“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict.”
If I was going to join a 12-step group at this point, I’m fairly sure that’s the admission you’d hear coming out of my mouth by way of introduction.
When my friend, Cindy, and I started a walking program 4 nights per week back in May of 2009, we wanted to get off the couch and lose weight, but we were adamant that we a.) were not going to become runners and b.) were only going to be “casual” exercisers, not like those hardcore folks you see pounding the pavement through heavy rain or triple-digit heat.
Although we would occasionally jog for maybe 50-100 yards to increase our heart rates, the pain in my knees and her hips seemed to prevent us from attempting running, even if we had wanted to do so. Thus, we kept the first resolution.
We also kept the second resolution – at least initially. The balmy spring gave way to one of the hottest summers in Oregon history, and we sensibly agreed not to walk on days which were 95 degrees or hotter. By fall, we were debating what indoor workout options we might consider for the upcoming winter. But by that time, walking had become so engrained that we just kept on walking, night after night. We shifted our route to well-lighted areas, even as we talked about trying martial arts, dance, or finding an indoor track, but somehow we managed to keep walking. Outdoors. All winter. There was even one week so cold that the water in my bottle would freeze as we walked. That was when we realized we had become fanatics. Well, so much for the second resolution.
Pride started to kick in, as we’d relay stories back and forth about the reactions of co-workers and acquaintances to our feats of temperature tolerance or distance. Our waistlines shrank, we had more energy, and suddenly we started having these crazy ideas. After walking for 8.5 miles on Thanksgiving morning to prepare for our respective Thanksgiving feasts, we started thinking “Why couldn’t we walk a half-marathon?” Then a casual conversation Cindy had with a co-worker made us start asking, “Why couldn’t we train to walk the Portland Marathon?”
Whoa. This was new territory for me. I’ve called marathoners crazy on more than one occasion, and now I was actually thinking about doing it? For real? “We’d be walking, not running, so that’s only half crazy.”
We initially started pushing ourselves with 12 mile walks on weekends, albeit not at a fast pace. After being warned of “overtraining” by a professional, we eventually purchased an online marathon training guide, and spent June and July doing the more modest ramp-up walks for speed, distance and hills. This guide propelled us to my corporate gym for the requisite cross-training sessions. We lifted weights, used elliptical trainers and stationary bikes, and walked inclines on the treadmills, trying to increase our pace from 18-20 minute miles to 15-16 minute miles.
Just about the time that Cindy, a naturally fast walker, announced that she was ready to risk paying the $135 registration fee while expecting that we would be fast enough to finish 26.2 miles in under 8 hours by October, I had come to the opposite conclusion. I was beating myself up that I couldn’t keep pace with someone 5 inches shorter than myself and with substantially shorter legs, and feeling like I would rather risk waiting to register until later when I had improved enough to feel confident. After all, if I was going to shell out $135 to take a 26.2 mile walk, I was going to get the shirt, the medal, and all the glory of accomplishment…. or die trying.
As it turned out, we didn’t have to make the decision, because the marathon was already full and registration was closed by July. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, so I settled for both. Of course, when race day dawned cloudy and with heavy downpours, I moved squarely into the “relieved” camp.
Our major goal was going to be delayed by a year, but we kept on walking and cross-training 4 days per week, as had become routine in the 14 months leading up to that point. But I was already doing more than our normal schedule called for. I had added in yoga classes 1-2 days per week.
Now fast forward to the fall of 2010. Cindy had to take most of November and December off due to work commitments and a lingering cold virus, but I soldiered on alone. And then my company started offering a Zumba class 1 day per week, and I jumped at the chance to burn more calories. And samba-ed at the chance. And hip-hopped at the chance. And belly-danced at the chance. (I love dance, and I’m still waiting for the many shows and performances I’ve watched to translate into some actual dancing skill on my part.)
So here I am today. I look and feel better than I have in perhaps the past decade, but it doesn’t feel like enough on many days. My body still isn’t what I would like it to be. I feel compelled to go for the maximum calorie burn on every workout. I regret my choice to hop on the stationary bike for an hour and “only” burn 350 calories when I could have burned 600 on the elliptical. I think about things like, “How will I be able to keep this up if I ever get married or have kids? I desperately want those things, but I don’t want to be chubby again either. I don’t want to be the wife who ‘lets herself go.’”
On one of those evenings alone in the gym, I was thumbing through a fitness magazine, and followed a little flow chart that asked questions about how often you work out, do you skip social activities if they conflict with your workout schedule, how do you feel when you miss a workout, etc. At the end of the chart, I ended up squarely in the bucket that said, “You need to give yourself a break sometimes.”
And it’s true.
People say “You look great!” and ask, “What’s your secret?” I answer, “Walking, elliptical training, yoga, weights, and now Zumba.” In my head, though, my snarky (and somewhat true) answer is “Self-loathing.” There are some very healthy aspects to what I’m doing –exercise being great for the body and mind– but I’m also realizing that on the other side of the coin of exercising in the name of health is punishing myself for not being as beautiful, skinny, and athletic as other women. I’ve long struggled with feeling less worthy of love than the svelte and glamorous women around me. “I can’t force my frame into a single-digit pant size, but dammit, I can be better than I was, and then maybe whatever man chooses me won’t feel like he got short-changed in the hotness department.”
It all goes back to the lie of the Great Enemy, as so eloquently described in the book Captivating. Satan paralyzes women with the notion that we’re “too much and not enough.” I’m too tall. I’m too curvy. I’m too uncoordinated. I’m not skinny enough. I’m not graceful enough. I’m not pretty enough. I’m not desirable enough to get a man. Lest you men think the lie stops at such a shallow level, it includes much more. I’m too independent. I’m too standoffish. I’m too critical. I’m not compassionate enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not self-disciplined enough.
And so the exercise I’m doing is generally quite good for me, but the Enemy is ruining it with guilt that it’s not enough. I’m not enough. And that needs to stop. I need to keep making good choices for my health, but not get so beat up in the process.
“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict. I need to find a better balance. I need to be nicer to myself. But mostly, I need to find God’s grace to a woman He created to be tall, curvy, introspective and just as worthy of love as the petite, athletic, seemingly picture-perfect women He also created. Amen.”
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, August 19, 2010
What Men Need to Know
Lately, I've had a general complaint about a certain male behavior, and my pondering has morphed into not being sure whether or not men realize they do this.
It's pretty simple really, and it goes something like this: If you're in a committed relationship and have a friendship with a single woman, she needs to know that you're not available.
That sounds simple, right? So why do I keep getting burned by this?
It's pretty obvious when a man is wearing a wedding ring that he's off the market. When a man is dating someone, even long term, it can be less obvious unless he chooses to make it so.
Men, you need to know that women try you on like we try on shoes. It doesn't take long from the initial introduction until we're trying to picture what we'd talk about on a date, what we would do on a lazy Saturday morning together, how we'd interact as a couple having dinner with our friends...
