more on the vein controversy

Madonna vs Timberlake

So if you've read my links (yeah, yeah, like you click on the links, I know), you will know that the response to Madonna's veins go two ways. Either "hells, yeah, she looks like someone who works out like a mofo, and good on her" or "eww, ugly and old." (By the by, another famous person who has very vein-y hands and is mocked for it is Sarah Jessica Parker.)

Now, those of you who know me, know that even before I got new veins to start popping out because I've been working out like a mofo, I have always had very vein-y hands. One would think a person as self-critical as I am would have spent their life being self-conscious about this, but no. I love my hands, and my wrists, and my forearms. They have always been one of my favorite areas of my body. I especially like how they look in pictures. I have this photo of me in the hospital, a day or two after Baby D's birth. I am holding him in one arm, slightly frowning, and pointing at something with the other. (I am sure I was ordering his father to do something, heh, and someone snapped the pic at that moment.) And it's one of my favorite pictures because I love how my hand and wrist look pointing. Yes, I am a lunatic. But you knew that. And it occurs to me by the response to the Madonna pictures, and to SJP, that people probably look at my vein-y hands and think they look ugly and old, but I still don't care. I think they're beautiful.

So my challenge to myself, and to all of you, is this: why can't I (we) feel this way about every part of, and the whole of, my/our body?

xoxo

video embedding 'cause i can

1.) First order of business

Full Saddle Pose in Yoga

I don't expect you to watch all of this. God knows, I don't think anyone's even reading this crap to begin with. But if you will do me a small favor, go to 2:22 on the video and you shall see what your malevolent hostess can do: saddle with the feet turned out. Booya on the awesome internal rotation of the femur, bitches. And yet, I can't balance on one leg for shit. We all have our anatomical strengths. And weaknesses. As god is my witness, I will do a pistol squat by next September, however.

2.) Second order of business

Speaking of anatomy? You know how I said my new vein was on the medial side of my forearm. I would like to amend that, because if I were in anatomical position, it'd technically be on the lateral side. For those of you who never sat through any semesters of A&P, lemme just simplify: thumb side. Andrea, why didn't you just say that? Damned if I know!

3.) Third order of business

Totally not anatomy-related, but instead, literarily-related. I am reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and I would like to recommend it to you all. How there was a recent Pulitzer Prize winning novel about Dominicanos and I knew nothing about it is a mystery and, also, a sign I should be reading more and looking at yoga and weight-lifting video less. However, I think if I had read this book in 2007 when it came out, before I really got to know Our Lil MILF and heard her stories about the DR, I don't think I would have appreciated it to the extent I do now. It's a complex book, shifting back and forth in time and switching between several POVs, but it's funny, it's tragic, it's fascinating (especially in illustrating a portion of history I bet very little of us know anything about). And the author uses footnotes and addresses his readers with friendly profanity as, y'know, do I! So if you like The Adventures, you can read a book that's about a thousand times better, but written in much the same voice. No video embedding, though.

xoxo

when google-fu fails

I went to see Marcy to get the ol' chi adjusted today instead of on my usual Tuesday--she's been away for a few days. I had planned to couple this with giving M2 the massage I owe her afterwards but, alas, M2 ended up having to work. So, instead, I asked Mr Indemnity whether he wanted to have lunch while I was in town. He said sure, but he had to take a trip to the Registry. I agreed to come with. (Isn't that the mark of a really good friend? That they'll go to the RMV with you just for the pleasure of your company? I thought so! I'm so awesome.) And thus it came to pass that fortified with Middle Eastern food, off we hied to the Watertown Mall.

The wait time was only--I dunno?--twelve minutes? Apparently not so many other people were renewing their registrations in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. But then again, not everyone works for a major institute of higher learning where you can just take off in the middle of the workday to do your own personal little errands! (Oh, just kidding, Mr Indemnity, I know you work very hard. Sometimes.) But while we did our 12 minute wait time on the semi-comfortable benches the Commonwealth provided for us, I was observing my veins under the harsh fluorescent lighting. "Look at this," I said. There is now a vein visible on the medial side of my forearm more than halfway to my elbow. I was very proud of this, because it comes from lifting. (And I've just started!) Mr Indemnity was unaware of this phenomenon and asked me why that happens. I didn't know. I know it happens, but I couldn't explain why.

So I figured I would be a wiseass and use my amazing google-fu when I got home to find an article that explains it and send the link along. Can you believe it? My google-fu has failed me. I found a wiki answer that confirmed it's supposed to happen. I found lots of questions from would-be Ahnolds asking other gym rats how to increase their vascularity. But I could not find a clear cut explanation of the physiology behind this. It distresses me that I, Princess of the Correct Search Term, have not come up with the magic combination of words that will make google tell me what I wanna know.

Maybe all the blood that's usually in my brain has been re-routed to my medial forearms!

xoxo

Addendum: And in a highly appropriate and hilarious coincidence, I give you today's discussion of how Madonna's veiny arms needed to be photoshopped away:
http://jezebel.com/5650974/madonnas-dolce--gabbana-ads-before-the-photoshop/gallery/

menos triste

Okay, Evil Kitty's RBCs are up to 22, so she is not backsliding. Yay. I also have more prednisone for her, since the vet agreed that if she was perkier when she was taking it, we should give her some more. On the bad side, she has continued to lose weight and is under eight pounds now. Skinneh, skinneh kitteh. That's what happens when you don't eat, even when you are offered delicacies like human tuna and sandwich meat. I asked the vet whether it's possible for them to starve themselves to death. She hesitated and then said yes. She said (and I wondered) whether the antibiotics are just making Evil Kitty's stomach feel funky and that's why she doesn't want to eat, but she really thinks we should finish the course. And hopefully the prednisone is going to kick in and give her the munchies. The other thing that we're going to do is go ahead and get the kitty echocardiogram that she needs for her enlarged heart. The vet didn't want to do it when her blood count was so low, because the stress of being restrained for that, etc, could have made her go into shock. But now she's strong enough for that and it's important to know whether her heart condition is contributing to her still not eating and not being herself.

So that's the news and the plan.

Can I tell you? As soon as I got her home and let her out of the carrier, she went straight to her dish. So I opened a can of food and she ate half of it. OMFG. She hasn't eaten more than a bite of food or two at a time for two weeks. I feel so much better.

xoxo

more disturbing things

No update on the cat yet. That's not until this afternoon. But I'm waiting on a patient who is eight minutes late even as we speak, so I will tell you a couple things. First of all, Ubaldo is not a 20 game winner and the Rockies, having made a lovely run at it for awhile there, have pretty much blown their chances of going to the playoffs. And such is life and beisbol.

But what I had forgotten to mention to you is another disturbing encounter at the gym (which is turning out to have as many interesting happenings as the prison bus, apparently.) The other day I was on the mats, stretching after my workout. I do some of my yin yoga hip openers and those, as I may have mentioned, require hanging out in the same position for a few minutes, letting my fascia unglue itself. I was in "butterfly" which is a seated forward bend. Basically that means my head was down around my feet. My eyes were closed, but if I opened them, all I could see basically was my own stomach and crotch. Hence the closure. I tell you all that to make the point that I could hear this conversation before I could see the participants, okay?

