Hormones are so strange. In high school I was only plagued with one or two zits once a month. They would usually pop up in places that could be concealed easily: along the hair line, on my forehead (come on, it was the 90's everyone had bangs), or in the crease along my nose (cover girl cover up). I didn' t use expensive face care lines, I wore cheap makeup that I usually wore to bed, and I washed my face with the same soap as I used on my body. Since I have become an adult I have been plagued with ACNE!! WTF!! Puberty has come and gone--why now? Now that I'm 30 I have to not only fight zits but cover, treat, and prevent wrinkles. That is always fun: how do you judge the moisturizer because I'm damned if I use it and damned if I don't. I have been a compulsive user of quite a few EXPENSIVE skin care lines and they either made my breakout way worse or didn't do a damn thing.
We have all had the opportunity of suffering from insomnia at some point in our lives and if you're like me I am always drawn to the late night infomercials. I was especially drawn to the Proactiv one, as drawn as a moth in July is drawn to my bathroom light fixture. How could I not be intriged? There was Vanessa Williams (post Miss America and grammy award winning singer) and Jessica Simpson (short on the brain cells, blessed with the rack) telling me about how they, too, have adult acne and used this shit and look how flawless their faces are now: no zits, no scars. BEFORE YOU START: I am not an idiot, this is TV and anyone can be airbrushed or made up so thick you can't see a thing. But it was 3 o'clock in the friggin morning and I was hooked. I ordered the shit the next day and it seems to work. Normally when I'm on my period I look like an extra large deep dish but I'm only sporting 2 major zits--that is a huge accomplishment. Unfortunately I'm not getting a cut of the profits for Proactiv; it works for me.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Bordering Compulsion
I am afraid that I have shifted my compulsion. As I have said, or eluded to, in the past: I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and up until this very second of realization my compulsions were mainly cleanliness. Don't get me wrong, I cleaned my house yesterday and it gave me a euphoric feeling but in the past I would clean EVERY part of my house and wouldn't/couldn't stop until it was done. I did not mop the kitchen, bathroom, or laundry room, I did not dust any of the bedrooms, and I let the windows continue to sport little paddy marks.
My new obsession is the gym: I go 5 times a week and I never work out for less than 1 hour (various combinations of free weights, weight machines, & cardio machines) I should be losing weight right? I'm gaining weight and my clothes still fit the same--WTF. What I'm about to say is not politically correct in this messed up advanced western world we live in: I am happy with my body, it really isn't bad for having 2 kids and a blossoming figure due to my arch enemy, birth control. In the last 2 1/2 years I have returned to a size 7/8 (haven't seen this since pre-marriage, obligatory gyno visit and the damn prescription) and have not as many stretch marks as I should considering I weighed in at 198 lbs with my first kid and 211 with my second (I am really sick throughout the pregnancies and when they finally find meds that will help I make up for lost time: another story). I want to have a flat stomach (I have never had one, even when I was like a 3 in high school), I want my arms to not jiggle, and above all else I would like to be healthy and why not I'll probably contract skin cancer and I'll need to be in tip top shape for the treatments, right?
Sorry about the tangent: I'm gaining weight and no, it's not because I'm turning fat into muscle and muscle weighs more (don't give me the bullshit my mother gave me), my clothes would fit different if this was the case. My gym nazi husband (refer to past posts for description of nickname) pointed out that my habit of eating chocolate cake like it was my last day on earth was probably not helping. I decided to keep a food journal to see what kind of caloric intake I had, oh and to guilt myself out of pig outs when alone. An article in Glamour magazine talked about how this is key to weight loss and gave a couple of websites (nutritiondata.com & calorieking.com) to check the calories of everything under the sun. According to the site I am to eat 2233 calories to maintain my weight & about 1733 calories to lose weight in a healthy way. I don't even want to know what I was taking in before I started writing this shit down, but when the information is staring at me from a notebook on the counter, I feel guilty and ashamed. I have been eating about 2020 calories a day since I began my journal, I am hungry all the time but it is eye opening to all the junk I ate/wish to eat now. FYI, one normal size of chocolate cake (like Betty Crocker out of the box) is 2000 calories. Next time I sit down to indulge in self loathe and a pan of chocolate cake, I need to remember that I cannot eat anything else ALL DAY long. WHATEVER!! I will continue with my obsessive working out and writing down of calories. I will look forward to the day I can wear a two piece and not have a muffin top. And there will be a new compulsion somewhere down the line; however my cleanliness one lasted about 12-14 years (yes, I've seen a shrink. He saved my marriage-my OCD was much worse than what it is now)
My new obsession is the gym: I go 5 times a week and I never work out for less than 1 hour (various combinations of free weights, weight machines, & cardio machines) I should be losing weight right? I'm gaining weight and my clothes still fit the same--WTF. What I'm about to say is not politically correct in this messed up advanced western world we live in: I am happy with my body, it really isn't bad for having 2 kids and a blossoming figure due to my arch enemy, birth control. In the last 2 1/2 years I have returned to a size 7/8 (haven't seen this since pre-marriage, obligatory gyno visit and the damn prescription) and have not as many stretch marks as I should considering I weighed in at 198 lbs with my first kid and 211 with my second (I am really sick throughout the pregnancies and when they finally find meds that will help I make up for lost time: another story). I want to have a flat stomach (I have never had one, even when I was like a 3 in high school), I want my arms to not jiggle, and above all else I would like to be healthy and why not I'll probably contract skin cancer and I'll need to be in tip top shape for the treatments, right?
