New Year Resolutions

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Oh hey there!

So as you can imagine I made a 2015 goal to get back to writing, which I did pretty much not at all last year. Hence this very post! I'm still futzing around with how that's going to look. I'm not sure I'll keep this a public blog or do something more private but...anyway. Here we are. Talking New Years Resolutions.

I have, like, a million. Or 5. Same thing.

Tidbits

1. PG&E is tearing up my street. Judging by the rate they have finished up work on surrounding streets, they should be done sometime in late 2013. It's not really a big deal for me. I live on a street with an easement. Meaning: our garage is in the back of the house and there is enough room back there to park my car so that I, god forbid, don't have to park several blocks away to get to my house.

However, my dogs (sorry, I'm talking about my dogs again), who hate the sound of, well, pretty much everything but loud trucks in particular, have been barking the vast majority of the day. Fun times!

None of this would be happening if PG&E hadn't accidentally, ya know, blown up half of San Bruno.

Even more fun is the conversation with my mother. She really isn't old, by parent standards, but she says things lately that remind me distinctly of my grandmother. "I don't know why they can just go around tearing things up!" I then explained a quasi-government agency that provides necessities. "But electricity hasn't even been around that long." Would you like to go without it? "No..." Okay then.

(I also got caught in a discussion where I was explaining tort liability. "I don't understand how that girl that walked into the propeller can sue." I started to tell her about how she's not really suing the plane company and insurance and comparative negligence when I decided for my sanity I should probably stop. Moral of the story: don't go to law school. Ever. You are far better off blissfully unaware. If you do go, because you're a masochist, don't discuss it with your family. Ever.)

2. In other news: my friends and I went to pub trivia Wednesday night. And even though we were a team of three (with a little help from the table next to us on 3 questions) competing against monster teams of about 15, we won. The look on Chuck's face when it became apparent that we were going to be declared winners was priceless. We had hung tough, creeping into second at one point before falling to 3rd. I'd been expecting we'd get the best small team prize but a few fortunate questions in the final round (one involving horse races and one involving horse breeds) where points are doubled, and we somehow snuck into the lead. (Joe Versus the Volcano is the 3rd movie whenever they're looking for the 3 that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan have been in together, you guys. And it's a cute movie.) That cut our bar tab in more than half. We were all a little shocked we won. We just go to play, have fun, kill some time on a Wednesday night. I'm not out to crush or kill, even though I'm competitive and like to correctly answer the questions. We don't whoop when we get something we're particularly proud of correct (pulling out of the recesses of my brain Roman god of metal working (Vulcan) when I knew immediately the Greek one (Hephaestus)), which is why the quiz master had a hard time identifying our team as the winners. For as much as Chuck teases me endlessly about the "random, useless, crap" in my brain, there is one place it comes in handy: pub trivia. Don't get me wrong though, it was a team effort and a couple of tapping their own recesses by Cheryl and Chuck definitely got us to where we were. I only wish this translated to my online trivia game, which I tend to be a bit woeful at. Still, a solid win, even in pub trivia, is nice.

3. I've been having all these horribly awkward run-ins at the gym. So I have avoided going for the past few days. Also my workout headphones broke and there is no way I am going to the gym without something to pretend I'm not at the gym, therefore I now have to wait for the ones I ordered to show up from Amazon.

I decided in place of going to the gym, I'd try a few OnDemand videos. First I knocked out 5 minute abs, as "core work" (sorry for the assy gym speak) is something I neglect. At the gym, I get in, do my cardio, get out. I know deep down that if I want things to actually change I have to do more weights and core work so I thought 5 minute abs would be a good place to start. And it was. I got done and thought, "Huh. That wasn't so bad." Someone forgot that you don't hurt right away! That the muscle pain sets in the next day! AHAHAHAHA! I've now been avoiding laughing for a 36 hours because holy geezus. It was a nice reminder that while I have plenty of breath anymore, I'm nowhere near in shape. Thanks, body! And genetics! AWESOME!