If you didn't realize that, please don't be freaked out. In a healthy woman, it's just a preliminary assessment of potential compatibility, and it stops there. It doesn't mean we've already planned a life together and are going to make sure it happens come hell or high water. We've just done a quick mental inventory and decided that there's enough potential to say yes to a date should you ask. (If, on the other hand, you find a woman who believes that you will indeed spend your whole lives together just because that picture of Saturday morning is romantic and happy, RUN. Run fast. She's not healthy at all.)
Back to the issue at hand. A casual reference to your girlfriend when chatting about your weekend plans, a photograph in your office... these are the subtle clues that help us single ladies cease & desist trying to see if you might be a good fit.
If that initial try-on yields hopeful images, and you don't let us know you're not available... well, that's when the hurt happens. We click well in conversation, we have lots in common, we think you're attractive, and we notice you notice us.... so we think This is someone I could see myself with. We definitely have a connection. You've never mentioned a significant other, and you seem to show interest. And that's when our heart starts to get attached.
It may be completely unintentional for many men, who assume that either we know you're not available, or that it's just innocent flirtation so what's the harm? Other times, I've distinctly felt that it's intentional. Either the man is enjoying the ego boost of having the woman's attention, or perhaps he is keeping her in the dark about his relationship because he kinda digs her and wants to keep her for a backup in case his current relationship fails.
If the latter, let me say this: Letting us know that you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean that you wouldn't be up for consideration in the future if you become single again. Even more so because then we'd know if we were ever to become your girlfriend, you'd show us the same respect of letting other women know you're not available.
I'm not saying that you shouldn't have friendships with single women for fear of sending the wrong message. I'm just saying be transparent. If over the course of hours of conversation you haven't found one opportunity to mention that camping trip with your girlfriend, or include her name when describing your plans to attend that concert or food festival on the upcoming weekend, then Houston we have a problem. At that point, I think it's time to examine your motives and let that poor deluded girl off the hook.
Phew. I just really needed to get that out in the open because it hurts. Deeply. Please, please show us respect & compassion with that small action of disclosure. Naturally, the same goes for any women out there who are involved but still stringing along some hopeful fella.
Okay, I'm stepping down off my soapbox now. Thank you and goodnight.
It's pretty simple really, and it goes something like this: If you're in a committed relationship and have a friendship with a single woman, she needs to know that you're not available.
That sounds simple, right? So why do I keep getting burned by this?
It's pretty obvious when a man is wearing a wedding ring that he's off the market. When a man is dating someone, even long term, it can be less obvious unless he chooses to make it so.
Men, you need to know that women try you on like we try on shoes. It doesn't take long from the initial introduction until we're trying to picture what we'd talk about on a date, what we would do on a lazy Saturday morning together, how we'd interact as a couple having dinner with our friends...
If you didn't realize that, please don't be freaked out. In a healthy woman, it's just a preliminary assessment of potential compatibility, and it stops there. It doesn't mean we've already planned a life together and are going to make sure it happens come hell or high water. We've just done a quick mental inventory and decided that there's enough potential to say yes to a date should you ask. (If, on the other hand, you find a woman who believes that you will indeed spend your whole lives together just because that picture of Saturday morning is romantic and happy, RUN. Run fast. She's not healthy at all.)
Back to the issue at hand. A casual reference to your girlfriend when chatting about your weekend plans, a photograph in your office... these are the subtle clues that help us single ladies cease & desist trying to see if you might be a good fit.
If that initial try-on yields hopeful images, and you don't let us know you're not available... well, that's when the hurt happens. We click well in conversation, we have lots in common, we think you're attractive, and we notice you notice us.... so we think This is someone I could see myself with. We definitely have a connection. You've never mentioned a significant other, and you seem to show interest. And that's when our heart starts to get attached.
It may be completely unintentional for many men, who assume that either we know you're not available, or that it's just innocent flirtation so what's the harm? Other times, I've distinctly felt that it's intentional. Either the man is enjoying the ego boost of having the woman's attention, or perhaps he is keeping her in the dark about his relationship because he kinda digs her and wants to keep her for a backup in case his current relationship fails.
If the latter, let me say this: Letting us know that you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean that you wouldn't be up for consideration in the future if you become single again. Even more so because then we'd know if we were ever to become your girlfriend, you'd show us the same respect of letting other women know you're not available.
I'm not saying that you shouldn't have friendships with single women for fear of sending the wrong message. I'm just saying be transparent. If over the course of hours of conversation you haven't found one opportunity to mention that camping trip with your girlfriend, or include her name when describing your plans to attend that concert or food festival on the upcoming weekend, then Houston we have a problem. At that point, I think it's time to examine your motives and let that poor deluded girl off the hook.
Phew. I just really needed to get that out in the open because it hurts. Deeply. Please, please show us respect & compassion with that small action of disclosure. Naturally, the same goes for any women out there who are involved but still stringing along some hopeful fella.
Okay, I'm stepping down off my soapbox now. Thank you and goodnight.
Friday, July 16, 2010
An Open Letter
Dear Uterus:
I would like to remind you that you are NOT in charge of the universe. Furthermore, I repudiate your attempts at world domination. Stop it, just stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
You are not entitled to dictate the terms of my whole life. While I may not be able to entirely prevent your interference in certain aspects, this does not give you grounds to take over entirely.
My appetite does not normally compel me to consume pizza and cookies by the boatload whilst bathing in a sea of hot fudge. Therefore you shall not incite these behaviors for 3-5 days each month, wreaking more havoc on my already puffy midsection.
Speaking of bloating, I banish your infernal power to inflict 2-3 pounds of water weight gain, and then to make it feel like 10 pounds. I’m pretty sure you’re subtly altering my wardrobe to amplify the effect, but I’m not giving in to your pressure to wear sweatpants to work. I will look stylish, even if I feel hideous.
I am henceforth reclaiming control over my lacrimal ducts, so that you may no longer cause me to sob at news stories, the outcomes of reality television or game shows, song lyrics, traffic jams, spilled milk, or the mere sight of baby clothes on racks at the store.
Furthermore, I’ve decided that cramps are just a physical manifestation of your tantrums when you don’t get your way on various issues. If I have to preemptively sedate you with Pamprin or Advil, even days in advance, so that I don’t end up in a fetal position unable to straighten myself up from my office floor, I’ll do it, so help me God. That is not an empty threat.
I could go on and on about specific incidents or the emotional impact of your domineering nature, but I’m hopeful that this public censure will improve your behavior and render further chastisement unnecessary.
I would thank you kindly to remember that you are but one small part of my body, and should not therefore take on disproportionate influence.
With hope for a better future relationship,
Me
I would like to remind you that you are NOT in charge of the universe. Furthermore, I repudiate your attempts at world domination. Stop it, just stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
You are not entitled to dictate the terms of my whole life. While I may not be able to entirely prevent your interference in certain aspects, this does not give you grounds to take over entirely.
My appetite does not normally compel me to consume pizza and cookies by the boatload whilst bathing in a sea of hot fudge. Therefore you shall not incite these behaviors for 3-5 days each month, wreaking more havoc on my already puffy midsection.
Speaking of bloating, I banish your infernal power to inflict 2-3 pounds of water weight gain, and then to make it feel like 10 pounds. I’m pretty sure you’re subtly altering my wardrobe to amplify the effect, but I’m not giving in to your pressure to wear sweatpants to work. I will look stylish, even if I feel hideous.
