makes me uncomfortable, because I have seen young women recovering from eating disorders post in totally non-diet-related venues about how because they started out at two hundred pounds or whatever, their doctors *praised* the fact that they were starving themselves on like an apple a day and some lettuce. Because OF COURSE weight loss is the be all and end all of "health." Jesus wept. I am so tempted to start a thread and point this out--how people are ignoring and in some cases encouraging what are almost certainly serious eating disorders--but you know how I don't like to make trouble. Heh. But seriously, it does really bother me. There's supporting other people who are attempting to reach the same goals you are and then there's enabling dangerous and unhealthy behaviors, and sometimes both some clarity and some tough love are needed.

Okay! That's it. For now.

xoxo

***names changed not to protect the innocent but because I don't remember

****"almost", not "every single solitary"

taste? what's that?

You know how Bret Michaels had a brain hemorrhage and he lived?

And then you know Gary Coleman had one and he died from it?

Do you know why?
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Different strokes!

xoxo

oh, blah blah

Hey! Let's do a review of a book that no one else cares about! That'll be fun.

You know how when you go to buy a book or DVD on amazon, there's usually one thing you really want/need and another thing that, yeah, you'll buy it while you're there, and somehow it never quite adds up to the $25 you need to get free super saver shipping? So you throw something else in your cart that you wouldn't have bought otherwise, and then your total is like 38 bucks? Those people at amazon did not wildly succeed by being stupid is all I'm saying.

Okay, the other thing I'm saying is that, swear to god, I have an excuse for buying this book. Also, I usually buy stuff off amazon at like 11 pm, and my brain is pretty much mush at that point. So that is my other excuse. You know it's bad when you need to list two excuses, right?

Anyway, I have never seen such a pile of crap get all three stars and up ratings. The author is one of that type of gay man who is way overly concerned with the outside packaging. He discusses how he had plastic surgery to make his face look exactly the way he wanted it to look. Which right there tells me he and I are not going to be simpatico, okay? I mean, obviously I walk a fine line between ridiculous vanity and self-loathing, but having surgery to change your perfectly normal face into someone else's face to meet some Ken doll ideal of perfection that exists in your head is *not* anything I can get behind. But be that as it may, this guy does makeovers on, I dunno, Oprah or something, so you would think he would have something useful to say.

You would be wrong there, in my humble opinion. First of all, he has you analyze what your type is, fashion-personality-wise. I am an "innovative" (I personally say "funky") with a dash of "romantic" (I personally say "sad Stevie Nicks wannabe"). He then takes all the different women with their distinct fashion personalities and makes them over into "aging trophy wife". If they were going to all end up looking the same, why bother divining their look to begin with? So, Andrea, what's an aging trophy wife look like anyway? Short but floofy hair, usually lightened. Makeup applied with a trowel, which looks passable for a photoshoot but which in real life daylight hours is gonna look skeery. Clothes way too formal and "done" for the average person's life. Show me how a woman of 45/55/65 can look good in jeans or a casual skirt with makeup that takes ten minutes or less to do and a non-matronly hairdo, and then I'll be impressed. I know it's possible--I have eyes, I see pretty woman my age and up every day.

Oh, Andrea. I know, you're thinking I'm just pissed because of all the things he's telling me I'm doing wrong, and you probably would be right. The day I start wearing light pink or beige toenail polish is...never. (They're kelly green right now and the Benevolent L thinks they're *awesome*, so my friends at least encourage me in my questionable ways.) I also heartily disagree as you know with the OMG cover it up! school of thought. Yes, most women over the age of 45, myself included, do not have perfectly toned upper arms. We all don't have the time, dedication, and genetics to be Michelle Obama, okay? I do not, however, believe that that means we are never allowed to wear strapless, sleeveless, or short-sleeved garments ever again. No one is gonna die from looking at my arm flab, just as no one is gonna die from looking at my belly flab when I wear a two piece to the beach because I feel like experiencing the sun on places that are covered 99.8% of the time. Pretending the arm flab isn't there by trying to keep it covered doesn't make me any prettier.

Now, perhaps I am a hypocrite, because there *are* things I think a woman my age or older should never wear on, say, a city street. Miniskirts, short shorts, and belly shirts, are a no for the middle-aged, even if you have the body for it. In the right circumstances--at the beach, at a barbecue, onstage if you're a performer--go for it. But in everyday life it looks ridiculous on an older woman. Nothing to do with covering up flaws. It's more to do with dignity. Shopping in the junior's department when you are fifty looks like you're trying too hard, even if those clothes fit, capice? I know that in my bones.

