Live from the Loosey Room

I know you want pictures, but I'm still looking for a chair to go in the corner and I don't have things hung up yet. But I have a full-sized day bed with lots of gray and yellow sheets and a teal cover, which matches the awesome pillows that Quigs made me for my birthday.

There's a framed photo of Princess Leia. There's a full length mirror. There's stuff to make the room smell good, my 2009 Woman to Know Award... and lots of other fun things to put on the wall.

Right now, I've got a cough and a cold. I've taken some Mucinex to try and work the stuff out of my chest, since who really wants someone coughing profusely around their small children -- even if their small children all have the same cold that I suddenly have? So, for the first time, I'm lying in my Loosey bed with my laptop on my chest listening to the same song over and over and over again as I mellow out.

What song? We Can't be Friends by Lorene Scafaria. I find it calming and, oh, so sad.

I've got five more minutes before I pick up the kiddo. I have to remember to talk to his teachers about birthday treat today. And I need him to draw a picture of his family for the application I'm going to put in this week to the University Primary School. Because why not?

Organized.

I like to plan.
I like to make lists.
I really like to check things off of my list.
I like when I can find things.
I like when I know where I'm going when.
I like when people ask me to do things and I know what days I'm free.
I <3 organization.
But I'm also happy to do things on the fly.
I am able to be spontaneous.
I can adapt.

But 90 percent of my life is planned. Maybe it's because I have a child. Maybe it's because I have a spouse that travels. Maybe it's because I am an active person who has to have killer time management skills to do all the things I want to do in my life. Maybe I just like writing things down...

I've noticed lately most of the people in my life don't live their lives this way. Mostly, they live inside their homes. Mostly, they have work obligations and family time and then everything else is, "whenever." I've had three people tell me lately that they wish they had it more together like I do. That they're children or spouses will make comments about how I will know something that their parents don't. And I'm flattered that people think I'm a resource and -- on top of things. But I've also had people tell me that they totally get self-righteous vibes from me that are off putting. I used to go out of my way to reassure folks that just because I live my life a certain way, doesn't mean I judge others for living differently. I'm not a judgy person at all.

But what I've found is that it does little to ease their minds, or make them want to be my friend. I like who I am. I like how I live my life. I hope other people enjoy how their lives and have accepted their preferences and foibles, and like me enough to forgive or at least be amused by mine.

That being said, I'm currently plotting running courses through Paris for February trying to avoid streets with too many cars and happy that they close some of the roads so I can run my weekend long run along the Seine on Sunday. I love the Gmap Pedometer.

Deep Thoughts for a Calorie Counter

So I've been counting calories every day for a few weeks. I even did it on travel. On Thursday, I started out doing it and then I just stopped. I suddenly hated doing it and hated myself for doing it.

I woke up this morning and was supposed to go to this lecture/practice session that a local doctor and social worker were holding on things you can do using  your mind and body to combat depression. Since around the end of January through the first part of the warm season are always kind of hard for me (damn that seasonal distress crap), I thought I'd go. 

I went. I stood in line. I saw people I knew from the community. I saw the acquaintance whose e-mail list I was on. And then two people back from the registration table in the line -- I freaked out and I left. 

Instead, I went to the Dollar Store. I bought table clothes and plates and silverware and cups for the CARE holiday party. I bought X-man new potty rewards. And I sat in my car with my mylar balloons (to tie to my stroller so my friends can find me at the holiday parade tonight) thinking about myself and why I left, and what it was that sounded so good to make me want to go to the seminar that then, in the face of it, made me bail like the building was on fire.

I am extraordinarily self aware. And I know things in my head for a long time before I'll say anything about them and even longer before I'll act on them. Rogers is really knowledgeable about this part of me. I keep stuff to myself for a long, long, long time and then one day, I pick the right person and I let it out. 

And there are words I've been saying to myself for months. But I'm fighting the change that will come as I accept that truth and actually move forward to change my behavior. 

I have a figurative best friend that I lean on. She's there when I hurt. She's there when I'm bored. She's there when I'm happy. Everyone else has this friend too, but they somehow don't seem to consume as much time with her as I do... and even if they do -- their bodies seem to process her much, much better than mine does.

And I have to break up with this figurative friend. I have to rid myself of her the way you would a bad boyfriend or girlfriend. I have to realize she is not the constant in my life -- I am. But the hard part is that I have to see her several times a day. She's everywhere. But I have to look at her as if she's dangerous. I have to stare her down. And worse, even though I love her, I can't have her. But I also can't torture myself by measuring how much of her I consume in numbers and feeling guilty and shameful about it.

It turns out that counting of the calories is just as dangerous as counting of the WW points. I start to get more upset about the injustice that I'm made differently from other people rather than using my achievements as a way to reward myself for trying to take a step toward self-care. The truth is I know better. So rather than whining I just need to do it. End it. Let her go and hope that down the line, our break up pain goes away and it can turn into something more positive.