Sorry about the tangent: I'm gaining weight and no, it's not because I'm turning fat into muscle and muscle weighs more (don't give me the bullshit my mother gave me), my clothes would fit different if this was the case. My gym nazi husband (refer to past posts for description of nickname) pointed out that my habit of eating chocolate cake like it was my last day on earth was probably not helping. I decided to keep a food journal to see what kind of caloric intake I had, oh and to guilt myself out of pig outs when alone. An article in Glamour magazine talked about how this is key to weight loss and gave a couple of websites (nutritiondata.com & calorieking.com) to check the calories of everything under the sun. According to the site I am to eat 2233 calories to maintain my weight & about 1733 calories to lose weight in a healthy way. I don't even want to know what I was taking in before I started writing this shit down, but when the information is staring at me from a notebook on the counter, I feel guilty and ashamed. I have been eating about 2020 calories a day since I began my journal, I am hungry all the time but it is eye opening to all the junk I ate/wish to eat now. FYI, one normal size of chocolate cake (like Betty Crocker out of the box) is 2000 calories. Next time I sit down to indulge in self loathe and a pan of chocolate cake, I need to remember that I cannot eat anything else ALL DAY long. WHATEVER!! I will continue with my obsessive working out and writing down of calories. I will look forward to the day I can wear a two piece and not have a muffin top. And there will be a new compulsion somewhere down the line; however my cleanliness one lasted about 12-14 years (yes, I've seen a shrink. He saved my marriage-my OCD was much worse than what it is now)
Monday, February 4, 2008
Where are you springtime, how can I find you...
I promise I am not a pessimist, I am rather optimistic. Unfortunately I am using my blog as a forum for bitching and you are the whipping boy, you lucky dog.
Isn't snow so beautiful: how it falls like glitter from the deep black sky and piles up like whipped cream atop a mug of hot cocoa making the Christmas season feel so legitimate. Christmas is over, I want it gone! According to the news reports we have met our requirement of snow pack for adequate water during the summer (I say to hell with the "make up" for drought). Why must it continue to fall and why must people get excited about it: its cold, wet, and a bitch to shovel, scrape, etc. My fluid squirter thing on my windshield has been frozen for 2 weeks, my car is rotting under the thick layer of salt flipped from the roads, my floors haven't been mopped, with soap, in months--why bother someone will track in snow and there goes my work. I have gone so far as to shove my head into a rather large bag of Miracle-Gro potting soil to reminise the good times, you know when the sun shone and things grew? I guess I have become a soil huffing addict, the high I receive is a little different but it is still euphoric. I guess I will continue to sing my springtime melody, a made up version of "Where are you Christmas", invest in a tanning bed pass, huff soil, and crank my heater to 80+ until, what maybe, March. Oh please God let it get warm in March....