After that I did a yoga workout. I am not a yoga person. I (this will be completely unsurprising) find yoga people a little...ya know? They're like obnoxious quasi-hippies. It's culty. But I have never been accused of being flexible and yoga is basically just a whole bunch of stretching so I have occasionally given in and done it. The OnDemand program I have previously done, and which was a good pace for us beginners, was no longer available. I found this other one that was like morning wake up yoga and figure I'd give that a try. At first, when the blonde with not an ounce of fat on her lady started in with her "namaste", I thought my eyes were gonna get permanently stuck from rolling in the back of my head. But I decided, in the safety of my house, to just go with it and give in to the absurdity of it. I shook it out when she told me to shake it out. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was completely ridiculous. But it also appropriately kicked my ass. Lesson: sometimes if you don't fight things with your slightly uptight nature, you can have a good time and actually get a work out in. Look at me being all healthy and stuff!

I'm also on day five without soda. I don't think I'll be making it to day six.

Now I'm off, like all of you, to go buy megamillions tickets and spend the rest of the day fantasizing about what I'll do if I win. If you win can you just pay off my student loans? That'd be super helpful. If I win, I'll do the same for you. (Totally non-binding internet agreement, y'all!)

Stay Out

I usually stay away from politics on here. I'm not well versed enough on the issues so I leave it to those who actually care/are knowledgeable. I have little faith in anything changing, and yet immense faith that they ultimately have to change because really we can't be that stupid. Except I'm usually proven wrong and we are that stupid.

But lately? The Republicans are all up in my lady bits and that has to stop. That's something worth saying something about, even if I'm not the most well versed on the topic.

Not a Drop

I have not had a single drop of alcohol in a month. Not a drop. Not a sip of someone's drink at dinner. Not  a cocktail with dinner. Not wine alone at home. Nada. There may be some wine that cooked out of dinners we made or in meals that I ordered at restaurants, but other than that, nothing. And that doesn't exactly count.

Gym Going

I recently decided to get myself into a shape besides round. To just do it and shut up about it. So I spend vast amounts of time at the gym. Last week I got a little disheartened counting up all the minutes for the rest of my life I would need to spend at the gym to get in a shape other than round. And then I had sinus issues (rain, sun, rain, sun, wind in SF has wreaked havoc with allergies) so I ended up taking a week off from the gym for the first time since the new year. That was probably good for me, a little separation. I am not, however, gonna talk about the amazing health benefits of exercise. To each his own and I will not preachify on my amazing, still new, habits. (If I ever start talking to you about eating healthy and how great quinoa is, something I'm still loathe to completely do, buy me a cheeseburger and tell me to STFU.) What I AM gonna talk about is how horrific gym people are.

First of all, because I live in the biggest little city ever (not Reno, despite that being its motto), I regularly run into people I know at the gym. Nothing is more fun than sweating, attempting to stay upright on the elliptical while trying to make awkward chit chat with people you've known forever. Some people I don't mind running into, like this cop I've known since he was in the academy. Every person from high school ever? Yeah, not so much with the fun.

As for other types of gym people:

What is it with dudes at the gym? Why can no dude walk by a mirror without looking at himself? It seems as if they are physically incapable of passing by a reflective surface without taking a long look. Actually, I don't find gym dudes all that horrible just hysterically amusing. It reminds me of Johnny Bravo constantly looking at himself. Narcissism is funny. News flash: you are not the hot shit that you think you are, gym dude.

Related to that are dudes that hang out in the weights section like it's a coffee shop. The heavy weight lifting section might as well have a sign that says, "Dude Territory", it's somewhere I never dare to tread. But guys just chill there, seemingly all day. Is this some secret guy club the rest of us females are unaware of?

Dudes, while you're hanging out over among all those weights, you might want to try some leg lifts. Squat thrusts. Something. Just a few. Because dudes spend a seemingly inordinate amount of time on their arms, making sure they have perfect biceps and lats but then have itty bitty legs. Teeny tiny toothpick legs. We, women, notice these things. Yes, we do. So couple dozen leg presses wouldn't hurt too, ya know? Just so you look proportional.

Basically: dudes at the gym are funny.

Girls do comical things at the gym, too.

There are girls that don't sweat. WTF is that? Some girls don't sweat because they aren't trying. Why are you HERE then? Just casually meandering around the gym. But there are some that are running and yet never a single drop of perspiration. How is that possible? I drip sweat. It's super unattractive. But guess what: not at the gym to be attractive. Really don't gaf what I look like at the gym. (There's an episode of How I Met Your Mother that drives me insane where they make fun of how Robin looks like a lesbian (their words, not mine) at the gym. What the hell is she supposed to look like AT THE GYM?) But, unlike me, there are girls that do care about how they look. Show up in these matching outfits with their hair, even in a pony tail, all blown out and perfect and makeup on. I understand they may have come from someplace where that was necessary. But then they maintain it while exercising? How? Basically: if you don't sweat and look cute at the gym, I kinda hate you and yet want to be you at the same time.