A man gets down on the mats, a bit away from me, and he starts doing situps or crunches, whatever, and he is grunting through them. He finishes his set and I hear him speak to someone on the mats, further away from me. He says "You go to the high school, right? I saw you there. I was setting up for the elections--you know, they had the voting there?--and I saw you. I said to myself, oh, I see that girl at the Y." The girl makes a polite, sorta shy, sorta giggly response, and the guy keeps talking to her. I pull myself up into sitting to get a look at this, and I swear, the guy has to be fucking 40. He starts talking about his girlfriend, in what is probably a fairly transparent attempt to not appear to be a creeper, and how she is younger than he is, so he needs to be in shape for her. Which, frankly, adds to the flashing creeper sign over his head. My motherly protective instincts kick in, especially when I see the girl is probably no older than 15. Forty year old men have no business ever striking up conversations with strange 15 year old girls, unless to warn them if they're about to step in front of a bus or something. Amirite? They especially do not need to strike up conversations that indicate they've been noticing said 15 year old girl working out at the gym.

So I decide I will make a feeble attempt to distract the creeper's attention by going into "saddle", a position which I am sometimes slightly embarrassed to attempt at the gym. I won't say it looks obscene, but it's kinda vaguely sexual. It's also fairly impressive when you get all the way down into it, so you do also get some "oh, wow, how's she doing that?" sorts of glances. Alas, the creeper was not at all interested in my old woman bodily contortions (go figure!) and continued speaking to the girl. Thankfully, she soon left the mat area, and after grunting through another set of situps, so did he.

I felt kind of weird about the whole thing. He didn't say anything overtly inappropriate to her, and certainly you are allowed to chat with the person working out next to you if they don't indicate they want you to shut up. So it wasn't like I could report him to the management. But if I were that girl's mother, I wouldn't like it. I'm not that girl's mother and I didn't like it.

In short, men suck. And I cannot take care of all the children of the world, no matter how much I would like to.

xoxo

muy triste

Have I used that as a blog title before? Perhaps.

Evil Kitty is not doing well once more, and I am taking her to the vet again tomorrow. Her downturn seems to have correlated to stopping the prednisone. But that may be a coincidence. Who knows? In any case, I am feeling so down. I would say "I can't imagine what other bad things could happen in my life that haven't happened in the last two months" but that would be a lie. I can imagine them. And, being me, I do.

I can't even get up the life to amuse myself by calling all y'all "bitches." Going to run. Will report back tomorrow.

xoxo

this is not disturbing, just insane

Next year this time, I'll be doing these. Ha! Perhaps not. But it does give one something to aim for. Disclaimer: Don't try these at home, kids.



My favorite part is where he's walking around scratching his head, like he's trying to figure out what kind of sick shit to try next!

xoxo

P.S. I never got the video embedding to work before! You're in trouble now, bitches.

now this is also disturbing

We need to put Felix Hernandez back on the suicide watch, people, because he pitched another one run game today yet did not get a win.

But that's not what's disturbing me today. No. I was in the locker room of the gym. I had put my gym bag down on the bench so I could brush my sweaty, sweaty hair in front of the mirror. I walked back to the bench, picked it up, and pivoted to head to the door. Well. There's a scale in the locker room. I suppose that is not unusual. What is somewhat unusual is that there was a stark nekkid woman weighing herself on it and that was the sight that greeted me as I turned. I swear to god, I completely froze for a second. The clear view of a complete stranger's pubic hair will do that to you when you aren't expecting it. Srsly.

The woman stepped off the scale, picked up her towel, and rewrapped herself. Okay, so I know the whole impulse to weigh yourself only after having used the toilet and after removing every bit of clothing. But, dudes, when I do that, I do it in the privacy of my own bathroom. Does this woman not own a scale at home? Is she not capable of just, I dunno, subtracting a half pound for the towel? I have nothing against nudity and the human body in a context where it's expected***, but being suddenly presented with a stranger's genitalia when you aren't expecting it? A little unsettling!

xoxo

***If this was a locker room in which people generally walked around nekkid, it would be different. But generally at my Y even the women who change out in the open do so rather discreetly, facing their lockers. Let's just say I haven't been flashed any bush before this.

un boletin sobre Gatito Mal

Her RBCs are twenty, up from twelve last Thursday, which would account for her perking up. She's still nine points away from low normal, but we'll take it. When we got home from the vet's, I opened up some cat food for her and she ate a little bit. Oh, and when I put her into her carrier (ten minutes before we left the house, because I know from bitter experience that if you wait until you need to go out the door, through some kind of psychic feline power they ascertain something is up and hide) I could hear her trying to break out from it from the other room. That's the feisty Gatito Mal we all know and love!

On the bad news side of the equation, she's a little dehydrated, so the vet gave her some subcutaneous fluids. I didn't realize that's how they hydrate a cat, but now I vaguely remember them doing it to another cat we had one time. And on the bad and puzzling side, the second, more sensitive test they ran--the one they were supposed to call me about--came back negative for the organism that causes this disease. The vet showed me how right there on the report there's a disclaimer that it isn't 100% accurate and can give a false negative, which I guess was her way of saying, "Don't blame me you spent another $94 for nothing, Andrea." The fact that she's responding to the antibiotics means we just go ahead and keep treating her regardless of what the tests show.

Thank you again for all your well wishes and positive vibes, guys. This has been very worrisome for me and D. In fact, when I took her into the vet's today and the tech saw how much perkier and brighter she was, *she* was happy and excited. She said she had been very worried about how Evil Kitty looked last week. So you know that was bad.

xoxo

i'm going to hell, but...

this was written by a woman who home-schools her four children. In Missouri.

Thanks but I'm not. All I want to do today is cry. I have had it with everything! I have gone off on the kids for being lazy brats. I would never send them to public school and they learn much more at home but I need a break. I have not went out without at least 1 kids for 10 months except for couple of dr. appointments. I can't even shower without knowing when I get out I'm gonna have a mess to clean. Most of the time I deal ok but sometimes I just feel like running away. My 11 year old is in counseling and even she doesn't know what else to try with him. He has oppositional defiant disorder wich make life really hard.

The "much more" those kids are learning probably doesn't include, oh, English grammar and spelling, but hey! literacy is not the end-all be-all, right?

In other news, Evil Kitty is starting to do a little better. She is again purring and scent-marking stuff, not just crouching in corners drooling, and while I'm not sure she actually ate anything, she smelled and licked at her food today, at least showing some interest. The vet never called back with the results of that extra $94 blood test, but she's got an appointment tomorrow anyway. I guess I'll find out then.

And me n' Liz bonded some more today. While she was kicking my ass, of course. Can I brag again? First of all she told me, "I have to hand it to you, you work very hard while you're here." I said that, yeah, I really don't see the point of wasting my time. Why bother to go if I'm not going to push myself and make improvements? Secondly, she had me doing this new thing called preacher's curls (do not ask me why) which is a biceps isolation exercise. The bench that you do these on is directly in front of the mirror and so I was staring at my biceps whilst I curled. As you do. And I said to Liz, "Oh! I like how these make my arms look." And she said, "You're really lean, so you'll probably be able to *see* improvements within a couple weeks." Okay, I know we were only talking about my upper body here (shut up), but no one has ever called me lean. Lean? Really? Go me.