I am henceforth reclaiming control over my lacrimal ducts, so that you may no longer cause me to sob at news stories, the outcomes of reality television or game shows, song lyrics, traffic jams, spilled milk, or the mere sight of baby clothes on racks at the store.
Furthermore, I’ve decided that cramps are just a physical manifestation of your tantrums when you don’t get your way on various issues. If I have to preemptively sedate you with Pamprin or Advil, even days in advance, so that I don’t end up in a fetal position unable to straighten myself up from my office floor, I’ll do it, so help me God. That is not an empty threat.
I could go on and on about specific incidents or the emotional impact of your domineering nature, but I’m hopeful that this public censure will improve your behavior and render further chastisement unnecessary.
I would thank you kindly to remember that you are but one small part of my body, and should not therefore take on disproportionate influence.
With hope for a better future relationship,
Me
Monday, June 28, 2010
Copycat
I'm totally copying Beth by reformatting my blog and pledging to write again, at least occasionally. Would it sound better if I said I was "inspired by" Beth? :o)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Cricket... Cricket
Wow. I just realized that there's been nothing but utter blog silence here for months on end now. That's sad.
I could say that it's because between work, exercise, and volunteering at the zoo, I simply have no time. But the fact of the matter is that I've not been in a very contemplative place recently, because sometimes it's just too damn painful. Sometimes there's no comfort. Sometimes you don't hear His voice. Some things just can't be forced.
In a sermon recently, Pastors Bill and Jane described the response, "I'm fine" as an acronym for "Feelings I'm Not Expressing." But when an honest response to a casual question might give way to a deluge of hot tears and a torrent of emotions, some very childish and ugly, it can seem like a better bet to opt for the safe route. "Just stay away from those things. Go distract yourself. There's nothing to be done to fix it anyway."
Hiding? It may feel safe for awhile, especially for us introverts. Building walls? Erm, now it gets a little dangerous... no one gets in, but you can't get out either. Hardening the heart to dampen the disappointment. Ouch! That's not how I want to end up.
Jesus, keep me tender, despite my disappointed dreams and hurting heart. Please.
I could say that it's because between work, exercise, and volunteering at the zoo, I simply have no time. But the fact of the matter is that I've not been in a very contemplative place recently, because sometimes it's just too damn painful. Sometimes there's no comfort. Sometimes you don't hear His voice. Some things just can't be forced.
In a sermon recently, Pastors Bill and Jane described the response, "I'm fine" as an acronym for "Feelings I'm Not Expressing." But when an honest response to a casual question might give way to a deluge of hot tears and a torrent of emotions, some very childish and ugly, it can seem like a better bet to opt for the safe route. "Just stay away from those things. Go distract yourself. There's nothing to be done to fix it anyway."
Hiding? It may feel safe for awhile, especially for us introverts. Building walls? Erm, now it gets a little dangerous... no one gets in, but you can't get out either. Hardening the heart to dampen the disappointment. Ouch! That's not how I want to end up.
Jesus, keep me tender, despite my disappointed dreams and hurting heart. Please.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Are You Smarter Than an Almost-3-Year-Old?
Observations from babysitting Odin, which is a brand new experience every time. My understanding is that some of the rules which I have documented here are fairly consistent, while others change depending on the babysitter... or the weather... or the moment... :o)
ODIN’S RULES for SATURDAY, MAY 16th*
*Rules are subject to change at Odin’s sole discretion, with or without prior notice.
1. Toy trucks shall be called “roaries.” Any vehicle that is not actually a truck may also be categorized as a “roarie” at Odin’s discretion.
2. Lisa’s suggestion that hot rods and sports cars should be called “vrooms” instead of “roaries” shall be ignored.
3. Cranes are required construction when playing with building blocks. Furthermore, cranes must be constructed of either red or blue blocks. Green and orange cranes shall not be tolerated.
4. Wide bases to prevent tipping shall not be added to any new or existing cranes. This is not aesthetically pleasing to Odin and will not be tolerated.
5. Trains running on Odin’s track shall consist of one engine and one box car, neither more nor less. Multi-car trains are an abomination and must be eliminated.
6. The elimination of multi-car trains should involve spectacular derailings and much carnage.
7. Sometimes trucks and trains take precedence over silly things… like dinner.
8. Odin shall have the latitude to leave the dinner table to fetch “roaries” or Play-Doh at his whim. Tables are overrated anyhow.
9. When Lisa makes an unreasonable request, such as returning to the dinner table, Odin shall use the baby gate to lock himself out of the kitchen, thus providing a solid excuse for not being able to return to the table.
10. Odin shall periodically and arbitrarily change his mind on all manner of subjects, to make sure he always “wins” and to keep Lisa on her toes.
11. Baths are a welcome event, but shampoo is for sissies.
12. Odin shall retain control of any cup used to pour water over his head, prior to or following shampooing.
13. Feet are the only body part which shall allowed to be washed with soap. Soap is for sissies… but clean feet are next to (Norse) godliness.
14. Following the bath, hair combing is acceptable, provided that Odin retains control of the comb.
15. Bedtime stories must be read on the couch. Period.
16. If Lisa manages to trick Odin into his crib under the guise of scooping him up for a bear hug, Odin shall be allowed to retain his dignity by pretending to have been aware of Lisa’s intentions all along.
ODIN’S RULES for SATURDAY, MAY 16th*
*Rules are subject to change at Odin’s sole discretion, with or without prior notice.
1. Toy trucks shall be called “roaries.” Any vehicle that is not actually a truck may also be categorized as a “roarie” at Odin’s discretion.
2. Lisa’s suggestion that hot rods and sports cars should be called “vrooms” instead of “roaries” shall be ignored.
3. Cranes are required construction when playing with building blocks. Furthermore, cranes must be constructed of either red or blue blocks. Green and orange cranes shall not be tolerated.
4. Wide bases to prevent tipping shall not be added to any new or existing cranes. This is not aesthetically pleasing to Odin and will not be tolerated.
5. Trains running on Odin’s track shall consist of one engine and one box car, neither more nor less. Multi-car trains are an abomination and must be eliminated.
6. The elimination of multi-car trains should involve spectacular derailings and much carnage.
7. Sometimes trucks and trains take precedence over silly things… like dinner.
8. Odin shall have the latitude to leave the dinner table to fetch “roaries” or Play-Doh at his whim. Tables are overrated anyhow.
9. When Lisa makes an unreasonable request, such as returning to the dinner table, Odin shall use the baby gate to lock himself out of the kitchen, thus providing a solid excuse for not being able to return to the table.
10. Odin shall periodically and arbitrarily change his mind on all manner of subjects, to make sure he always “wins” and to keep Lisa on her toes.
11. Baths are a welcome event, but shampoo is for sissies.
12. Odin shall retain control of any cup used to pour water over his head, prior to or following shampooing.
13. Feet are the only body part which shall allowed to be washed with soap. Soap is for sissies… but clean feet are next to (Norse) godliness.