There are girls in really nice work out gear who show up for all of five minutes of cardio before disappearing. Must be nice to work off the stalk of celery and nothing else you ate all day long. I envy you, girls with fast metabolisms that don't actually need exercise.

There are people at the gym who talk on their phones the whole time. The. Whole. Time. They simply sit on work out benches and chat away instead of actually doing any exercise. Some people chat while on treadmills, which can be disorienting when you're next to them and not sure if they're talking to you at first because you have your headphones on and that "I do not talk while here" face. But the ones that just plop in a corner and chat away? You don't burn calories just by showing up, folks.

My absolute favorite though are the people that get on treadmills and put the incline to as vertical as it will go and then hang on for dear life to the handles, looking like they are on some standing amusement park contraption. It's downright comical. These people are inevitably older Chinese women who are wearing mom jeans and canvas shoes at the gym and they just endlessly make me laugh. It's even funnier because it's not like we live in Kansas. You want to hike your ass up a near vertical hill? Go try California Street. Hell, I refuse to walk home from the gym up the hill two blocks down the street from the gym because it's too steep. I walk a few more blocks down before taking the uphill that's more gently graded.

Oh wait! One more gym favorite: there's a half basketball court at my gym that is glassed in. It's not even the best place to play basketball within blocks of the gym but regardless, it is ALWAYS packed. 3 in the afternoon or 11 at night there are guys hooping it up. And they are playing HARD. You'd think they were all trying out for the NBA in a couple of weeks. If only they could get recognized at the crappy neighborhood gym! Darn the luck. And, this is reality not me being mean, the basketball area is pretty exclusively populated by 5'6" Asian dudes. Going FULL out. In a half basketball court. I think this is why Jeremy Lin is such a thing. Seems like so many Asian dudes want to play basketball so bad, but genetically aren't predisposed to being tall enough to be competitive. They now have someone to idolize. And he is most sincerely one of them, a Bay Area native. Sorry, short Asian dudes. I don't think you played at the University of Arizona despite you rocking their long, official basketball shorts. (This was true in high school too. I remember these guys who were so into basketball, and not just playing but the culture of it and the style and all of it, but just...they were never gonna be 6'6". As a fat chick I sympathize: genetics suck.)

I should thank the gym for being an endless source of distracting amusement when I do go there.  An hour of cardio can be completely monotonous. This has actually made me not dread my second workout after a week off so much. But still: the gym sucks. And whoever leaves cooking channels on the TVs at the gym is a stone cold bastard.

Don't ask the fat girl too many questions

I renewed my gym membership just before the new year. It had expired at the gym I've been going to for a few years and the cheaper option was to buy the 2 year commitment from Costco, even though I really don't want to be tied to that gym for the next two years. (Though they do have outposts all over the place so hopefully WHEN I get the hell out of SF, I can use it elsewhere.)

Anyway, since my membership had lapsed before being renewed I had to deal with the super enthusiastic, mid-20s, athletically built membership counselor rather than just having it automatically renew with no hassle.

I was handed a short form by the girl at the desk to fill out first. Ya know, basic name, address information.

To put this in context: it was new year's eve. An evening I feel more pressure about being single than even Valentine's Day. On Valentine's Day you can hide for the whole day, talk about how completely ridiculous the day is, make fun of couples giving each other stuffed bears, and not feel like a pariah.

New Year's Eve? When that clock strikes midnight and you're not kissing someone, whether at intimate party or full blown amateur hour bar scene, you feel awkward and uncomfortable and oh look there's some champagne I'll just drink more of that, thanks. Therefore, I was feeling a little touchy.