Finally, my niece and ex sister-in-law came for dinner last night before my niece ships out to her almost 3 month long unpaid internship in godforsaken Montana, where she will not even have cell phone service. (It's like a third world country, yo!) I am sure if you've been following along, you will not be surprised to hear that not only did my ex husband not reply to me when I texted him on his birthday, he did the same to his sister. You will also not be surprised to hear that not only has he not called or visited his son, he has not called or visited his father. So much for the life-changing near death experience!

No, finally, for reals. Ubaldo is going for numero veinte tonight. The goat sacrifice or whatever worked last time he pitched, so you all get on it, 'k? Go Rockies!

xoxo

now this is disturbing

We've already detailed how freaked out google ads make me, right? Well, right now on my AOL mail screen ("enhanced by Google"), there is, in the upper right hand corner a huge banner ad that says:

Date 50+ Men Before you get too excited, no, they are not suggesting they can make a promiscuous slut out of me. The ad continues.

Single and over 50? Meet 1000s of 50+ single men near you at Seniorpeoplemeet.com Join today! Browse for free "Browse for free" is a clickable link which I would need a whole lot of tequila to move my cursor to, thankyouverymuch. A whole lot.

Then there's a triple image, in motion, of the same guy (a Perky Old Person--probably had a day off in between filming Cialis ads) grinning and nodding at me. If there are 1000s of these single geezers, why couldn't I see three different ones, not the same guy thrice? Huh? Answer me that! And why in the name of a merciful god is he wearing a sweater vest?

I'd say "Make it stop!" but I just refreshed my browser and it did. Thank you, Jesus.

xoxo

f/ups

1.) I have found the solution to the head sweat in the gym problem. A low ponytail beneath a bandanna tied Baron Baptiste-style. Like so:


No, you will *not* get a picture of ME rocking the bandanna. Just extrapolate. God. Anyway, when I ran on the treadmill yesterday, I had no sweat dripping into my face, and when I took the bandanna off and my hair down in the locker room, my ponytail was not wet and my bangs were only damp. So this is a win no matter how stoopid it looks.

2.) And speaking of the gym, Liz kicked my ass again this morning. I made the mistake of telling her I wasn't that sore after Wednesday. Do you know what that means? It means UP THE WEIGHTS, bitches. A lot of the things I was doing with 12s on Wednesday, we hopped up to 15s. And we went to the next hole on the machines. Next time? I have to use weights with my lunges, no more bodyweight only. I hate mother effin' lunges. But thus is the Ines Sainz ass born. Anyway, Liz says I'm doing really good, which is exactly what I need from a trainer: push me but give me positive reinforcement. None of that Jillian Michaels yelling at people crap. (Have you seen her? That woman is evil.)

3.) One more thing about the Y. Besides all the fun I am having there, I also just love it because of the mix of people. Yeah, there are my eye candy 20-something Dominicanos showing off in the free weights, but there are all kinds of people of every age group and fitness level, too. There's this little old guy I see on Sundays. He looks like my dad with the skinny old-man arms and legs and a little bent over, but he gets right down there onto the floor to do his ab work. He is so freaking cute I cannot stand it. Of course, he would probably be pissed to be considered cute. I'm sure in his mind he's Jack LaLaine! (Footnote: When M2 lived in Massachusetts the first time, she and Mr M2 lived in Beverly and she used to go to my Y. She was like, "Oh, I *love* that Y!" Small world, no?)

4.) Evil Kitty still cannot be tempted to eat anything. And when I dab something on her face to make her lick it off, she just gets annoyed and smacks her mouth, like she can't stand the taste. The only reason I know she's getting water in her, is that I have to squirt a syringe in her mouth after her antibiotic to wash it down, 'cause it can be irritating to the esophagus. Poor Evil Kitty. The vet said not to expect her to start perking up till Monday, but I am still very concerned.

5.) I was looking for my Rockies in the wild card, where they are 2.5 games out, but holy shit, they are only *1* game out of first in their division. National League West is totally, totally still up for grabs, in almost a three team tie. Very exciting!

I think that is it for now.

xoxo

again, with the baseball

My boy Felix Hernandez flirted with (as they say) a no-hitter into the 8th inning last night, before giving up a home run. However, Mr Hernandez was displeased because in the 6th inning, one of the opposing batters tried to lay down a bunt on him. Felix is of the opinion that that is disrespectful of him. I dunno, Felix. You're my boy n' all, but in the sixth inning? It's not like you had two outs in the ninth. Besides, you fielded it by your own self, so if it were a hit, you'd only have yourself to blame, hijo. But all's well that ends well, 'cause Mr Hernandez was happy to get his W and his little nudge closer to the AL Cy Young, *and* he says his no-hitter is coming. Got to love a cocky pitcher. If they can pitch, that is. Kinda Pedro-esque, no?

Meanwhile, Ubaldo was busy winning number 19, in a decidedly non-no-hitter kind of way. Ay, dios mio, watch your WHIP, Ubaldo. But, again, all's well that ends well, and go Rockies! You can do it!

xoxo

civic doings

Traffic on Highland Ave in Salem this week has been massively fucked in the daytime due to some sort of public works project. At first I thought they were repainting the lane markers, but actually what they did was dig up the street for some sort of mysterious purpose, then fill it in again. But the other thing they did yesterday (apparently)? They repainted the traffic lights. Black. When I noticed it, I was like, what? I am totally flummoxed as to the purpose of this. I took especial care to observe the traffic lights further on down the road, and those are the original yellow. One would think yellow would in fact be a better color for something you wish the eye to be drawn towards. But what do I know? No one's given me a Masters in Urban Planning or whatever.

The other thing I noticed further on down the road is that the former Hillcrest Chevrolet is apparently slated to be turned into a methadone clinic. Or so the signs urging the citizenry to come out and protest this would have me believe. Not sure *why* this is supposed to be a bad location for a methadone clinic. There's a large "luxury" apartment complex across the street, but otherwise it's all commercial. (And think of all the new prison bus riders with fascinating cell phone conversations there'd be!) I suppose the answer is that people do not want a methadone clinic anywhere. And that it's not surprising, because when the massage school I attended moved to its new location just before my class started, the neighbors there protested THAT. Because you know us rowdy massage school students, doing keg stands on people's lawns and all. People want *nothing* in their backyards. Even when they, y'know, live in the city and should not expect cow pastures next door.

Anyway, the timing of this is coincidental, because when M2 and I were out the other day, we walked by the methadone clinic in her neighborhood. I never knew it was there, down a side street and all! And M2 told me that she had once very briefly worked in a methadone clinic, only to quickly give notice because she had the worst boss in the history of bosses. She said she felt really bad about that, because all her clients (or patients or whatever the proper term is) thought she was leaving because of them, and she had to try to reassure them she was not. But, y'know, junkies apparently have low self esteem as a rule.

Happy Saturday, bitches. Stay off the narcotics.

xoxo

other accomplishments

Gatito Mal doesn't seem to be doing any better and if I come home from work tonight to find her dead because they didn't keep her overnight or just do the damn transfusion, I am not going to be happy. She climbed up *inside* my box spring last night (there's a rip in it from a cat we used to have who liked to hang out inside there too, sigh) and I had to drag her out, hissing at me, and make a little nest for her in her litter box room, so she'd stay contained while feeling safe.