14. Following the bath, hair combing is acceptable, provided that Odin retains control of the comb.
15. Bedtime stories must be read on the couch. Period.
16. If Lisa manages to trick Odin into his crib under the guise of scooping him up for a bear hug, Odin shall be allowed to retain his dignity by pretending to have been aware of Lisa’s intentions all along.
Friday, May 15, 2009
28 Days Later (And I'm not talking about zombies...)
In case you were wondering about the prodigious growth rate of the goslings in my previous post, here's a little comparison to enlighten and entertain. The oldest goslings were about 2 weeks old in the photos I took on April 17. The new photos here are from today, a mere 4 weeks later.
This little, fluffy family...
...with the most darling faces...
...is now a ragtag gaggle of gawky teenagers...
...with down coming out in tufts, quills sticking out everywhere, and a general appearance comparable to mangy featherdusters...
Of course, when you grow to 2/3 your parents' size in only 6 weeks of life, there must be some growing pains involved...
...and a lot of sleep is required. (Seriously, is this one even breathing? It looks more like roadkill than Sleeping Beauty.)
Well, at least they don't have to go through it alone...
There's comfort in numbers. And their awkward teen phase is only a few weeks long, as opposed to a decade or more for humans. Heck, I'm not sure I ever got through mine. ;o)
This little, fluffy family...
...with the most darling faces...
...is now a ragtag gaggle of gawky teenagers...
...with down coming out in tufts, quills sticking out everywhere, and a general appearance comparable to mangy featherdusters...
Of course, when you grow to 2/3 your parents' size in only 6 weeks of life, there must be some growing pains involved...
...and a lot of sleep is required. (Seriously, is this one even breathing? It looks more like roadkill than Sleeping Beauty.)
Well, at least they don't have to go through it alone...
There's comfort in numbers. And their awkward teen phase is only a few weeks long, as opposed to a decade or more for humans. Heck, I'm not sure I ever got through mine. ;o)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Give Peeps a Chance
One of the many privileges of working for my employer of the last several years is our beautiful campus. We have plenty of green space, and the landscape designers went to the trouble of recreating the small streams and wetlands that occur naturally just a few miles up the road from here. As such, we have a plentiful supply of wildlife just outside our windows. I see nutria, Canada geese, ducks, and herons on a daily basis. And on several occasions I've even seen deer.
The resident population of Canada geese can range from just a few pairs of "permanent" dwellers all the way up to 150+ migrating geese enjoying some respite for a few days (or even weeks) at a time. While I love sharing the campus with these beautiful fowl, I know a number of folks who are less than excited about the abundance of goose poop on the sidewalks. And then, of course, there are the handful of people who are deathly afraid of birds. Watching those individuals take some very circuitous and inventive routes across campus to avoid them is practically a spectator sport. I think perhaps the geese take some sadistic pleasure in hissing at and chasing those people, who squeal and bolt like frightened bunnies. Me? I'm the Goose Whisperer. I speak to them softly as I walk by, and they let me pass in peace, and sometimes even chat back.
My *favorite* time of the year on campus is April because of -- you guessed it -- the goslings!! We've had three newly-hatched broods in the past 2 1/2 weeks, so I took advantage of the clear skies on Friday to go out on a little photo safari at lunchtime.
It's really not fair to the rest of the universe to have this much cuteness concentrated in such a small area. Brace yourselves -- this may hurt a little. :o)
This first set of 7 was about 2 weeks old at the time of the photos...
By comparison, this next group of 5 was only 3-4 days old at the time the photos were taken. They grow at an astounding rate, believe me!
And finally, just in case you haven't reached the cuteness saturation point, here are the newest 2 goslings, who just joined this world about 20 hours prior to their photo shoot today...
So there you have it. In a world faced with economic crisis and deadly weather phenomena, there is still new life and goodness all around. As they say, give peeps a chance.
The resident population of Canada geese can range from just a few pairs of "permanent" dwellers all the way up to 150+ migrating geese enjoying some respite for a few days (or even weeks) at a time. While I love sharing the campus with these beautiful fowl, I know a number of folks who are less than excited about the abundance of goose poop on the sidewalks. And then, of course, there are the handful of people who are deathly afraid of birds. Watching those individuals take some very circuitous and inventive routes across campus to avoid them is practically a spectator sport. I think perhaps the geese take some sadistic pleasure in hissing at and chasing those people, who squeal and bolt like frightened bunnies. Me? I'm the Goose Whisperer. I speak to them softly as I walk by, and they let me pass in peace, and sometimes even chat back.
My *favorite* time of the year on campus is April because of -- you guessed it -- the goslings!! We've had three newly-hatched broods in the past 2 1/2 weeks, so I took advantage of the clear skies on Friday to go out on a little photo safari at lunchtime.
It's really not fair to the rest of the universe to have this much cuteness concentrated in such a small area. Brace yourselves -- this may hurt a little. :o)
This first set of 7 was about 2 weeks old at the time of the photos...
By comparison, this next group of 5 was only 3-4 days old at the time the photos were taken. They grow at an astounding rate, believe me!
And finally, just in case you haven't reached the cuteness saturation point, here are the newest 2 goslings, who just joined this world about 20 hours prior to their photo shoot today...
So there you have it. In a world faced with economic crisis and deadly weather phenomena, there is still new life and goodness all around. As they say, give peeps a chance.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Of Sunshine and Moods
After a freakishly snowy winter, Oregon was blessed the past few days by an early visit from Spring. We've now had 3 (or 4?) days in a row in the 70s, with a high yesterday of around 78 degrees.
Before you get too jealous, keep in mind we're going to plummet right back into the 50s tomorrow, in the typical fast-cycling bi-polar weather patterns of the Willamette Valley. Nonetheless, after a few emotionally draining weeks, the sunshine was a rather nice tonic. I made sure to get my fishbelly white flesh out into the sun as much as possible to induce production of that natural happy-maker, Vitamin D.
For those of you who are reading this and needing to live vicariously because you are still snow-bound, or threatened by tornados or floods, here are a few pics to get you in the spirit.
I took the opportunity on Sunday to plant some pansies in my balcony flower boxes...
Naturally, they're all purple, because that's how I roll...
I let the furs join me on the balcony to get in touch with their inner wild cats. Or at least with their inner lazy couch-potatos, but in an outdoor setting for a change.
The Bear...
Her Royal Highness, Emma...
The Princess, Khaliah...
Of course, all of these scenes of feline ease were *before* they realized that the penalty for rolling in my potting soil and getting goodness knows what kinds of dirt and pumice and fertilizer in their coats was that they all got baths when we came back inside. There are no pictures from *that* portion of the day, as I was too busy wrestling damp cats and protecting my vital organs to use a camera. That was pretty much a buzz-kill, and they spent the rest of the evening shooting me suspicious looks and probably flipping me the bird when I wasn't looking.
Anyhow, here's your window into my sunny afternoon, which will be just a lingering memory when the downpours start tomorrow and last for the rest of the week. I'll have to revert to the mantra I picked up from someone at work on one such rainy morning: "I love Oregon because it's so green... I love Oregon because it's so green..."