So I'm at the gym on New Year's eve day, because I hate myself apparently, and I'm filling out the form mindlessly when I get to the question that says, "What is your marital status?" with a check box for married and one for single. And I completely balk. Oh hell no. I'm not answering that. WTF does that have to do with me working out? Not a damn thing. In the crowded, noisy gym I even say out loud, "Oh! I'm not answering that!" The fit, sincere, 20-something dude who has approached to take me to the computer stations and officially get me re-registered says, "It's just so we can determine if you can add a family membership or..." I interject that "It's still none of your damn business! I'm not answering that." I dramatically draw a line through the question. He laughs nervously. (Pretty sure my reaction was a good indication I'm single as f*ck. Ya think?)

I do actually take umbrage with the way it was phrased. If you have a live in partner they don't count? Civil union? It simply had married and single as the options. So...only married people can add a membership to their account? In a culturally diverse city with a myriad of terms for who people are to each other, it seemed narrowly tailored. Still, probably not the most reasonable/best time to bring up my objections to the gym's policy.

We're now seated at the computer stations where he's typing all the information I put on the card into the computer. And he has to give me the mega-gym pre-approved questions about what my fitness goals are. I really just want to hop back on the elliptical and be left alone. I'm not a chatty gym goer to begin with. I'm also a bit (more than usual) out of sorts because I haven't been able to work out at the gym in over a month, waiting for funds to come in. Long walks on the beach only do so much for my mental health. As much as exercise is not fun, it amazingly does have an affect on your mood. Who knew, right? Because of that though, I'm in no mood to exchange chit chat with the well meaning, way too healthy gym employee. Just punch in the info, have me sign what I need to sign and let me be on my way. But no. That's not how it's gonna go.

He asks me what my fitness goals are. I pause. I really don't want to answer. It's none of this stranger's business what my fitness goals are. If I wanted to dump my shit on someone, I would trade my gym membership for a therapist (which I also can't afford. Hysterical!). "My goals? To not be insecure and hate my body. To fit into expensive brand name jeans and visit the skinny girl section at Nordstrom with the trendy clothes and maybe buy something age inappropriate, cheaply made, and slutty looking at Forever 21. Those are my goals, jackass. What do you think of dem apples?" are all the things I didn't say. I may have even tried to deflect the question but overly eager gym employee is looking at me all big eyes and I'm just like "guhhhh." In a moment of complete snark, without even really thinking about it, I say, "Well my goal is to be a supermodel but seeing as how I'm not 17 and 5'11" I'm not sure how realistic that is so we'll just go with 'to be healthier', mkay?" He again laughs nervously.

He continues, "So we have a special on personal training..." I am vigorously shaking my head no. "Look, I barely have money for the membership, I don't have money for a trainer. Thanks." He punches in more info. It feels like I've been at this computer terminal for twenty minutes now. "Can you just show me the screen and let ME type in the info? This will go faster," I want to implore. And I'm feeling a little bad. I mean, again, this kid is nice. He's doing his job. He means well. But I'm seriously, ridiculously, completely in no mood to be accommodating. I just wanted to get to the gym and get signed in before the new years rush of people that go to the gym twice for their resolutions and are never seen again.

After what feels like another interminably long time he says, "And what do you usually do when you come to the gym? What's your routine?" I realize that these aren't THE most personal questions in the history of the world. He's not asking me how many sexual partners I've had or when the last time I drank to excess was but it's just more than I can handle at the moment. I recognized that the point of his question is so that he can then tell me about all the wonderful classes they have blah blah so I respond this way, "I do cardio when I come here and some of the weight machines. I am a put on your headphones do not interact with anyone gym goer. I don't do classes, I don't talk to people. I just get in and get out." I actually probably should have let him hand me a class schedule because I am interested in taking classes, but again: no mood.

This last retort is when he likely gives up on me. Which I'm okay with. He finally fills in all the little boxes on the computer screen and gets the membership activated and I am free to, mercifully, go on my way. To get one last workout in before the new year.

Ugh. The gym, man. Just...ya know?

As we start the new year, and my month lay off from gym going means workouts are painful, I offer you a comedic aside on gym going. You're welcome!

May you all have happy and healthy 2012's, where you achieve that goal of supermodel looks. I know I will.

Dating (Grumble)

The Russian wants to go out again. The engineer loves the banter and wants to go for drinks. And the idiot from last summer suddenly feels compelled to reach out and be friends. (That last one led to a pretty epic takedown. I'm fairly proud of myself there. It basically involved saying, "I don't need more friends." Unfortunately that wasn't enough of a hint blatant statement and for his own selfish reasons he insists we can be best buds. Yeah. No. Not happening.)