But before that? Well, yesterday was supposed to be my day 3 of week 5 of c25k. I had my gym bag all packed to take to work with me. Then I didn't go to work, of course, and after I got home from the vet, traumatically pilled the cat, washed the carrier, and made and ate dinner, I really wasn't in the mood to get my ass to the Y. In fact, I stated on the forum where I talk about this with people who actually care (heh) that I was going to put it off till today, which would throw my schedule all off. And after awhile that started to bother me. But I still couldn't drag my ass to the gym.

So I decided I'd run outside. Let me tell you a couple things. As I may have mentioned before, the last time I ran outside I hated it with every particle of my being. It was so much harder than being kept pace by the treadmill, plus all the swerving around the people who let their rugrat dogs run across my path and the little kids on bikes, etc etc, really annoyed me. Secondly, day 3 of week 5 is the day everyone dreads in c25k. You go from, on day 2, running 8 minutes, walking 5, running 8 to running 20 minutes straight. That's right, you more than double the length of your previous longest run. So deciding to do this outside was, on the face of it, insane.

Plus it was drizzling out and starting to get dark. I figured the drizzle would be in my favor, keeping me from getting overheated and sweaty. And I figured out a place I could run that had nice long continuous sidewalks without any big major streets to cross. Because, see, I don't have any of your fancy-shmancy reflective running gear. I was wearing black yoga capris and a black hoodie--the death outfit for after-dark walking/running, basically. I was about ten minutes from my house and starting the running segment when the drizzle turned to rain. Still okay. It felt good, surprisingly. Definitely was not getting hot. And after starting out running at what I immediately knew was too fast a pace, I slowed it down till it felt like I was going at the speed I was used to on the treadmill. And then several minutes after that, the rain turned to torrential downpouring. At that point, my endorphins had kicked in and I just started laughing and, since my feet were now soaked anyway, stopped trying to avoid puddles and splashed right through them. And the only other people I saw on the sidewalk this whole time were one guy walking, a bunch of teenagers carrying shopping bags who must have gotten off the mall bus, and one lady walking her dogs. No obstacles!

I made it through the whole twenty minutes without stopping. In fact, I could have gone more. I was so proud of myself. I did my cool down walk back to the house. My son took one look at me as I came through the front door looking like I'd taken a shower with my clothes on, raised an eyebrow and said very dryly, "Uh, get caught in the rain?" In my euphoria I was like, "Yeah! I was running in it! It was great!" My euphoria was somewhat tempered when I realized I had probably gotten my iPod a little too wet, 'cause the backlight on it appears to be screwed. Oh well.

I returned to euphoria when I google-mapped my route and figured out I had run 1.8 miles in the 20 minutes, so 5.4 mph. You can laugh, but I've been running on the treadmill between 5 and 5.5 mph, so I *did* accurately judge my pace. I have never, to my knowledge, run a straight mile before, never mind almost two, so now I am really proud of myself. And feel the need to brag about it! Obs.

Say a little heathen prayer for Evil Kitty's antibiotics to kick in for me, huh?

xoxo

gatito mal esta enfermo

They're pretty sure she has "feline infectious anemia" which is apparently carried by tics and fleas. The vet says there's a lot of it going around our area. Her RBCs were 12, when they should be like 30, but she was acting fine until last night. The vet also says that's common--it's hard to tell that they're getting anemic till it's really bad, 'cause they're good at hiding it. If they're feeling weak, they take a nap. A napping cat causes no red flags to go up, y'know?

She also has a known heart murmur, and on the xrays today, her heart was very enlarged. But she has no fluid in her lungs, so it's not like she's got congestive heart disease. All her other organs look good. No masses, no obstructions. She's negative for feline leukemia and feline aids, thank god. In fact, all her lab work was fine except for the anemia and slightly high glucose from stress. So, it could be worse. But poor Evil Kitty. She was so stressed going to the vet, she peed all over her carrier. I've got it in the washing machine right now; I hope it survives the wash, but if it doesn't, it's not like I could use it stinking like that anyway. I also think *I* stink and should probably go change my clothes, but that may be my imagination.

In any case, she's on antibiotics and prednisone, but they couldn't give her the normal dose of prednisone because of her heart. She needs to go back in a week and see if her blood count is up. Cross your fingers she doesn't need a blood transfusion. I won't detail for you how much fun giving her her first two pills was, even in her weakened state. And we won't discuss what today's vet bill was. I'm sure you can use your imagination about those two things.

You know how I was saying what a nice day yesterday was? Well, today sucked ass.

xoxo

fall and muscles

Was it not the most perfect of all weather days today? You cannot believe how happy I was not to be stuck in my windowless dungeon of a workplace today. I must have walked 5 or 6 miles doing a bunch of non-essential errands on foot, because it was the kind of day that makes you just want to walk and walk. Before that, I mowed my damn "lawn." And before that? Well, I went to the gym to see Liz.

I am not totally discounting god appearing to her in a dream, because she kicked my ass today. She told me that on Wednesdays it was most likely just going to be me and one other woman in our little group training, but the other woman had something else today. So I got Liz all to myself, which, cheapest one-on-one personal training ever, yo! but it also gave her plenty of time to make me work every friggin' muscle in my body. Also, she moved me up from the 8 pound weights to the 12s for almost everything, blowing right past the 10s. We did use 8s on the last group of arm/shoulder/chest exercises, because we'd already worked some of the same muscles doing chest/shoulder/back stuff earlier. And on my last set of standing dumbbell presses with the 8s, I got to my 10th rep and said, "Uh, Liz? I don't think I can do the last two." She said that was fine. Failure is *good* in weightlifting!

Anyway, I may be breaking out the arnica in the morning! (Liz did not know what arnica was. I feel like I am the arnica evangelist of the North Shore, spreading the gospel.)

Hope you all had productive days that included fresh air and sunshine, too!

xoxo

the height of narcissism

And this is a quote from someone else's blog:

One thing as I have been going back and forth I have been seeking God's thoughts on the matter. I truly don't think he cares WHAT we eat, as long as we don't focus on it more then Him. Today He gently whispered "I never promised you a size.... BUT I did promise you a slim body line." I was overjoyed!To me it was a confirmation that I needed. Was it really His voice? I think so. I guess only time will tell.

I hate to shit on anyone's deeply held religious beliefs, but when you start thinking the Creator of the Universe is talking to you about your weight loss plans perhaps you need to get the fuck over yourself.

Wait! I'm having a vision! God does want me to have Ines Sainz's ass. He plans on appearing to Liz in a dream tonight (or maybe a burning elliptical machine--plans aren't firmed up yet) and telling her to get right on that.

xoxo

what other people were up to this weekend

This is Ines Sainz, a Mexican TV reporter, who was stared at, hooted at, catcalled, and generally harrassed in the Jets locker room by a bunch of overly paid, overly testosteroned little boys with bad manners on Saturday. Pro athletes behaving like douchebags? Say it isn't so!