All I can do is write down my experiences with her in a list and try to fall in love with a new friend. I've already met him. He's much more demanding. He wants more of my time, and he works me into a frenzied sweat every time we're together. He levels out my moods just as well as she did, but my body feels awkward around him. His people are all lean and hardcore. I'm timid and soft. It's like I don't quite know if we go together or not. I enjoy his company, but it's just all so new.

Literal translation: I have to exchange my attachment to food for an attachment to exercise. 

I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do this. I don't do well in group meetings. There's this huge part of me that wants to stand up and scream that it's not fair that I have this issue while plenty of regular-sized people can eat what they want, work out the same amount (or less than) I do and never have to worry about looking like I do.

So I've stopped the calorie count. I'm going to list my food at looseyeats.blogspot.com. But you're going to notice that the exercise there will start to be way more diverse. I'm going to have to kick my metabolism's butt for a while... while avoiding social situations with food and alcohol. That's not at all an easy thing to do during the holiday season, so I'm sticking with the mantra of everything in moderation... 

But like most addictions, I'm expecting a long, ugly fight of withdrawal. So, if you see me out and about. Do me a favor. Don't be my dealer.

If you see me at an event with food and I pick up more than one brownie. Tell me to put it down. I don't care if I get mad. I don't care if I shout. Tell me, "For the love of your body, put the damn thing down." 

And forgive me if I'm a complete crab. It'll get better -- in six weeks. And the three ways I've chosen to begin are this: No fast food. No alcohol. 60 minutes of exercise five days of the week.

Who was it that said -- If you don't take care of your body, where will you live?

Oprah Magazine

I read my first Oprah Magazine today while on the bike this morning at the gym. It only took me 25-30 minutes to get through, but I did it and I didn't vomit. (Dear Fitness Center, please get newer, better magazines.)

The main theme of the magazine (it was a summer issue) was why men do weird stuff. Like why don't men do things around the house more to help out? Or what's up with not noticing things like hair cuts or putting kids' shoes on the wrong feet for them... and it was all explained from the point of view of men. 

One of them touched home about a husband being given the silver medal and feeling like a third party in his own bed to his wife and their 3 year old son. Suddenly Dad's needs weren't anywhere on the radar and all the Mom could see was the tiny little person in her arms. He went and interviewed his best female friend about it and she knew exactly what he was talking about -- and basically told him that's just the way biology made it. It wasn't sexual or emotional for a woman -- it was animal. You fall in love with your offspring. 

But another article made me laugh. The guy was trying to be so honest. He'd answer the question about why guys don't do more to help out around house and give suggestions like, put a list of things to do around the house but DON'T put his name on it. Guys like to do things. They like to get things done and feel useful. But they hate being told to do them. He dealt with all the common sense complaints, but then at the end he broke off into a very complimentary, almost seductive 200 words that just really did a bang up job of explaining why I love men. (I love women, too, but that's a different blog.) ;-)

He'd talk about how men are fascinated by everything about the person they choose to be with. They're just daft about being able to tell you what it is that you do that makes them crave you when you're half dressed on the way to bed, watching you sleep, seeing you take charge of a situation, watching you be vulnerable, seeing you twirl your hair as you think through an issue -- and they love your hair, no matter what it looks like. 

I'm not married to the most verbal person in the world. He's got 10,000 words and all the time in the world to give a room full of geeks. But he's only got three of them for me, but they're the right words.

And although I wish that sometimes, he'd be able to flirt and tease and banter in a seductive way. I've come to understand over the last 16 years that a simple, "I love you," goes a long way. Especially when the one you love is 1,000 miles from home. 

Since I was a kid, I considered myself to be broken and unloveable in one way or another. I always felt unable to connect enough to be anyone's soul mate or favorite, but what I realized when I met MacTroll was that I do connect. I connect like crazy, but I also tend to partition myself into pieces so no one gets the whole picture. I'm like a good hard drive that way... He knows this, because he partitions, too. It's a survival instinct for both of us.

So I go about living my life and exploring the world. If a part of me breaks down there are other parts to help carry me through. It makes the shit that hurt not hurt so much. It provides me solace. I know I can get through and mend and be stronger.

I'm full of faults. Some of them I'm more bothered by than others. But one thing I know of is that in order to feel like I'm living I need to feel like I'm in charge of my own destiny and not just following others around as they live their lives. I am smart. I am crazily independent. I am amazingly fun, but I have a strong sense of duty and a remarkable skill at organization that keeps me grounded. But what makes me feel like living is my imagination. It overcomes the ghosts from the past and creates adventures for the future.

So, hooray for living.

Tonight, I'm going to see a Kevin Smith movie at the Savoy 16 called Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Smith is 50/50 in my movie going experience. He's either extraordinary (Clerks, Dogma, Chasing Amy) or he sucks ass (Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, Jersey Girl).