Honestly? Care not a lick about any of it. I'm trying. "Yay! Attention!" But really I feel like Goldilocks. "Too..." Well, the "too" is nothing I should really divulge as they will make me look shallow and horrible. Which I am, a little bit. I'll own that much. And if you know me, you know that and love me regardless. Just...none of it is quite right, ya know? And I'm not in the mood to fake it right now. Head tilt, laugh, witty comment, sip drink. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And there are lingering "But there's someone jussstt right..." I know the potential now exists for a 6'+ guy who is into sports and is actually smartassy and sarcastic and doesn't just THINK he's those things without actually being them, and tolerates it in me, without just thinking he's tolerating it. (Seriously, the number of guys who want honesty, get it thrown at them, and then balk is phenomenal. And banter. They all need to look up the definition. Telling me "You're so funny", while flattering, is not actually banter. Really? That's all you got? I need a challenge. I need someone who gives as good as they get. Rolling over and wanting your belly rubbed is for my dogs, not a guy, and does exactly nothing for me. There's no excitement there.)

I know I sound horrible for bitching about this and plenty of girls would love to just be fawned over and told they are great, but...I'm not one of them. I have flaws. Obvious ones. And I can be hard on myself. I'm just another girl in a sea of girls. Straight flattery makes me uncomfortable. Example: I got a compliment from someone whose opinion actually matters the other night and it just made me squirm. Which I told him. Which he knew. Yes, these are my own insecurity issues and I need to get over them. Just, in dating I need an entirely different approach than what I think the universe has conditioned us in the norm through movies and Cosmo.

So why am I even IN this position? I dunno. I figured I had to get back out there and couldn't just mope forever. There's not really anything else going on? Why not? Those are really awful reasons, I realize. And after reading this handy little guide to dating, I'm realizing it's not really fair for me to half ass it. I think I'll nip it all in the bud and do some of that self reflection bullshit. (I'm just oozing positivity today, aren't I?)

It's baseball season which means going to games with my dad (excited for mid-week day game baseball tomorrow). And playing with my dogs is more enjoyable than most of these other interactions. I want to kick it with my friends and talk about hockey and drink good whiskey. That's how I like to spend my time. THIS is why I'll be single forever. I'm okay with that as a fact. Embrace it, actually.

I think until I can invest some energy and interest in actually meeting people, I should probably quit with this trying to date nonsense.

In other news: It's festival season here in the 'Sco. I'm actually stoked for North Beach festival. (Yes, I called it the 'Sco and said stoked. Bite me.) I have avoided this the past couple years, what with bar study and general feelings of...ya know, reference above insecurities.

But suddenly, and not accidentally, I'm feeling a little bit more confident. I know, the most confident insecure girl ever. I can run, y'all. Like for real. It's still more jogging at 5.5 mph. (I figure at 10 min mile makes it running and not jogging.) I can do three miles. Not quite 3 straight, but working up to that. Maybe tonight, as I got new running shoes. Which I am way more excited about than is probably necessary.

I won't admit to losing any weight, I haven't been on a scale in forever, but I know that my clothes are fitting differently. The suit I wore to my swearing in ceremony I was swimming in. I looked at some pictures from summer '08, deciding if I should go back to that hair color or not, and I was thought, "Wow, I gotta be way slimmer than that!" That's kind of...exciting. There is still a ton of work to be done, which can be daunting, and I still have to watch what I eat and all that fun stuff, but it feels good to know I can begin to kick ass and take names. Now to look like 19 year old me... (Buahahahah!)

Fat Girl in the USA

Being female is HARD. And I don't mean that in the flip way I mean that when I complain about flat ironing my hair and putting on make up and figuring out what to wear. The buffing, the painting, plucking, shaving...the sheer effort to look as good as we want to look FOR YOU. Yes, that's all hard but that's not what I mean.

I've never been a man so I'm not going to say that that's NOT hard, I'm sure for it's own reasons it all very much is too but...just...it can't compare, right?

Unlikely Inspiration

I rarely answer the house phone anymore. It's never for me, I don't give anyone that number, and I generally get annoyed at whoever I talk to on there.