I would like to call your attention, however, to Ms Sainz's ass. This is how my ass looked when I was a young woman, except for, y'know, fatter thighs beneath it. This is how I hope to get my now-saggy old white woman's ass to look again with yoga and the Y. Liz has her work cut out for her. But I thought I'd give all y'all something nice to look at, just in case your Monday is *not* rocking on. You're welcome.

xoxo

the usual monday update

Oh, what's happened since we last spoke?

Saturday evening, after working out and talking to the Benevolent L on the phone and doing some errands, I got to ratchet up my karma points! (I like to think of this in video game terms, as if I have just drunk a potion that gives me strength or more lives or something. Heh.) There I was, standing in the bus stop, when from across the street comes the perfect specimen of a skinny little white trash girl around D's age, smoking and crying and, yes, thumbing. As she gets close enough to me, she asks if this bus will get her where she wishes to go and if it is coming soon. I tell her yes and I hope so, respectively. She says she's going to thumb. But when no one wants to give a ride to a skinny little crying woman, she reconsiders and parks herself in the bus stop with me. She asks what time it is, and when she sees me take out my cell phone to check, she reconsiders her plan for the second time. She asks if I would call a taxi for her. After negotiating where she wants to be picked up and where she's going and looking up the number, I am about to place the call when I see the bus coming. She decides she'll get on, but she has no money. (Which calls into question whether she was just planning on blowing the cab driver, but whatever.) Don't worry, I tell her, I'll pay for you with my card, because you look like you're having a hard time. She agrees and asks if she has makeup all over her face. I gently point out where she has mascara and eye liner smudged under her eyes. Hey, we've all been there. Then, on the bus, she asks if she can use my phone. Well, sure. This leads to an almost ten minute call to (if we can judge from the "I love you, baby"s) a man, in which she instructs him to please answer her cell if it rings and assures him she will be there soon though she has *no* idea where/what street she is on now. Then I had to take my phone back and get off the bus. If the Benevolent L had been with me, she'd have gotten all the details of what tragedy had befallen this young woman, but I believe in allowing crying strangers their privacy even if I am spotting $1.25 for them to get home. So you will all have to make up your own story about this, even as you lament the fact you never take public transportation and/or don't live in the hood and thereby never have this shit happen to you!

Then yesterday morning I had my first weight training session at the Y. My trainer Liz had all us ladies start out with five pound weights (except for one older lady with some physical limitations she'd worked with before, who had 2s.) I was feeling all smug because the 5s were way too easy for me and Liz moved me up to 8s--and I swear I coulda done 10s, but she wanted us to start light yesterday and work on our form first. This morning, however, the DOMS is making me go, holy shit! maybe you shouldn't have been so smug, Andrea. She also told us to eat protein within a half an hour after lifting, which I didn't because I was going into town right from the gym to meet up with M2 and eventually have lunch. So my muscles probably hurt today because I didn't feed them properly, not because I'm weak like little girl. Ha! That's my story and I am sticking to it.

Lunch with M2 was lovely, but the problem with our eating together is that our dietary patterns are distinctly opposite. M2 is a vegetarian and I am...not. I suggested we go out for Indian because I know that's always good for her and it was sounding awfully tasty to me. But I then ate more refined carbs in one sitting than I have in four months. I'm sure my muscles needed that too, right? Samosas, mmmmmm. (Proving once again that deep-frying makes everything better, including lentils.)

So, happy Monday, bitches! Rock on and all that.

xoxo

moneymoneymoney

So, yeah, I just had the most interesting little talk with Led Zep Girl, who is, as you may or may not remember, our department manager. As such, she officially does my review, though my real boss puts his part in, and I have never really accepted that Led Zep Girl has any authority over me anyway. She barely knows what my job is. (I know, I know, feel free to chip in with similar corporate stories of your own. Ha!) So, anyway, my review is due in August. She is still waiting for my boss to do his part, because he's a big ol' procrastinator, but she asked me today if I wanted to go over the rest of it now or wait till it's all together. I said I'd be fine with waiting, because it's not like we're getting any merit increases this year anyhow. I could care less how they think I'm doing if there's no dollar figure attached. Gold stars ceased to motivate somewhere around third grade, you know?

Now, to backtrack, for those of you who do not know, we have lost two out of 4 1/4 doctors from my department in the last year and a half. One because of serious illness; she basically had to stop practicing. But the other? She left because administration refused to give her a small raise, having worked for the same amount of money for the previous five years and having it in her contract that she was supposed to get a review every year, which had never happened. They have not been able to replace her. Doctors in our specialty are few, and frankly, why come here when you could get paid more and have better opportunities elsewhere? (Nobody knows how much fun we have just from a job interview, yo.) So consequently, my department has tanked and there has not been much work for me. My stats are in the crapper. They are paying me to sit around and type to you all a lot of the time and the clerical staff has been similarly spending a lot of their time on Facebook. If our Lil MILF had not found a better job on her own when she did, she, or the other woman who does exactly what she did, would probably had their whole position cut anyway. And so, I have been patiently waiting for the day when I was told my hours were going to be cut. It seems inevitable if they can't get another MD. *I* wouldn't want to pay me to sit around and look at the internet either.

Well, Led Zep Girl just kind of obliquely suggested that administration did want to cut hours from our department (and mine would obviously be part of) but that as of now, she *thought* we were going to be spared. She pretty much came out and said, without saying, that when she was doing the budget, they told her she was going to have to cut personnel expense and she said no. She wasn't going to do it; if they wanted to cut people's hours *they* were going to have to do it. And it looked like that wasn't gonna happen. (New fiscal year starts in October.) But it seems TO ME like it still might.

The mismanagement of this whole situation and how the upper management destroyed our entire department just to avoid giving one woman a piddly increase stuns me. I don't know how *those* assholes keep their jobs. (And I guess if I lose mine because of it, I'll be pretty pissed!)

But, whatever. I guess never having been unemployed (I know, it's ridiculous), I am fairly laissez faire about the whole thing. I've got plenty o' money-making ideas which are all well and good until I have to, y'know, make any money with them. We'll see how this all plays out.

xoxo

some people can't be taught

I love that saying about people who get married for a third or fourth time--"the triumph of hope over experience." But you can apply it to a lot of different issues.

Last night when I left the gym, I went to Dunkin' Donuts for an iced coffee. Because, seriously, when you've elevated your heart rate with the cardio, doesn't jacking it up more with caffeine sound like the thing to do? Oh, shut up. I was really hot and the pint of water I'd just chugged straight from the bubbler hadn't helped. Anyway, as I was leaving my new favorite Dunkin' Donuts (the nice woman who makes my iced coffees there takes "extra cream" seriously and shows it to me to make sure it's light enough before she hands it over), I saw the advertisement on the door that their seasonal pumpkin stuff is back. You know my issues with this, right?

Every year when September and October roll around, I look at those signs and then I buy a pumpkin muffin. And every year the pumpkin muffin sucks, being way too sweet and tasting more of icing than of pumpkin. Triumph of hope over experience. Which would be bad enough, but *then* every year I buy two or three more before the season ends, even though the first one basically sucked. There is absolutely no explanation for that other than that I'm insane. And, also, they *look* really good on the sign and on the shelf.