Before you get too jealous, keep in mind we're going to plummet right back into the 50s tomorrow, in the typical fast-cycling bi-polar weather patterns of the Willamette Valley. Nonetheless, after a few emotionally draining weeks, the sunshine was a rather nice tonic. I made sure to get my fishbelly white flesh out into the sun as much as possible to induce production of that natural happy-maker, Vitamin D.
For those of you who are reading this and needing to live vicariously because you are still snow-bound, or threatened by tornados or floods, here are a few pics to get you in the spirit.
I took the opportunity on Sunday to plant some pansies in my balcony flower boxes...
Naturally, they're all purple, because that's how I roll...
I let the furs join me on the balcony to get in touch with their inner wild cats. Or at least with their inner lazy couch-potatos, but in an outdoor setting for a change.
The Bear...
Her Royal Highness, Emma...
The Princess, Khaliah...
Of course, all of these scenes of feline ease were *before* they realized that the penalty for rolling in my potting soil and getting goodness knows what kinds of dirt and pumice and fertilizer in their coats was that they all got baths when we came back inside. There are no pictures from *that* portion of the day, as I was too busy wrestling damp cats and protecting my vital organs to use a camera. That was pretty much a buzz-kill, and they spent the rest of the evening shooting me suspicious looks and probably flipping me the bird when I wasn't looking.
Anyhow, here's your window into my sunny afternoon, which will be just a lingering memory when the downpours start tomorrow and last for the rest of the week. I'll have to revert to the mantra I picked up from someone at work on one such rainy morning: "I love Oregon because it's so green... I love Oregon because it's so green..."
Friday, April 03, 2009
Clown Snake
For my friend, Patricia...
Because the only thing scarier than a snake is a clown. And the only thing scarier than a clown is a snake with clown makeup. (I won't even go into the clown with snake makeup.)
I will gladly be your human shield anytime you come across hissing geese, whiskered rodents, or slithering garter snakes. I'm glad to call you my friend, and I only tease you because I love you... and because you're so cute when you squeal and run away. :o)
Hugs.
Because the only thing scarier than a snake is a clown. And the only thing scarier than a clown is a snake with clown makeup. (I won't even go into the clown with snake makeup.)
I will gladly be your human shield anytime you come across hissing geese, whiskered rodents, or slithering garter snakes. I'm glad to call you my friend, and I only tease you because I love you... and because you're so cute when you squeal and run away. :o)
Hugs.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Indecision
After months of waffling, I finally ordered the shirt that I feel has described so much of my last year...
So at least I'm being decisive about my indecision. There's that at least. ;o)
Seriously, though, I find that the more I am stressed, sad, discouraged, or dejected, the more difficult I find it to make even simple decisions. Here's the irony... In Myers-Briggs terms, I'm an INFJ. That "J" says I'm not comfortable in limbo, that I like to have things decided as soon as practicable. But ask me what I want to do for a girl's night out, or where I want to eat, and you'll get lots of shrugs and variations of "Meh."
I could pretend that's just because I'm "easy like Sunday morning" (as Beth would say) and truly don't have a strong preference in most cases. I think my family and friends might beg to disagree, though, if I said I wasn't opinionated and didn't sometimes really dig my heels in when I'm in disagreement with a decision.
When it boils down to it, I think I often want people to make decisions for me so I can just go with the flow and not have to expend any emotional energy in the process. I'm tired of being my own head of household. I want to submit to a good leader, like a husband. But then why oh why is it sooooo hard to submit to the Lord sometimes? Isn't He better than any husband, real or imagined? Maybe it's that His plans are often hidden from me, so even though I know His plans are good, I feel like I'm in limbo just because I'm walking blind.
Lately I've had to face up to the fact that I've been disappointed in God. Instead of waiting to see what wonders He will eventually unveil in my life, I blame Him because I feel left on the sidelines of the game. "I'm tired of being a bench warmer!" I rail against Him. I pout. I justify trying to take things into my own hands because in my blindness I interpret the invisibility of His plans as myself being brushed aside while everyone gets to live their "real" lives.
But He is light. Why would He keep me in darkness? I think maybe I'm keeping myself there and need to take a big step toward the light. Not that all will necessarily be revealed, but it's sure more comfortable waiting in the warmth of His glow than glowering under a self-imposed veil.
So at least I'm being decisive about my indecision. There's that at least. ;o)
Seriously, though, I find that the more I am stressed, sad, discouraged, or dejected, the more difficult I find it to make even simple decisions. Here's the irony... In Myers-Briggs terms, I'm an INFJ. That "J" says I'm not comfortable in limbo, that I like to have things decided as soon as practicable. But ask me what I want to do for a girl's night out, or where I want to eat, and you'll get lots of shrugs and variations of "Meh."
I could pretend that's just because I'm "easy like Sunday morning" (as Beth would say) and truly don't have a strong preference in most cases. I think my family and friends might beg to disagree, though, if I said I wasn't opinionated and didn't sometimes really dig my heels in when I'm in disagreement with a decision.
When it boils down to it, I think I often want people to make decisions for me so I can just go with the flow and not have to expend any emotional energy in the process. I'm tired of being my own head of household. I want to submit to a good leader, like a husband. But then why oh why is it sooooo hard to submit to the Lord sometimes? Isn't He better than any husband, real or imagined? Maybe it's that His plans are often hidden from me, so even though I know His plans are good, I feel like I'm in limbo just because I'm walking blind.
Lately I've had to face up to the fact that I've been disappointed in God. Instead of waiting to see what wonders He will eventually unveil in my life, I blame Him because I feel left on the sidelines of the game. "I'm tired of being a bench warmer!" I rail against Him. I pout. I justify trying to take things into my own hands because in my blindness I interpret the invisibility of His plans as myself being brushed aside while everyone gets to live their "real" lives.
But He is light. Why would He keep me in darkness? I think maybe I'm keeping myself there and need to take a big step toward the light. Not that all will necessarily be revealed, but it's sure more comfortable waiting in the warmth of His glow than glowering under a self-imposed veil.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Philadelphia Part II: The Cheesesteak Nazi
Another trip back in time, to January 31st...
The “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld is perhaps one of the more memorable in sitcom history, but I did think it was fictional… at least until I went in search of the quintessential Philly Cheesesteak.
It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to experience the “original” cheesesteak until I saw a cd at a gift shop entitled “The Cheesesteak Song.” Suddenly on this, my final night in Philadelphia, I had a quest. I asked a local where I could get a good cheesesteak, while remaining close enough to the freeways to not get hopelessly lost. I was given directions to a place in South Philly called Pat’s King of Cheesesteak.
Finding it turned out to be the easy part. Parking? Well, that was a different matter. That part of town is a “one-way” grid of epic proportions, but with streets about 15 feet wide. With cars parked along every single inch of every curb, that makes for one tiny little lane in the center, barely enough to get through. I actually saw a couple of what I thought were miniscule alleyways, but the street signs seemed to indicate that they were indeed lanes of travel. Maybe for mopeds. There was no way my rental car was getting through!