Isn't snow so beautiful: how it falls like glitter from the deep black sky and piles up like whipped cream atop a mug of hot cocoa making the Christmas season feel so legitimate. Christmas is over, I want it gone! According to the news reports we have met our requirement of snow pack for adequate water during the summer (I say to hell with the "make up" for drought). Why must it continue to fall and why must people get excited about it: its cold, wet, and a bitch to shovel, scrape, etc. My fluid squirter thing on my windshield has been frozen for 2 weeks, my car is rotting under the thick layer of salt flipped from the roads, my floors haven't been mopped, with soap, in months--why bother someone will track in snow and there goes my work. I have gone so far as to shove my head into a rather large bag of Miracle-Gro potting soil to reminise the good times, you know when the sun shone and things grew? I guess I have become a soil huffing addict, the high I receive is a little different but it is still euphoric. I guess I will continue to sing my springtime melody, a made up version of "Where are you Christmas", invest in a tanning bed pass, huff soil, and crank my heater to 80+ until, what maybe, March. Oh please God let it get warm in March....
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Borrowing Trouble
Why is it when everything is going well I question it?
My classes are going wonderfully, I have students who are quicker to grasp info than I have had in the past and yet I wonder "are they really getting it" "am I really qualified to instruct about this stuff" and other ridiculous questions. Dax is doing exceptionally well in school (second grade). I don't know if I mentioned it but we received his semester report card and the child is on a 6th grade reading level (2 grades of improvement in half of a school year) and can read/comprehend 155 words per minute -- I don't believe I can do that an a little comment stating that he is above level in all subject areas (I wasn't aware this was possible, I thought kids have a strength somewhere, not everywhere). Yet I wonder/worry about his next school year. I have been lucky to get wonderful teachers for him thus far who believe me when I say he is gifted. I fear the teacher who gives me the "oh sure, every parent thinks that" nod. What do I do when the teacher isn't ambitious enough to challenge him or stuck in their ways to adjust to his learning level? Why does next year or any following year matter right now? As my mother says "don't borrow trouble", I always do. Then there is Tel: he begs me not to go to work every morning over breakfast. He is my early riser so we share table talk daily around 6 am. It kills me, but I have to and to be honest I would go INSANE staying home day after day--summer vacation is bad enough. KUDOS to the stay at home parents, I can't do it: I can't keep my sanity and I don't think I could guarantee safety for my children after the first 4 months. So all day I fret about my little man who wants mom to stay home instead of him going to his grandmother's (my mom in law) and playing with his cousins. When it is time to pick him up he wants nothing to do with me and asks, practically daily, if he can just sleep there. Now I stress about how I am chop liver in comparison to grandma--I gave birth to him shouldn't that count for anything, especially favoritism? Next is my house, remember I explained my OCD, I am totally freaking out because I need new doors on the boys' bedrooms and the laundry room but I cannot do it myself and hubbie is a procrastinator (polar opposite of me but he makes up for this short coming in other ways ;) ). I need to paint my entryway, hall, and bedroom but cannot decide on a color--HUGE commitment fears--and I hate painting (very difficult to have a perfect outcome with it and it stresses me more). Yes, it sounds as if I NEED these things for my house, yet if you came by you wouldn't even notice. Maybe it is a psychological disorder, the borrowing of trouble or worrying about things that really don't exist (not yet anyway). I know it is a problem but I continue to dwell and lists I do make to check off when I "solve" the problem. Maybe it isn't a bad thing--it is what makes me.
My classes are going wonderfully, I have students who are quicker to grasp info than I have had in the past and yet I wonder "are they really getting it" "am I really qualified to instruct about this stuff" and other ridiculous questions. Dax is doing exceptionally well in school (second grade). I don't know if I mentioned it but we received his semester report card and the child is on a 6th grade reading level (2 grades of improvement in half of a school year) and can read/comprehend 155 words per minute -- I don't believe I can do that an a little comment stating that he is above level in all subject areas (I wasn't aware this was possible, I thought kids have a strength somewhere, not everywhere). Yet I wonder/worry about his next school year. I have been lucky to get wonderful teachers for him thus far who believe me when I say he is gifted. I fear the teacher who gives me the "oh sure, every parent thinks that" nod. What do I do when the teacher isn't ambitious enough to challenge him or stuck in their ways to adjust to his learning level? Why does next year or any following year matter right now? As my mother says "don't borrow trouble", I always do. Then there is Tel: he begs me not to go to work every morning over breakfast. He is my early riser so we share table talk daily around 6 am. It kills me, but I have to and to be honest I would go INSANE staying home day after day--summer vacation is bad enough. KUDOS to the stay at home parents, I can't do it: I can't keep my sanity and I don't think I could guarantee safety for my children after the first 4 months. So all day I fret