So even though I am seriously seriously off the sugar and junk food this year, I looked at the sign on the door yesterday and thought, "Oooo, pumpkin muffins!" My mouth watered. It's watering as I type this. Insanity.

xoxo

classics revisited

As you may know, because I say it all the damn time, Rosemary's Baby is my very favorite movie. You may also remember my remarking on how the first time I actually watched it on DVD, previously having only seen it on TV and thus edited, I realized it was a lot more explicit than I thought it was. And of course I eventually bought it on DVD. I bet I've seen this movie at least twenty times. I've been re-watching it this week, mainly because D and I had rented Paranormal Activity after I'd read something that compared it to the classic "demon/Satan" movies: Rosemary's Baby, The Exorcist, and The Omen. Well, whoever wrote that was on crack because the movie sucked--I couldn't watch more than 15 minutes of it before giving up--but it made me want to watch an actual good Satan movie.

Now when you have seen a movie twenty times and you know not just the plot, but every scene and much of the dialogue, it gives you time to examine and ponder other things. I was excited on this go-round because RB begins in late summer/early fall 1965 and right now in Mad Men, they're in late spring 1965. So I can compare the clothes in a film from the actual time period to what the costumers are doing on Mad Men. (Because I like clothes. You know that.) Mia Farrow has the most incredible wardrobe in RB, which is one of the reasons I love the movie. Little above-the-knee shift dresses, the plaid maxi skirt and turtleneck in the scene that takes place while Guy, offscreen, is making the deal with Roman, her little pigtails in the laundry room scene, and then the famous Vidal Sassoon pixie cut. Very different from Mad Men, because Mad Men takes place in the workplace, while Rosemary is a young, artsy hip housewife. Though wouldn't you like Peggy on Mad Men to get a Sassoon Mod haircut? She's been flirting with that whole hipster scene anyway. But, anyway, back to RB.

I found a plot hole, or at least something that wasn't addressed in any way, that I'd never considered before. There's a scene where, on their moving day into the "Bramford", they're unpacking a couple plates and sitting on the floor of their living room, empty except for a lamp, to eat takeout for dinner, and suddenly Rosemary looks at Guy and says, "Let's make love!" So he snaps off the lamp (they haven't got curtains yet either, yo), they strip their clothes off, and then they're in each other's arms, making out. Okay, then later in the movie, when Minnie is nosily poking around their apartment, Rosemary tells her that one particular room will in the future be the nursery, because as soon as they're all settled, they are going to try to conceive. And then, still later, after Guy has made the deal with Roman and Minnie to let his wife get knocked up by Satan in return for career success, he tells Rosemary he wants to start trying to make a baby and he's already figured out on the calendar which nights she should be fertile.

Is anyone catching what I'm getting at here? 1.) They are planning when to start trying for a baby, so they *haven't* just been willy-nilly letting nature take its course up until then. 2.) Even if Rosemary's getting knocked up by the Prince of Darkness, it's gotta happen when she's actually fertile apparently; his super demonic sperm apparently doesn't trump nature 3.) Rosemary can't be on the Pill because you need to stop it before you start trying to conceive (or you probably aren't gonna *be* fertile, all those people who have kids after missing one pill notwithstanding) but 4.) when they're getting it on in their empty apartment, they apparently do not have any condoms or a diaphragm or whatever other barrier methods were available in 1965--they're NOT hunting through boxes before throwing themselves into each other's arms.

So what the fuck have they been doing about birth control? This is going to bother me now.

xoxo

1893

If the internet is not lying to me, that's my basal metabolic rate when I am exercising regularly. I definitely do not usually eat that many calories in a day, so I guess that would explain why I am still losing weight even though I don't particularly want to. Instead of being pissed when I'm getting dressed in the morning because my pants are too tight, now I'm pissed because they're too loose. (Yes, I know, I know, everything's a fucking problem with me.) But I don't understand how I'm even supposed to eat that many calories in a day without eating crap. Yeah, when you're regularly fitting Dunkin Donuts muffins and Starbucks green tea lattes and Lays chips in the yellow bag into your daily eating plan, 1893 is wicked easy. But on mostly meat, salad, and fruit it isn't, even when you add in plenty of cheese and almond butter, and drink cream in your coffee.

So my boss and I were just having a discussion about this kind of stuff--I was asking him what he does when he goes to the gym, because he goes several times a week. He mentioned that he wasn't really sure if it made him feel any better, though maybe if he didn't go, he'd feel worse. I said, "Well, maybe you'd be fat." He said, "FattER." And I totally didn't believe him when he said that according to the BMI, he's just overweight. He looks thin to me, though of course I always see him in dress pants and a jacket. He pulled out his iPhone (yup, he's another one of *those* people) and pulled up the BMI app for me. He's less than one pound into the "overweight" range.

I told him to go poop*** and he'll be officially healthy weight again. There are simple solutions to every problem! Except for how I can eat 1900 calories a day without cookies.

xoxo

***you want to work in my office, dontcha? even without Our Lil MILF here, we still manage to entertain ourselves

purging

Oh god, it's gonna be one of those days where she posts continuously, you're thinking. That is true. Suck it up and deal!

I don't want to be too rainbows and kitten orgasms-y about the whole of today just because Mikey and I were like this [X] last night. (Did I mention I was also yelling "Nancy!" at our right fielder? You knew I would, right?) Nope, I've got other less pleasant things to discuss. Do you know what I did this morning? I cleaned out my refrigerator. This was initiated by the fact that when I opened the brand new carton of cream, dated like October 11, in there this morning, it curdled my coffee. I drank the coffee anyway, because Jesus Christ, I eat yogurt, don't I? and the coffee tasted not bad, but it was in the back of my mind that I may need to throw the whole carton away. Though the Benevolent L told me on the phone shortly afterwards that when that happens, you're supposed to put the cream in the cup first, then the coffee, and all will be well. So I'ma do that tomorrow before I toss it. But meanwhile it made me think of the things in the fridge that really did need tossing, so I got to it. Do you know that a half-eaten tub of hummus dated Feb 2010 still smells and looks absolutely fine? That did not save it, however. And while I was in there, tossing things that would probably give me food poisoning, I sucked it up and started throwing away my dad's food. You would think a person would not cry over putting a tub of Olivio or a jar of strawberry jam into a green trash bag, but there you go. Give me a break. I am very emotionally fragile right now.

Very soon I am going to go finish cleaning my kitchen. I don't think there is anything about scrubbing the floor in there that's going to make me start sobbing, but you never know!

xoxo

i like mikey

I have not gone to a Red Sox game for many years (certainly not since they won that first World Series) for a variety of reasons, most having had to do with not being able to afford it. I say that not to whine about the fact that when I finally make another appearance at Fenway, they get annihilated--because, really, it was a meaningless game and a beautiful evening, so who's complaining? I say that because it will explain to you why I didn't know something that will come up later in this very blog entry.