After circling for a while and trying to decide how badly I really wanted that cheesesteak, I finally found a likely looking parking spot. I could fit there without technically blocking the fire hydrant, and the curb wasn’t painted yellow at any rate. Despite inner forebodings about getting the rental car towed and finding myself stuck in the city, I saw other vehicles parked much worse than I would be. In a moment of “recklessness” (because you all know how “reckless” I can be), I decided to leave the car there for 15 minutes and hoof it to Pat’s King of Cheesesteak, which was now several blocks away.
Pat’s is basically a walled-in kitchen on a small triangular lot between 3 streets. Patrons line up –and boy do they line up!– to order their food and either take it to go, or eat at one of a few small outdoor tables. Being that the temperature was barely into the 20’s and with windchill it felt even colder, I decided not to linger any longer than necessary. As I was standing in line, I could see one of the kitchen windows, stacked with giant cans of Cheese Whiz. I kid you not. Does Cheese Whiz qualify as “cheese” in the proper sense of the word? Perhaps not, but its uncanny ability to melt into velvety smooth cheese sauce is really the whole purpose of its existence.
While hopping up and down a bit to keep the teeth-chattering at bay, I started to get close enough to the front of the line to read the “how to order” sign. This is when I started wondering if Pat and the Soup Nazi are related. I can’t remember the sign word for word, but here’s the best approximation I can give…
1. Decide if you want your cheesesteak with onions (“wit”) or without onions (“wit-out”).
2. Specify what kind of cheese you want on your steak: Cheese Whiz, American, Cheddar, or Provolone.
3. Have your money ready. Do any borrowing while you are waiting in line.
4. Practice your order while you are waiting. If you don’t get it right the first time, you can go to the back of the line and try again.
I did practice. And I *almost* passed for a seasoned cheesesteak orderer. I got the words out all right, and handed over my money efficiently. But wait… where do I actually get the cheesesteak? I was so busy practicing in my head (“American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out…”) that I didn’t watch anyone in front of me actually get their food. In that moment, I reverted to my Soup Nazi education. I ordered, handed over my money, and stepped to the left. And then I heard it. “Hey, ma’am! You have to wait for your sandwich!”
Doh! So close. Oh well. My abundance of fleece outerwear and lack of stiletto boots for walking in the city probably already gave me away as a west coaster. After 25 years in Washington and Oregon, I guess it’s hard to hide anyway.
So the mission was a success. I got my cheesesteak. I was not sent to the back of the line as punishment. My rental car was just where I left it, safe and sound. And most importantly, I eventually found my way back to I-76 W, I-476 S, and my temporary home sweet home at the Marriott in Devon Square.
Another day in Philly, another adventure. The last adventure remaining: finding my way back to the airport. Don’t laugh. It may be more of a challenge than you think…
The “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld is perhaps one of the more memorable in sitcom history, but I did think it was fictional… at least until I went in search of the quintessential Philly Cheesesteak.
It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to experience the “original” cheesesteak until I saw a cd at a gift shop entitled “The Cheesesteak Song.” Suddenly on this, my final night in Philadelphia, I had a quest. I asked a local where I could get a good cheesesteak, while remaining close enough to the freeways to not get hopelessly lost. I was given directions to a place in South Philly called Pat’s King of Cheesesteak.
Finding it turned out to be the easy part. Parking? Well, that was a different matter. That part of town is a “one-way” grid of epic proportions, but with streets about 15 feet wide. With cars parked along every single inch of every curb, that makes for one tiny little lane in the center, barely enough to get through. I actually saw a couple of what I thought were miniscule alleyways, but the street signs seemed to indicate that they were indeed lanes of travel. Maybe for mopeds. There was no way my rental car was getting through!
After circling for a while and trying to decide how badly I really wanted that cheesesteak, I finally found a likely looking parking spot. I could fit there without technically blocking the fire hydrant, and the curb wasn’t painted yellow at any rate. Despite inner forebodings about getting the rental car towed and finding myself stuck in the city, I saw other vehicles parked much worse than I would be. In a moment of “recklessness” (because you all know how “reckless” I can be), I decided to leave the car there for 15 minutes and hoof it to Pat’s King of Cheesesteak, which was now several blocks away.
Pat’s is basically a walled-in kitchen on a small triangular lot between 3 streets. Patrons line up –and boy do they line up!– to order their food and either take it to go, or eat at one of a few small outdoor tables. Being that the temperature was barely into the 20’s and with windchill it felt even colder, I decided not to linger any longer than necessary. As I was standing in line, I could see one of the kitchen windows, stacked with giant cans of Cheese Whiz. I kid you not. Does Cheese Whiz qualify as “cheese” in the proper sense of the word? Perhaps not, but its uncanny ability to melt into velvety smooth cheese sauce is really the whole purpose of its existence.
While hopping up and down a bit to keep the teeth-chattering at bay, I started to get close enough to the front of the line to read the “how to order” sign. This is when I started wondering if Pat and the Soup Nazi are related. I can’t remember the sign word for word, but here’s the best approximation I can give…
1. Decide if you want your cheesesteak with onions (“wit”) or without onions (“wit-out”).
2. Specify what kind of cheese you want on your steak: Cheese Whiz, American, Cheddar, or Provolone.
3. Have your money ready. Do any borrowing while you are waiting in line.
4. Practice your order while you are waiting. If you don’t get it right the first time, you can go to the back of the line and try again.
I did practice. And I *almost* passed for a seasoned cheesesteak orderer. I got the words out all right, and handed over my money efficiently. But wait… where do I actually get the cheesesteak? I was so busy practicing in my head (“American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out…”) that I didn’t watch anyone in front of me actually get their food. In that moment, I reverted to my Soup Nazi education. I ordered, handed over my money, and stepped to the left. And then I heard it. “Hey, ma’am! You have to wait for your sandwich!”
Doh! So close. Oh well. My abundance of fleece outerwear and lack of stiletto boots for walking in the city probably already gave me away as a west coaster. After 25 years in Washington and Oregon, I guess it’s hard to hide anyway.
So the mission was a success. I got my cheesesteak. I was not sent to the back of the line as punishment. My rental car was just where I left it, safe and sound. And most importantly, I eventually found my way back to I-76 W, I-476 S, and my temporary home sweet home at the Marriott in Devon Square.
Another day in Philly, another adventure. The last adventure remaining: finding my way back to the airport. Don’t laugh. It may be more of a challenge than you think…
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Philadelphia Part I: Battle of the Airlines
This should have been posted on Sunday, January 25th, so you'll have to take a little trip with me back in time...
I’m en route to Philadelphia – somewhere I’ve never been – for software configuration training. I’m excited since I’ve wanted to take this class for a couple of years now, but I’m also a touch apprehensive. Partly that’s due to my usual reticence about leaving my furry, quadrapedal children at home, this time for 8 days. Also, though, there’s the “what if” game… What if this is too abstract for my brain to comprehend? What if I stink at this and my manager realizes he’s spent $4,500 to send me to a class and still gets no additional skills from me?
I actually had a “test anxiety” dream a couple of weeks ago. I dreamed that after this weeklong brain-stretching extravaganza, I was supposed to take a highly technical test to show what I had learned. I sat down in the classroom, broke the seal on my test booklet, and – to my horror – found that it contained nothing but legal and employee relations questions: “You suspect Employee A is embezzling money from the company. Describe in detail how you would proceed.” “Employee B and Employee C have been in a physical altercation, and both claim that the other employee instigated the fight. What are your next steps?” etc. This being a dream, naturally I could not find an instructor to tell that I had been given the wrong test booklet, and the others around me were blissfully finishing their test in record time and with utmost confidence in their success, while I wailed and bemoaned my fate.