Cute Co-ed

Can you still be a cute co-ed at 32? :-P

I just got my acceptance letter to Parkland to be a non-degree seeking student to take my early education classes. I have an e-mail and a login to the registration system. I get to start registration next Monday (so I'll have to do it from Philly.) We'll see how it goes. 

In other news, MacTroll tried to send me photos of Mexico to entice me to go on the trip. I had to repeat over and over again that I had school starting Jan. 12 and couldn't be gone during the week. I'm not sure he gets that I was serious when I said I wanted to move forward with my life again. Then he said, "But it starts on a weekend."

Turns out the trip to Mexico is the same weekend that I already booked to go to Phoenix. Grumble, grumble, grumble. So, um, he's trying to move my trip so he can go on his free Dad-only vacation... and my free-Mom vacation will have to wait, apparently... After all, he is the ranking manager on the trip... 

I finished my Christmas shopping today. And before you gag, the stores have all the crap out... and the police protection fund started calling me in the mid-day to ask for a donation to Toys for Tots/Holiday Summer camp donations. 

Get with it, 'tis the season. Ho! Ho! Ho! or Bah Humbug! However you feel about it. 

MacTroll's Monday

When MacTroll is home during the week on Mondays, I try to make every excuse to be out of the house. Monday is MacTroll's conference call day. He has between 4-6 of them today. Each of them taking at least an hour. You do the math. It's a lot of time to be on the iPhone.

I was supposed to be outside all day staining my fence, but given the sheer amount of crazy ass rain we got last night in the never-ending storms, I'm stuck inside doing inside jobs. 

UPDATE: You can head over to Cruzin' and see how MacTroll and I spent our morning being Toad rescuers!

Most of these I can do in the basement or the 2nd floor. But around the first floor will be nothing but pacing and loud talking, "LDAP, LDAP, Active Directory, Kerberos, Magic Triangle, deep into the keychain code..."

Blah. Yuck. I think I'd rather be vacuuming little tumbleweeds of fur that got scattered around the house last night from their hiding places due to our no air conditioning/open window preference. 

In other news: The cookout at Rayne of Terror's went very well. I got to meet Soy is the New Black and Mrs. Chicken as well as some other great people. I loved Mrs. Chicken's pasta salad. And X-man and I were the first to jump in the pool. It was a beautiful day.

Today is also Day 1 of the weekly budget. I just spent half of mine on gas. Seriously. I'm picking up the trailer and the bike this week. Let's see if that will save me some $$$  in the weekly drive-the-kid around situation.

I am just a couple weeks away from seeing KTDID, my nieces and nephews and from vacation. This year we're driving up to Oostburg, a few miles south of Sheboygan to stay in a rental house on the beach of Lake Michigan in September. I liked that it was in a family friendly area where we could just walk out of the house and be on sand. 

Economics

Remember how I invested in Quicken?

Well, I've used it to catch up with the last 60 days of spending to help show trends, so I could project an updated, realistic monthly budget taking into consideration the increasing price of the BIG 3: fuel, food and energy.

The reality of the situation did not make MacTroll happy. 

Clearly, he wasn't mad at me, but it's kind of hard to argue with the numbers. I think he was more shocked by how much fresh fruit and vegetables and shopping "green" has cost us. Today I gave us each a target number for weekly spending amounts based on his salary income, and starting Monday... they go into effect.

In addition to his twice monthly paychecks, once a month MacTroll earns commission as part of the sales team at Apple. Sometimes this check is $100, sometimes this check is $1,500. We have no control over what it will be. It all depends on who sold how much in his group. That bonus (before we built our McMansion) was our savings for emergency spending, travel, long-term investments, etc. 

It is separate from our retirement, X-man's college savings and our stock portfolio (I'm laughing when I say this, because really it's just money we put into Apple through their Employee stock plan). Since building the McMansion, we've been using the bonus money on landscaping, furniture and to cover the increasing prices of the BIG 3. 

And everyone who knows me, knows I'm not a big fan of "stuff." But MacTroll LOVES his stuff. He likes not having to think before he buys. He likes eating out when he feels hungry. 

But to me, we're done with all the big household items. In fact, I think X-man's bed represents the last of the furniture we really need in our house for a while. And, um, all my baby bushes need time and sunshine to grow into bigger ones. So... as long as I keep my ass out of Target, I should be okay.

Not only that, but if you're ever driving up and down Neil Street in the Savoy area, you'll probably see me walking. I'm the overweight woman chucking down Neil Street to get to Curves twice a week. I may even venture further and go to WW on foot. Sometimes I'm walking from my house to X-man's pre-school with my big red jogging stroller. If you see me, feel free to honk and cheer me on. I'm not giving up my Weight Watchers money or my gym  money. But I am thinking of saving up for a used bike and kids bike trailer and parking my VW for all trips that are within a 5-mile radius. 

Luckily our playgroup mostly goes to places that are free. :-P