Can I tell you that the front row of the right field roof box is actually a very nice place to watch the game from? You can see what's going on in the bullpens and in the infield very well. But most importantly if you are me, you have a great view of Mr Mike Lowell playing first, which allows you to yell "Mikey!" in approval every time he puts someone out. Now you all know I am very fond of Mr Lowell for many reasons, not least because I have a lovely fantasy in which he and I drink mojitos on the veranda of the plantation he does not own and then he performs oral sex on me. (And he's not sniffling about his broken ribs, yo!) But just when I thought I could not love him any more, I learned something new by seeing him play live for the first time. Mr Mike Lowell's entrance song is "London Calling."

Mikey is a Clash fan? We can listen to them while we drink those mojitos. It doesn't get any better than that!

xoxo

labuh day, stream of consciousness edition

Do you realize the Y is closed today? Apparently they are honoring the American worker by letting their employees have the day off. Which is swell, but what good does it do me? I ask you. It totally threw my routine out of whack and I had to do my second day of week2 c25k yesterday, after doing day1 on Saturday. Yes, without a rest day. The c25k website would yell at me for this, but you won't tell on me, will you? Anyway, I have been doing some of my yin yoga hip opener stretches after my runs*** and while I am not absolutely positive, I think keeping that fascia nice and stretched out is why I have not been sore the next day, even without a rest day. Ahem. (Are you fascinated yet? Yeah.) But I really wish the gym were open. Not only do I have plenty of time to go since it's a holiday, I could use the chance to get drunk on endorphins today and change up my brain chemistry. Maybe I'll have to settle for the other kind of drunk. What are the odds my friendly neighborhood liquor store gave their employees the day off today too? (Yes, I *do* know it's like 8 am. Do you people need another irony alert tag? God.)

So, Andrea, why couldn't you just do day2 week4 at the gym on Tuesday? Glad you asked! This is really exciting. Now that it is COMPLETELY meaningless, I am going to see the Sox play Tampa tomorrow night. Should be fun, especially since I'm fairly sure they won't be able to bring that asshole Papelbon in to blow a save! On the other hand, I think it's Dice-K starting which is...well, you know. But, in any case, should you watch that mess on TV, look for me in the nosebleed section of right field, yo!

And since we are doing stream of consciousness (you did read the title, didn't you?), let's do a couple more baseball notes. First of all, please say a little prayer, send out good vibes, sacrifice a goat, or whatever it is you do that my poor poor sweet Ubaldo finally wins #18 today. Secondly, we really do need to start getting serious about who we're going to root for in the playoffs. The Rockies are making a run for the NL wild card, but they're 5 1/2 out, so it's a long shot they'll make it. Am I going to be forced to pull for the (Devil) Rays and their unfortunately facial-haired douchey-looking pitching staff, including that asshole Shields? Sigh. If the Rockies don't go nuts for the next three weeks and pull it out, I guess I shall have to root for Cincinnati in the NL so my boy Bronson gets another World Series ring. Yeah, yeah, I know: anyone but the Yankees.

xoxo

***It cracks me up endlessly that I persist in calling what I'm doing "runs" but "slow jogs" just does not have the same ring to it

manny hair watch, day 4

Sigh. If Man-well's personal barber did in fact come to Boston, it must have been for the tourism. I'm so disappointed. Did he get some kind of special dispensation, like from the Pope, to keep the dreds?

And speaking of the Pope, did you read that Mr Ramirez has found god, and that is why he's a new man and apologizing all over the place for his past bad behavior? Of course, amongst the apologies there's more than a shadow of the old Manuel Aristides who has supplied us with so much entertainment value throughout the years. Did you see the clip on TV? Manny said about seven times in 45 seconds that it was all his fault and it takes a big man to admit it was all his fault. Yes, yes, Man-well, you are indeed a fine specimen of humanity, but don't injure your rotator cuff patting yourself on the back. The White Sox need you healthy.

I also find it endlessly amusing that all these people in the public eye who wish to rehabilitate their images always go for the "I found religion" angle. This was taken to the endpoint of ridiculousness when one Paris Hilton was reading her bible in jail, of course. But really. Does the world need a Manny Ramirez who's accepted Jesus as his personal savior? I think not! The world needs a Manny Ramirez who does crazy shit and sleeps like a baby afterwards.

And the next athlete/actor/politician/reality TV idiot who actually comes out and says instead, "Hey, I was a douchebag, but I'm thinking I don't want to be a douchebag anymore" without referencing divine intervention is gonna have me as a fan for life!

xoxo

Should I be tagging the Manny Hair Watch posts as fashion? Hmmm.

walking, talking cliche

So there I was in the Whole Foods in my yoga clothes, asking the nice man to please pack my groceries in my organic cotton reusable shopping bag. This was after I had carefully read the nutritional label on every single item I put into my cart. I don't like to say anything, but it is just possible that I may be turning into one of those people I hate.

But, no, lemme tell you about at least some of the label-reading. Ever since I have been doing (what is for me, but probably not for those of you who are actually in good shape) hardcore cardio, I have found that I do best if I have something light with a few carbs and some protein before I work out. This is especially true when I go to the gym right from work, since I haven't probably eaten much and if I have, it's been hours before. What I've been doing in this situation is stopping at the CVS and buying one of those foil packages of mixed nuts or almonds, and eating some on the way to the Y. While this is perfect on the macronutrient level, have you ever actually read one of those packages? Each one is three servings and about 550 calories. So if you eat the whole thing, forget about "light." And if you eat one third, you are left with an un-reclosable package of nuts in your bag and the whole thing is a mess. Well, I figured I would take a new approach and buy a couple of those protein bars to keep in my office for days I was going to run after work.

Whole Foods has A LOT of different protein bars. And almost all of them contain fucking soy protein. Are you kidding me? I am very anti-soy, since I've read a bunch of stuff suggesting it's really not good for you. First of all, there are a bunch of studies coming out now saying it's not good for your thyroid, especially in people whose thyroids are already compromised. I forced The Benevolent L to read a couple links on this because she is hypothyroid and she eats gluten-free soy products and the occasional (excuse me, but gross) tofu meal. Turns out (and this is a point in my favor if you think this is just another one of my crackpot ideas) her mother has already been on her case about this. So, ha! I also stay away from soy because it's estrogenic, which is why they're always pushing it for middle-aged women. However, ever since my mom's gynecologist told me when she was dying that her endometrial cancer (which my grandmother also had had) was linked with excess estrogen in the body, and thus with obesity (since obese women have more stored estrogen), I have been resolute in keeping my weight to a reasonable level, not eating soy, and determining I will get my uterus yanked the first time anyone offers to do it for me.

After reading 30 different energy bar labels, like the annoying cliche I am, I broke down and bought a couple of Lara Bars, which are gluten free, dairy free, soy free, vegan, and kosher. Take that! anyone on a special diet. They also only have like 6 grams of protein, but whatever. I was sick of trying to weigh the options and I'm sick of finding fuzzy stray almonds in my bag. We'll see how this works out.

xoxo

manny hair watch, day 3

Are you disappointed there wasn't a game yesterday, especially since no trees fell on us? (Okay, I shouldn't speak for everyone. If a tree fell on you, sorry for my insensitivity.) D reminded me that Manuel Aristides had short hair when he first started playing for the Red Sox, so there is some precedence for whatever his personal barber plans on doing to enable him to comply with his new dress code. I suppose shaving "no habla ingles" around the circumference of his head is out of the question, huh?