What I don't know in my bones is whether my Gap jeans, my hoodies, my long hair, my boho shirts, my funky shoes, and/or my darkly painted toenails are ridiculous or soon to become so, and Mr Hopkins was no help with that. (Well, okay, he came out against the toenails but I don't believe him.) And, like I said, all my friends do is encourage me, so I'm not sure I can trust you all. It's a conundrum. I might need to just go with my instincts and probably look ridiculous, but feel like me. Barring a better fashion expert coming along to win me over to their point of view.

xoxo

saving the world

I had an appointment with Marcy yesterday and in our discussion of my health and how I was feeling, I mentioned that I'd been losing weight since I'd last seen her and working out quite a bit. That morphed into a discussion of exercise DVDs, and I told her I had (and I can't believe I'm admitting this publicly) one called The Bollywood Dance Workout with Hemalayaa. Which I would never do anywhere but in my own bedroom with the door closed, it's so silly and I'm so bad. But it does get you sweating and I laugh through it because it's all so ridiculous.

Marcy said, no, she thought that was great, and that in her opinion dance is one of the most effective workouts there is. She said in Dancing with the Stars, those people get buff over the course of the season. (I dunno, never watched it.) So then she said, "There's this class that a whole bunch of my patients are *obsessed* with. It's on the tip of my tongue..."

I knew immediately what she was talking about. "It starts with a Z..."

"Yeah! Zumba! That's it!" And she started telling me that, apparently, at the LA Sports Club in downtown Boston, there was this guy who taught this zumba class that people were absolutely cult-like about, and when the club was going to get rid of him/it, they started a huge letter-writing campaign and protest, until the decision was reversed. There was actually an article (in the Globe? Boston Magazine? somewhere) about it, and one of the women involved in the protest was quoted as saying something about how "this shows how powerful people can be when they work together for a cause."

Marcy finished relating that and then she added, "I really couldn't help but think when I read that that there were probably some other more important things these people could have put their collective energy towards."

And this is one of the reasons I have been Marcy's patient for 18 months.

xoxo

so here i am

...at work, playing on the internet again, and since I weighed myself this morning after my minibreak (as the British say) and I weighed myself before the weekend, and the number was the same (so I'm taking it as my true weight), I thought I would do the BMI calculator and see what it is now, even though I think the BMI is crap. That's a long sentence with a lot of parentheticals. So, anyway, I did, and I'm smack in the middle of the "normal" range. Kinda where I thought I'd be, based on what it was before I lost any weight.

But then I continued to screw around on the internet and I found a site where if you put in your weight and height and a bunch of different measurements--neck, wrist, forearm, hips--it estimates your bodyfat%. And it told me my bodyfat% is 29.9, smack dab in the middle of the slightly overfat (or however they worded it) range. I think it's the combination of the tiny wrists and big hips that did me in, yo. But, seriously? That seems a lot more accurate than the BMI. I still have a nice excess of stored fat that would serve me very well if I had to breastfeed a kid or live through a famine, thankyouverymuch. And as an other aside? It's much more difficult than you would think to measure your own neck size.

But THEN I found another site where if you put in your height, weight, sex, and age, it tells you on what percentile of fatness you are for comparative people your age and sex. And I am at the 15th percentile. Which sounds better than slightly overfat. Ha! Apparently for a middle-aged woman I have not completely gone to pot. Or the rest of them have fallen prey to the OMG OBESITY EPIDEMIC BOOGA BOOGA. Oh, I crack myself up.

(If my irresponsible patients didn't DNK their appointments, I wouldn't have time for this nonsense. Blame them!)

Finally, and in keeping with the 15th percentile crap, the hotel we stayed at in Brattleboro had a small gym, an indoor pool, a hot tub, and a sauna, all of which were open to guests and to the general public who were members. The Benevolent L and I made use of the pool and the hot tub, because that is how we roll. But in the morning hours that we were there, the water aerobics class was just finishing up. Morning water aerobics is, as you might imagine, the provenience of a bunch of retired (in the case of Brattleboro, old hippie) ladies. And these retired old hippie ladies had *no* compunction about walking around that locker room completely nekkid. Ain't none of them shy, I'll tell you that.

Well. Benevolent L and I like to joke that to 70 year old guys, we are still hot young chicks, and there is nothing like seeing how our bodies are going to look in another twenty years to confirm that that is not a joke. It's a little scary. Gravity is no one's friend, kids. And it is indeed possible to develop cellulite in places you never would have dreamed of when you were 25. (And these are women who obviously actually exercise regularly and try to take care of themselves!) The funny thing is, when I was a young woman, I both worked in a nursing home and so saw lots of naked elderly women, and I saw my own grandmother undressed many times when helping to care for her, but it didn't instill that same level of vague horror. At 47, it cuts a little too close to home. Maybe when I am seventy my future contractor second husband will not have divorced me and will still love me and sex me up no matter what I look like! A person's gotta have hope for the future! (Do I have to irony tag this? Y'all can read tone, right?)

xoxo