But today, I happened to be sitting in the kitchen, my parents were out, and when it rang I thought it might be my cousin who I have to do something with tomorrow, or my aunt who I need to ask for a favor anyway. Turns out it was my other cousin, Matthew.

Matthew is two years older than me. He looks scary, with a shaved head and tattoos on his neck and hands. He has been in and out of trouble for most of his life, kicked out of the various Catholic schools of the city, and in more serious legal trouble. But his bark is WAY bigger than his bite as he's actually quite charming and adorable, with his crooked smile and Irish good looks. He's easily the most Irish of any of us and although he keeps his head shaved now, has fantastic auburn waves when he doesn't. He is the father of the most hysterical 6 year old twins ever. The girl is actually quite bossy and contrarian, but then again so is almost every female in my family. The boy twin is one of the few children I like. He is a HUGE football fan and just...he's flipping ridiculous.

Like I said, Matthew has been in and out of trouble, but recently, in the past year or so, he decided to get his act together. Figured out that he was one of those people for whom alcohol is a really bad idea, as he is an awful, mean drunk, and got really into nutrition. He's trying to get his body down to an absurd 7% body fat.

And because of this, I occasionally run into him at the gym near my house.

Oh, digression: my grandfather somehow master engineered everyone living within a relatively close radius of his house. So even though SF is, for all intents and purposes, a major freaking city, when we were growing up, all my aunts lived within 2 miles of my grandfather's house. My mom and my Aunt Jeanne are still in the same houses from back then (we've been in this house since I was 4) and are just on opposite sides of Stonestown from each other. Matthew still lives at home, I still live at home, hence us running into each other at the same gym, the closest to our houses that is open the latest.

So when I answered the phone, I had a few minute conversation with Matthew. Pleasantries exchanged, he asked me what I was up to. I said, "Studying."

I should add that I was at wits end today. I didn't want to write about it because I'm tired of complaining, I figure everyone else is tired of hearing me complain, and it's all just a giant guhhhh but, safe to say: it was NOT a good day.

Matthew then says, "Have you been going to the gym?" I say, "Nooo. I've been studying and can only work my brain or my body at any given time! I can't do both!" I'm exasperated. I'm losing it. I'm frustrated. Though trying to be pleasant on the phone. Matthew then says, "There is ALWAYS time to make yourself feel good!" I sort of half laugh and tell him he reminds me of my brother, something he said a lonng time ago that he probably doesn't even remember saying but that has always stuck with me about always making time to work out.

I actually hung up with him and was sort of annoyed, and thought to myself, in a sarcastic way, "Well YOU were more fun when you drank..."

I go through the afternoon studying and cursing and crying. It's finally 9 at night and Matthew's words are still ringing in my ears. I figure there might be some truth to them and I should go work out and see if that makes me feel any better, as I've hit a wall with studying. I tell my mom I'm going to the gym and that Matthew shamed me into it. I tell her what he said on the phone and she laughs.

But holy crap was he right! I feel so much better! It was like, "Alright, I got this. Conquering the treadmill? THAT I can handle. The rest of this? It will come." And I gave myself ridiculous internal pep talks while I did it and I listened to my favorite mix over and over again. I do an hour of cardio and stretch after. I feel refreshed now. Endorphins, man. Flipping endorphins. It's easy to forget, in the midst of all this bar stuff, how important it is to still take care of yourself and let your brain rest (and not just by watching TV). I remembered what it felt like to move my muscles and let it all go and remember that there is a future beyond this.

Thus, a shout out, to my adorable cousin for kicking my ass, reminding me of the little things, and sending my ass back to the gym. It was a solid idea.

Grumble

I was rocking the past two days. Gym, study, eat healthy. Then last night I got sucked down the Hulu wormhole, had weird dreams wherein I made up entire scenarios of me dating Brooks Laich (he's my new gorgeous man crush. He plays  hockey. He hits other people. Hard. I find this totally attractive). I have included a picture of him below for your perusal. He also has an amazing Canadian accent and is from a town called "Regina", which we all know is one of the most fun Canadian towns to say the name of. (It rhymes with lady bits. Giggle. [I am a 15 year old boy])

If I was any good with photoshop there would be speech bubble where he asks to go out with me.

Anyway, despite the Brooks Laich made up dating scenarios (god I need a life), I didn't sleep well, slept too late and am back to my "Gah I don't want to do this!" mood today. 