about my little man who wants mom to stay home instead of him going to his grandmother's (my mom in law) and playing with his cousins. When it is time to pick him up he wants nothing to do with me and asks, practically daily, if he can just sleep there. Now I stress about how I am chop liver in comparison to grandma--I gave birth to him shouldn't that count for anything, especially favoritism? Next is my house, remember I explained my OCD, I am totally freaking out because I need new doors on the boys' bedrooms and the laundry room but I cannot do it myself and hubbie is a procrastinator (polar opposite of me but he makes up for this short coming in other ways ;) ). I need to paint my entryway, hall, and bedroom but cannot decide on a color--HUGE commitment fears--and I hate painting (very difficult to have a perfect outcome with it and it stresses me more). Yes, it sounds as if I NEED these things for my house, yet if you came by you wouldn't even notice. Maybe it is a psychological disorder, the borrowing of trouble or worrying about things that really don't exist (not yet anyway). I know it is a problem but I continue to dwell and lists I do make to check off when I "solve" the problem. Maybe it isn't a bad thing--it is what makes me.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Introduction to death
When I became a parent no one gave me an instruction manual on how to be one. If I were to write one I think one of the chapters, titled something catchy like "Death", would instruct us on how to help your child deal with it. My oldest son, 8 years old, has lost loved ones, and pets, and attended their funerals. He has proven to have a very eerie sense of dealing with death, however today he is falling apart. We are the proud owners of chickens--you know to teach children responsibility and knowing that our eggs are hormone free, etc. etc. One of them was a banty hen (a small breed) she was named Henrietta, after the chicken on Return to Oz. Dax named her, trained her to come to her name, and spoiled her so badly that she would not eat with the other chickens, she needed her own pile of scratch. We had a terrible storm last night and temperatures dipped lower than they have been for some time. This in addition to Henrietta being over 3 years old which exceeds chickens life spans (or so I've been told)--I found Henrietta in full rigor this afternoon and had to let Dax know before he went out calling for the filthy little bird. HE'S A MESS!! We had to put a dog down last summer, we lost uncles and grandfathers in the past year but the child is having an emotional breakdown over a bird who didn't even lay eggs large enough to eat. As I type, he is talking about how she was picked on by the other chickens and how she didn't have a fair life. How do I deal with this? I'm not cold-hearted but my god, it was a chicken. It lived at the back of our lot in a shed. I hate to see my child in so much pain but I'm grasping at straws with this one. Hopefully CAL Ranch or IFA will have banty chicks this spring, buying new has always cheered me up :)
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Mentality of a High School Girl
We have all, at one time or another, said "Thank God I'm not in High School anymore, I couldn't deal with the drama..." or something to that effect. I am now second guessing that statement and how I feel about not having the mentality of a high school girl anymore.
In high school our goal was to accumulate as many friends as possible (because that mattered) now I haven't the time, or rather I don't make the time, to even call one let alone spend an entire afternoon doing nothing with one. In high school if you didn't go out on Friday night, even if it was to "drag main" you were a LOSER come Monday morning; now I can't wait to get off work on Friday and get into my jammies to do nothing and maybe get to sleep by 8 if I'm lucky! In high school you fought over time on the phone and raced to answer it in hopes it was for you. I sigh and pray someone will get it before me now and thank god whomever was on the other end didn't ask for me. In high school we would dwell on every little thing that happened, good or bad. If it was "good" we were appreciative of it and never forgot, if it were bad, by god we would change it immediately so we didn't look like an ass ever again. Today we don't dwell on the good, it tends to be fleeting thoughts and the bad is "just another day" or "my luck". We have forgotten to live in the moment, at least I have. Sadly, I recognize it and am not going to do a damn thing to change it.
Maybe the mentality of a high school girl isn't soooooooo bad--but yeah, I'm glad the drama is gone.
In high school our goal was to accumulate as many friends as possible (because that mattered) now I haven't the time, or rather I don't make the time, to even call one let alone spend an entire afternoon doing nothing with one. In high school if you didn't go out on Friday night, even if it was to "drag main" you were a LOSER come Monday morning; now I can't wait to get off work on Friday and get into my jammies to do nothing and maybe get to sleep by 8 if I'm lucky! In high school you fought over time on the phone and raced to answer it in hopes it was for you. I sigh and pray someone will get it before me now and thank god whomever was on the other end didn't ask for me. In high school we would dwell on every little thing that happened, good or bad. If it was "good" we were appreciative of it and never forgot, if it were bad, by god we would change it immediately so we didn't look like an ass ever again. Today we don't dwell on the good, it tends to be fleeting thoughts and the bad is "just another day" or "my luck". We have forgotten to live in the moment, at least I have. Sadly, I recognize it and am not going to do a damn thing to change it.