Yes, folks, that’s a bona fide HR nightmare. :o)
This morning did not get off to an auspicious start. I was running a few minutes late – I know, I know… try not to be shocked, right? – and didn’t really allow enough extra time to park in the shuttle lot and take the bus to the terminal. I arrived at the ticket counter 43 minutes before takeoff, only to find out that United’s cutoff is 45 minutes before takeoff. 2 minutes. Seriously. They refused to let me get on my scheduled flight, even though my seat would be vacant. They also charged me $75 for the privilege of being bumped. I was NOT a happy camper to say the least. So after waiting almost 3 hours at PDX until the next flight, a very grumpy and tired Lisa sat in seat 17E mentally ranking and rating United against my usual carrier, Southwest. Here’s my tally so far…
Ticket agents… SWA ticket agents, in my experience, are friendly and accommodating. They actually want you on their flights. Even during freak snowstorms that cause thousands of flight cancellations, they try to get you to your destination without too much fuss. And they look the other way when you’re laden with Christmas gifts and so your bag weighs a couple pounds over the 55-pound limit. United, on the other hand, was unbending and unhelpful in general. It was too much for the attendant to help me successfully use the self-check in kiosk. It wasn’t possible to let me on the flight if my reserved seat hadn’t already been filled by someone on standby. There were no smiles, no apologies, no pathos. SWA +2 United -3
Seating Assignments… This one is a toss-up. The SWA open seating has a certain cattle call feel to it, with folks trying to check in via the web exactly 24 hours in advance to get the coveted A passes with low numbers. On the other hand, there’s a certain advantage to choosing your seat and being (mostly) able to avoid sitting near the families with screaming toddlers whom you noticed in the terminal and prayed (in vain) would not be on your flight. SWA +1 for freedom. United +1 for a more calm boarding procedure.
Checked Baggage… SWA still allows up to 2 checked bags per person, up to 55 pounds each. No fees. United charges $15 for the first bag, $25 for the second bag. SWA +1 United -1
Snacks… SWA still gives you complimentary beverage service and your choice of pretzels or peanuts. United charges $6 for a snack box. Cash only, preferably exact change. SWA +1 United -1
Flight Attendants… SWA has those wonderful, witty, cheeky flight attendants I enjoy so much. I think there are sarcasm and irony portions of their flight attendant exams. On the flight back to Portland after Christmas, one such flight attendant got on the intercom and requested that a certain passenger called Josh ring his call button if he was aboard. When the 30-something-year-old pushed the button, the flight attendant got back on the intercom for everyone to hear and said this: “Josh, your hotel just contacted us. I’m sorry, but they were unable to find the Spiderman pajamas you left there last night. They said you can call back later and they’ll check again.” Heh. Now that was funny. United? Not a single joke cracked in 3 ½ hours. How very boring. On the other hand, at least they weren’t rude. SWA +2 United 0
In-Flight Movie… I’ve never been on a SWA flight that’s had a movie. United treated us to “The Duchess” today, featuring Keira Knightley. SWA -1 United +1 for showing a movie and +1 additional since the movie did not feature any SNL alumni.
Passenger Flatulence… Today felt like I was at a military training base in the biological weapons training facility. Okay, I know I can’t truly blame the airline for the copious consumption of gas-inducing foods by the persons sitting near me – after all, it’s not like the airline gave us any food! – but maybe those oxygen masks need to be available for more situations than loss of cabin pressure. No score here.
Landings… My last two landings with SWA have been at significant speeds, such that myself and many other passengers braced our hands against the seats in the event we’d go sliding off the end of the runway. United had fairly clean landings today, with only minor side-to-side movement. SWA -1 United +1
Okay, let’s check the tally… Drumroll please…
SWA: 5
United: -1
I guess it’s official… I prefer good ol’ customer service to in flight movies or other “luxuries.” :o)
I’m en route to Philadelphia – somewhere I’ve never been – for software configuration training. I’m excited since I’ve wanted to take this class for a couple of years now, but I’m also a touch apprehensive. Partly that’s due to my usual reticence about leaving my furry, quadrapedal children at home, this time for 8 days. Also, though, there’s the “what if” game… What if this is too abstract for my brain to comprehend? What if I stink at this and my manager realizes he’s spent $4,500 to send me to a class and still gets no additional skills from me?
I actually had a “test anxiety” dream a couple of weeks ago. I dreamed that after this weeklong brain-stretching extravaganza, I was supposed to take a highly technical test to show what I had learned. I sat down in the classroom, broke the seal on my test booklet, and – to my horror – found that it contained nothing but legal and employee relations questions: “You suspect Employee A is embezzling money from the company. Describe in detail how you would proceed.” “Employee B and Employee C have been in a physical altercation, and both claim that the other employee instigated the fight. What are your next steps?” etc. This being a dream, naturally I could not find an instructor to tell that I had been given the wrong test booklet, and the others around me were blissfully finishing their test in record time and with utmost confidence in their success, while I wailed and bemoaned my fate.
Yes, folks, that’s a bona fide HR nightmare. :o)
This morning did not get off to an auspicious start. I was running a few minutes late – I know, I know… try not to be shocked, right? – and didn’t really allow enough extra time to park in the shuttle lot and take the bus to the terminal. I arrived at the ticket counter 43 minutes before takeoff, only to find out that United’s cutoff is 45 minutes before takeoff. 2 minutes. Seriously. They refused to let me get on my scheduled flight, even though my seat would be vacant. They also charged me $75 for the privilege of being bumped. I was NOT a happy camper to say the least. So after waiting almost 3 hours at PDX until the next flight, a very grumpy and tired Lisa sat in seat 17E mentally ranking and rating United against my usual carrier, Southwest. Here’s my tally so far…
Ticket agents… SWA ticket agents, in my experience, are friendly and accommodating. They actually want you on their flights. Even during freak snowstorms that cause thousands of flight cancellations, they try to get you to your destination without too much fuss. And they look the other way when you’re laden with Christmas gifts and so your bag weighs a couple pounds over the 55-pound limit. United, on the other hand, was unbending and unhelpful in general. It was too much for the attendant to help me successfully use the self-check in kiosk. It wasn’t possible to let me on the flight if my reserved seat hadn’t already been filled by someone on standby. There were no smiles, no apologies, no pathos. SWA +2 United -3
Seating Assignments… This one is a toss-up. The SWA open seating has a certain cattle call feel to it, with folks trying to check in via the web exactly 24 hours in advance to get the coveted A passes with low numbers. On the other hand, there’s a certain advantage to choosing your seat and being (mostly) able to avoid sitting near the families with screaming toddlers whom you noticed in the terminal and prayed (in vain) would not be on your flight. SWA +1 for freedom. United +1 for a more calm boarding procedure.