So, since this is my universe, and mine alone, things currently bothering me (List time!):

Shameless (Plugs)

I watched a Showtime sneak peek of Shameless last night. It's a remake of a British show. But well done (unlike Coupling, for which I have yet to forgive NBC). Like the British version, I predict complete stardom for the guy playing Steve. In the British version it was played by James McAvoy (obligatory swoon). In this version it's some guy I've never heard of named Justin Chatwin. I am now in lurve with him. Though more accurately I'm in love with whoever writes his dialogue.

Y'all. Y'aaaaaalllllll. Get to the 37 minute mark of that first link and watch 'til about the 43 minute mark. You ever absolutely want to get a girl to love you? Nail her like that. Just...call her on all her BS and let her know that you know her essence. And there you have about the most romantic advice you are ever going to get from me. (And yes, I see a tiny bit of my own defensiveness and insecurities in Fiona. What of it?) This show makes me really wish I had Showtime. I might have to *gasp* look into illegally downloading it. (I joke. I would NEVER knowingly break the law. [disclaimer])

Anyway, that is a roundabout way of saying, bar study is going REALLY well. (Where IS that sarcasm font?) If you want to follow along with me as I lose my mind on that, I created a separate blog for it because it's really fucking boring if you aren't a lawyer/law student/dealing with this shit yourself. So here it is. But really, read it, because if decent descent (I HAVE NO BRAIN!) into madness is your thing, this will totally amuse you.

In other news: in the opposite of new years resolutions, I have yet to go to the gym. I keep making promises. Then keep staying up 'til 4 a.m. screwing around on the internet and waking up at noon. We're going to try and break that tonight with some Tylenol P.M. I need a schedule and a routine and I need to stick with it. If you have suggestions on how to do that, I am ALL ears. You think this would be easier now that football season is over (sad face), but, I am nothing if not good at finding distractions. If there was a degree in that, I'd be the dean of college is slackeritis.

So. Yeah. That's what's going on over here.

Downward Spiral

Cut for excessive whining

Concern and Perception

When Beth wrote her blog on what happened Saturday night (a much more coherent version than mine), I had a momentary panic attack. She's friends with both my brother and father on Facebook, a few clicks and they would have access to all that is contained herein. And then I thought, Fuck it. Much like, and probably more so than, the previous blog I stand by everything in here and it probably wouldn't actually hurt them to know a bit more about what's going on in my life. I own it all. I understand the ridiculousness that is my life. And I kind of love it. Every single random serendipitous adventure that I go on makes me grateful to be able to have such random serendipitous adventures. So here it all is. Every wart, every zit, every stupid thing I say or do. Well...mostly...

It also got me thinking about perceptions. How we view ourselves v. how other view us. I do not think of myself as overly confident, and yet Beth refers to me that way in her post. I am as insecure and have as many self esteem issues as pretty much every other girl out there. I feel invisible about 80% of the time, especially when in the presence of my aforementioned father and brother. When I mentioned to Cheryl what Beth had said in her blog, she's like, "You are! You just walk in like you own places!" So, for future reference: I'M TOTALLY BLUFFING, Y'ALL! Maybe faux confidence turns into real confidence? I know I talk a lot. I know all the random, useless trivia in my brain makes me able to prattle on and on and on in just about any situation. And in the Marina I think part of it is I know that if worse comes to worse I can kick any of those coke snorting girl's asses (seriously. two girls go into the stall at Bar None together? there's only one reason for that). But mostly? I'm totes faking it, yo.

Beth, btw, is AMAZING. I went to her Soberversary tonight. I can't imagine spending the last two years sober. I can't imagine not picking up a cold beverage to take the edge off when I need it. I can't imagine what fortitude it takes to be around people like me who can't handle not doing that. I would never ever meet guys if it weren't for alcohol. So yeah. Mad props to Beth and her ability to handle it all with incredible grace.

Anyway, San Francisco has had amazing weather. It's 70ish in November. I finally decided that getting out and about in SF was something I needed to be doing. I walked from Taraval up to the parking lot at Land's End and back. It was fantastic. And exhausting. My hips are killing me. But it felt GOOD to be out there, seeing how far I could push it. And despite all protestations to the contrary, I am beginning to notice small differences. My jeans are a little bit bigger in the thighs, shirts a little looser. And it feels phenomenal. But I don't want to jinx it. Because I'm hellza supersticious and all.