Maybe the mentality of a high school girl isn't soooooooo bad--but yeah, I'm glad the drama is gone.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Meat Heads
Before I begin my rant about what I term "meat heads" I would like to focus on the new info I received when logging on: I can now blog in Hebrew and Arabic (and another language). This would be lovely if I could speak, write, read, understand any but I have to stick to simple boring English. I wanted to learn Spanish at one time--I'm not good at learning new things, but I know what a mesa, sia (?), and a ton a great swear words are.
I have been faithfully going to a gym for about 9 months (my membership will have it's 2 year anniversary in 6 months, I'm a slow starter). I feel better, in general, due to my gym going and the severe pain that I have inflicted upon myself (mainly due to my hubbie I like to refer to as the gym nazi because of such inspiring words like "unless you increase the weight you're wasting your time" & "your ass isn't going to be tighter just because you've been going for a week") isn't as bad as it used to be: 4 Ibuprofen, vs the Lorcet, will take care of the pain now. Anyway, enough about me, the meat heads. According to the Darcie dictionary of slang, a meat head is a male gym addict who has obviously enjoyed too many doses of testosterone or steroid injections, they love to watch themselves lift weight and think that, by right of all the time they spend there, every part of the free weight area is theirs at their beckoning.
I'm not gym savvy like some, I only do what I've been shown or what I copy from my inconspicuous spying from the stairmaster. I lift free weights twice a week (trying to get rid of the part of arm that keeps waving when I quit) and I haven't exceeded 12 lb dumbbells and 20 lb barbells so you know I shouldn't be competition to the meat heads. I have to pleasantly ask if they are going to use the 20 lb barbell because they have congregated around the rack and yes, one of them actually made some smart ass remark about him looking as if he used that amount (I wish I had the balls to say "I don't know, maybe before your arms took precedence over your ball size you did"; but no I've heard too much about 'roid rage and chose not to).
Everyone, well except the girls who wear next to nothing and do next to nothing, is at the gym to better themselves (second thought, maybe those girls are bettering themselves, more specifically, their sex life) why don't the meatheads go in at the ass crack of dawn and do their vain lifting when the rest of the world isn't there to give a shit.
I'll continue going, they'll continue to piss me off, and maybe I'll piss them off too (hopefully I don't reap the rewards of roid rage). It's kind of like the circle of life, just not Lion King style.
I have been faithfully going to a gym for about 9 months (my membership will have it's 2 year anniversary in 6 months, I'm a slow starter). I feel better, in general, due to my gym going and the severe pain that I have inflicted upon myself (mainly due to my hubbie I like to refer to as the gym nazi because of such inspiring words like "unless you increase the weight you're wasting your time" & "your ass isn't going to be tighter just because you've been going for a week") isn't as bad as it used to be: 4 Ibuprofen, vs the Lorcet, will take care of the pain now. Anyway, enough about me, the meat heads. According to the Darcie dictionary of slang, a meat head is a male gym addict who has obviously enjoyed too many doses of testosterone or steroid injections, they love to watch themselves lift weight and think that, by right of all the time they spend there, every part of the free weight area is theirs at their beckoning.
I'm not gym savvy like some, I only do what I've been shown or what I copy from my inconspicuous spying from the stairmaster. I lift free weights twice a week (trying to get rid of the part of arm that keeps waving when I quit) and I haven't exceeded 12 lb dumbbells and 20 lb barbells so you know I shouldn't be competition to the meat heads. I have to pleasantly ask if they are going to use the 20 lb barbell because they have congregated around the rack and yes, one of them actually made some smart ass remark about him looking as if he used that amount (I wish I had the balls to say "I don't know, maybe before your arms took precedence over your ball size you did"; but no I've heard too much about 'roid rage and chose not to).
Everyone, well except the girls who wear next to nothing and do next to nothing, is at the gym to better themselves (second thought, maybe those girls are bettering themselves, more specifically, their sex life) why don't the meatheads go in at the ass crack of dawn and do their vain lifting when the rest of the world isn't there to give a shit.
I'll continue going, they'll continue to piss me off, and maybe I'll piss them off too (hopefully I don't reap the rewards of roid rage). It's kind of like the circle of life, just not Lion King style.
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