In other news wrap ups, I finished the world's most depressing movie. Okay, of all the bad people in the movie--the mother who abandons her, the aunt who (it turns out) steals her cute little apartment and leaves her to starve in her hovel, the boys in the 'hood who spit at her, call her a cunt, and break into her hovel to rape her, the guy who rapes, beats, and pimps her out in Sweden--the absolute pinnacle of human rottenness is the guy who sells her to the guy who pimps her out in Sweden. Why? Because he meets her in the club, drives her home when she's walking alone, all the while promising not to touch her (which he doesn't), refuses to come in and fuck her when she assumes that's what she's gonna have to do in exchange for the ride, takes her out on dates, makes her think he's falling for her, dangles this wonderful life in Sweden *with him* in front of her, THEN fucks her over. That's got to be sociopathy, right? Cruelty is cruelty, but preying on a completely vulnerable almost-still-a-child with kindness? What kind of person could do that and still sleep at night? You can't really watch this movie and not think, oh, yeah, people SUCK. Except. Except the friendship between Lilya and the boy she befriends is so sweet and pure--she buys him the only birthday present he's ever gotten, for example--(and this between two kids who apparently have never had love shown to, or modeled for, them) that there's this tiny glimmer of human goodness in there. It's still a very dark movie. But you don't need to watch it anyway, because I just told you the entire plot!

Okay, that's the updates. If you go to the beach to look at the waves, don't get swept out to sea!

xoxo

the usual friday misc, hurricane edition

1.) I am watching what is probably the most depressing movie ever made. It's called "Lilya 4-Ever" and is apparently a Swedish film. (A Swedish film depressing? Nahhhh.) Anyway, it's about Lilya, a teenaged girl in the former USSR, whose mother moves to America with her gangster-looking boyfriend and leaves her daughter behind, promising to send for her, send money, etc. She is nominally in the care of her aunt, an old witch who immediately moves the girl out of the cheerful little flat she'd been living in with her mom into a nasty, filthy hovel, 'cause who's gonna pay the rent on the nice place? After a bitchy teacher mocks her "great potential", she drops out of school. She befriends a slightly younger boy who is basically living on the streets because of his crappy family life, and lets him crash in her hovel. That's as far as I've gotten, because you know reading subtitles in bed puts me to sleep. But what is going to happen to her is that she gets sold into prostitution. I know this because the reason I even heard of this movie is that it was mentioned by several people on jezebel in a discussion of sex trafficking. Anyway, I have to say my suspension of disbelief was tweaked at the thought of a mother blithely abandoning a fifteen or sixteen year old to fend for herself, but duh. The reason they make depressing films like this is because this shit really happens and people ought to think about it.

2.) Does anyone know anything about podcasts? I am fascinated that the free podcasts I download from iTunes to do my c25k to magically disappear from the iPod when I am done with them. At first I thought, oh, because you're supposed to do three days of each week of c25k, the podcasts self-destruct (haha) after you've listened to them three times. But then, one week I only listened to that week's podcast twice because my first day of that week I had an iPod problem and had to do the timing of the c25k myself, and it *still* disappeared like magic from my playlist when I'd done the third day. Like it's watching me or something. Oooo. Can someone technically smart explain to me what's going on here?

3.) So, is a tree gonna fall on my house tonight or what? I won't say I didn't have some concerns about that when they first started whipping everyone into a frenzy about it on the news, but then I heard we're only getting 40 mile per hour wind gusts which is nothing. We get those all the time. I will say, the Benevolent L left me voicemail yesterday, and when I called her back and got her voicemail and left a flippant little comment about having to worry about the whole tree-falling business, when we finally spoke, she wanted to talk about my feelings about that. Oh L, you've been my friend for almost 35 years and you still don't always get when I am joking. I think I need to carry around Irony Alert! signs, but how's that gonna help me over the phone?

4.) I need some Manny news! I better go check out what the interwebs are saying this morning.

Don't let a tree fall on you! Kisses!

Addendum: Manny's flying his personal barber to Boston, so he'll have a new look for tonight's game. Manny Hair Watch, Day 2, out.

xoxo

sex for buddhists, as promised

Okay, I finished the book. Lemme tell you first of all that I was quite disappointed in it. Much of it was stuff I already knew from all those other Buddhism books I read: that the main Buddhist principle is "do no harm" and because they are not so much into the rules and regulations and the whole authority thang, it is up to *you* to decide whether any of your sexual expression is hurting you or anyone else. If so, knock it the fuck off. And then there's a whole long chapter and part of another that is basically a transcript of a long interview he did with Nina Hartley (i.e. big ol' pr0n star who was actually raised as a Zen Buddhist by her hippie parents). She's not as interesting as she thinks she is.

And the author, Mr Warner? Well, he's a punk rock guitarist turned Zen Buddhist monk turned writer, and frankly, he comes off as kind of a douche. He's quite dismissive of other forms of Buddhism, maybe unconsciously. He actually even makes a bit of a flip and disrespectful comment towards the Dalai Lama, which c'mon now. He's the Dalai Lama, the spiritual (and political) leader of millions of people, and I've never heard anything about him that suggests he is not worthy of a modicum of respect. He also takes a dig or two towards Thich Nhat Hahn and though he doesn't mention Sharon Salzberg by name, he definitely sneers at the popularity of the metta meditation (you know, that loving-kindness thing I do?) in the West. In fact, he mocks Western "Buddhists" like me, who like the parts of Buddhism they've read about but who aren't actually practitioners, which fair enough. I am certainly ripe for the mocking. And he also mocks The Secret, which, yeah, +10 for that.

But the worst part of this book? Apparently no one copyedited it. There were at least three or four instances of words omitted or added to sentences, or a verb in the wrong tense--the kind of thing that happens when you go back and rewrite a sentence to make it sound better but you botch the edit, and then *you* can't see the mistake till you've reread the paragraph fifty times, if then, because you know what it's supposed to say. That's the kind of thing that happens in, y'know, a blog. I would NOT expect that kind of thing in a professionally published book I paid $14.95 for at the Borders. Give an unemployed editor a job, yo!

I did read one thing in the book that fascinated me in that he was looking at a concept from one direction and I myself have noticed the exact same thing in the opposite direction. It's interesting enough to me that I'm tempted to look at his blog and see if it has contact info, then email him about it. But besides that, there were some random things in the book I did not know. Did you know that in 13th century Cambodia, daughters of wealthy families were deflowered between the age of seven and nine by a Buddhist priest? Did you know that in modern Japan there is a bodhisattva called Jizo who is considered the guardian of "water children"--that is, children who were stillborn, miscarried, or aborted--and little statues of him are decorated with red bibs and offerings of flowers and little toys by parents who have lost or, especially, aborted a pregnancy? You know I like knowing these little crosscultural facts!

So, anyway, I can't really recommend you spend your $14.95 on this book, but I did read it in about three days and it did not give me tendinitis. So there is that.

And on another note, and speaking of crosscultural facts, my secret sources (okay, Mr Indemnity) tell me that our friend Man-well is already making trouble in Chicago, including pretending he doesn't speak English and demanding to do an interview in Spanish with an interpreter. Oh, Manuel Aristides. Part of me will always love you.

xoxo