Also:
CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the 1925 silent film *The Gold Rush,*
Charlie Chaplin plays a prospector during the Alaska Gold Rush. After a
series of adventures, he finds himself stuck in a remote cabin on
Thanksgiving Day with a ruffian named Big Jim. They're out of food, so
Charlie gets resourceful, boiling his right shoe in a big pot and serving it
up steaming hot. What the audience doesn't know is that the movie prop
is made of sweet licorice, not leather. So while it may seem that dinner is
a hardship, the actors actually had no trouble polishing off their meal. I
see a similar scenario in your near future, Cancerian: something like eating
a "shoe" that's made of candy.

That's my horoscope for this week. I...don't know how to take that. Is getting bar results gonna be the shoe? Is this week the shoe? Is swallowing down licorice how I'm going to act if I fail? AHHHHHH!! I'll try not to dwell too much on it. It is just a horoscope. But we all know that Friday is looming. So there's that...

Finally

I am finally mostly over this insane stomach virus I've had for a week. I started to lose it Saturday, crying because I was tired of feeling awful and useless, cursing a country without universal health care, angry at my mother for not believing I was actually ill until she got ill herself, the joy sucked out of almost everything, even football watching (that's more because we suck and we lost, though). I'm still not a 100%, but definitely more like 85%, which I'll take as a vast improvement. On the upside, I'm sure I did lose about 10 lbs so, ya know, that's nice.

So some things I learned while I was ill:

1. No one plays fantasy football because it's fun. It is not fun. It is the opposite of fun. It is routinely frustrating and annoying. I guess when you play in leagues for money you're at least invested more but I seriously doubt anyone is having any fun. Things I routinely do in FF: leave more points on the bench than I have earned with certain players. This week that meant benching Beanie Wells, who so far had been lackluster all season. Suddenly he has 11 point game but oh, he's on the bench, in favor of Rashard Mendenhall who had been phenomenal. But guess what? That's when Hines Ward, who had been lackluster also, decides to bust out the points. Which is great, because he's also on my team and NOT benched. But since Mendenhall and Ward play different positions on the same team it was almost like Ward STOLE my points from Mendenhall. Which is lesson a) If two players in different positions are on the same team, bench one and take the other. Lesson b) this is stupid and I don't want to play anymore. Harumph. I'm losing this week by five points (5 points that were left on the bench!). Unless Dez Bryant has a great game and Jeremy Jason Witten has a crap game, I'm going down in flames. Again.

2. Indie Romances are my absolute weakness. Seriously. Not that being sick doesn't already influence the "awww I want someone to cuddle with" genes I possess, somewhere in the not so deep recesses of my mind, but combine that with a slickly written indie story? I'm a goner. I watched a movie called Penelope, which had one of the most perfect story lines in a fairy tale EVER. And had James McAvoy, which never hurts. Later, I watched Dakota Skye. It's not perfect, the actors are young and obviously inexperienced. But almost every speech by the protagonist? I was hooked. I've watched this confessional scene at least ten times. That's not even an exaggeration. I know, it's not real life. It's movies. (Repeating over and over and over again.)

I watched a couple disappointing French films in between (Paris and Happenstance) and then watched TiMER, an interesting study of what true love is and would you want to know when it's coming? After all this, I was decidedly all squee. And still want someone to cuddle with and make me feel better. So screw you, indie romances, for showing me an idealized view, with witty dialogue, of male-female relationships. (But thanks, Netflix Instant, for keeping me entertained while sick.)

3. When you are sick, everyone and everything is supremely annoying. No, seriously, it's true. I don't know why or how this is true, but it is. So if I was bitchy in the past week...well, put on your man pants and deal with it. I don't fucking care about your problems.

4. Hey! Look! The mail came! The state bar of California FINALLY says I possess the proper moral character to practice law. How sweet of them! (For which they charged me $435 to figure out.) 2/3s of the way to being a practicing lawyer! *deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths*

5. Dr Pepper may have actual healing properties! I was starting to feel a skosh better when I caved and had some Dr Pepper. After all the gatorade, cranberry juice, tea, water, water, water...THIS finally got me to the 85% you see before you today. Wheeee!

And thus concludes this edition of "What I've learned". More another time...