Checked Baggage… SWA still allows up to 2 checked bags per person, up to 55 pounds each. No fees. United charges $15 for the first bag, $25 for the second bag. SWA +1 United -1
Snacks… SWA still gives you complimentary beverage service and your choice of pretzels or peanuts. United charges $6 for a snack box. Cash only, preferably exact change. SWA +1 United -1
Flight Attendants… SWA has those wonderful, witty, cheeky flight attendants I enjoy so much. I think there are sarcasm and irony portions of their flight attendant exams. On the flight back to Portland after Christmas, one such flight attendant got on the intercom and requested that a certain passenger called Josh ring his call button if he was aboard. When the 30-something-year-old pushed the button, the flight attendant got back on the intercom for everyone to hear and said this: “Josh, your hotel just contacted us. I’m sorry, but they were unable to find the Spiderman pajamas you left there last night. They said you can call back later and they’ll check again.” Heh. Now that was funny. United? Not a single joke cracked in 3 ½ hours. How very boring. On the other hand, at least they weren’t rude. SWA +2 United 0
In-Flight Movie… I’ve never been on a SWA flight that’s had a movie. United treated us to “The Duchess” today, featuring Keira Knightley. SWA -1 United +1 for showing a movie and +1 additional since the movie did not feature any SNL alumni.
Passenger Flatulence… Today felt like I was at a military training base in the biological weapons training facility. Okay, I know I can’t truly blame the airline for the copious consumption of gas-inducing foods by the persons sitting near me – after all, it’s not like the airline gave us any food! – but maybe those oxygen masks need to be available for more situations than loss of cabin pressure. No score here.
Landings… My last two landings with SWA have been at significant speeds, such that myself and many other passengers braced our hands against the seats in the event we’d go sliding off the end of the runway. United had fairly clean landings today, with only minor side-to-side movement. SWA -1 United +1
Okay, let’s check the tally… Drumroll please…
SWA: 5
United: -1
I guess it’s official… I prefer good ol’ customer service to in flight movies or other “luxuries.” :o)
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Guess I'm "it"... Do I have to squeal like a 3rd grade girl getting chased on the playground?
1.Post the rules on your blog
2.Write 6 random things about yourself
3.Tag 6 people at the end of your post
4.If you are tagged, just do it, and pass the tag along!
ONE: I fell down a couple of stairs when I visited the Louvre. I don't think anyone saw. Those marble floors are slick!! :o)
TWO: I'm growing my hair out because last December I had a dream that I had very long hair, almost to my waist. In the dream, whenever I let my hair down out of a ponytail or clip and it would cascade down my back, men would literally stop in their tracks. Here's hoping it was a prophetic dream!
THREE: Sometimes I think I like animals better than people. Not that I don't love my friends and family, believe me. But as an introvert with a capital "I", people are often exhausting. I enjoy spending time with my pets and watching animals at the zoo because they have a completely different energy than humans. I find them very soothing.
FOUR: I once got teary-eyed to the Eminem song "Lose Yourself." Granted, I was very hormonal that day. But can't you just feel the raw emotion in these words? "Success is my only motherf****n option. Failure's not. Mom, I love you but this trailer's got to go. I cannot grow old in Salem's Lot. So here I go it's my shot, feet fail me not. This may be the only opportunity that I got." Sniff, sniff. Okay, so maybe I'm hormonal today, too...
FIVE: Every time I visit a bookstore, library, or craft store, I need to poop. Immediately. Without fail. Maybe it's all the paper?
SIX: I watch "America's Next Top Model" and try some of the crazy poses. I never look as glamorous as they do. I also watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" and then get down with my bad self. Ahem. I don't think I'll ever make a living as a dancer either.
Tag you're it! If you've already been tagged, I'm tagging you again because you haven't posted your 6 random facts and I'm pretending like I got to you first. :o)
1. Patricia
2. Kathie
3. Rebekah
4. Kristin
5. Monkey David
6. Liann
2.Write 6 random things about yourself
3.Tag 6 people at the end of your post
4.If you are tagged, just do it, and pass the tag along!
ONE: I fell down a couple of stairs when I visited the Louvre. I don't think anyone saw. Those marble floors are slick!! :o)
TWO: I'm growing my hair out because last December I had a dream that I had very long hair, almost to my waist. In the dream, whenever I let my hair down out of a ponytail or clip and it would cascade down my back, men would literally stop in their tracks. Here's hoping it was a prophetic dream!
THREE: Sometimes I think I like animals better than people. Not that I don't love my friends and family, believe me. But as an introvert with a capital "I", people are often exhausting. I enjoy spending time with my pets and watching animals at the zoo because they have a completely different energy than humans. I find them very soothing.
FOUR: I once got teary-eyed to the Eminem song "Lose Yourself." Granted, I was very hormonal that day. But can't you just feel the raw emotion in these words? "Success is my only motherf****n option. Failure's not. Mom, I love you but this trailer's got to go. I cannot grow old in Salem's Lot. So here I go it's my shot, feet fail me not. This may be the only opportunity that I got." Sniff, sniff. Okay, so maybe I'm hormonal today, too...
FIVE: Every time I visit a bookstore, library, or craft store, I need to poop. Immediately. Without fail. Maybe it's all the paper?
SIX: I watch "America's Next Top Model" and try some of the crazy poses. I never look as glamorous as they do. I also watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" and then get down with my bad self. Ahem. I don't think I'll ever make a living as a dancer either.
Tag you're it! If you've already been tagged, I'm tagging you again because you haven't posted your 6 random facts and I'm pretending like I got to you first. :o)
1. Patricia
2. Kathie
3. Rebekah
4. Kristin
5. Monkey David
6. Liann
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I guess this means...
that I don't have to get married just to get a KitchenAid stand mixer.
My wonderful extended team at work totally ambushed me this afternoon - in the best way possible. There was a meeting on the calendar that simply said "HR Treats" which I assumed was in honor of one of our departing co-workers. Instead, I was presented with the shiny black KitchenAid of my dreams, along with an apron and new rubber spatula.
Over the last three+ years here (at this company which shall remain nameless), I've enjoyed baking for my teammates and my extended department for a myriad of birthdays and other random occasions. This was a very much unexpected and overwhelming 'thank you' from them, and a total blessing to me.
For Paty and Aim and anyone else who might actually read this, THANK YOU!!!!!! I don't even have words right now. I'm so very touched. (sniff, sniff)
My wonderful extended team at work totally ambushed me this afternoon - in the best way possible. There was a meeting on the calendar that simply said "HR Treats" which I assumed was in honor of one of our departing co-workers. Instead, I was presented with the shiny black KitchenAid of my dreams, along with an apron and new rubber spatula.
Over the last three+ years here (at this company which shall remain nameless), I've enjoyed baking for my teammates and my extended department for a myriad of birthdays and other random occasions. This was a very much unexpected and overwhelming 'thank you' from them, and a total blessing to me.
For Paty and Aim and anyone else who might actually read this, THANK YOU!!!!!! I don't even have words right now. I'm so very touched. (sniff, sniff)
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Pachyderms & Pickles
On Saturday morning, August 23rd, I fought the general laziness that compelled me to sleep late or stay at home. Instead I rose early and made the trek up to the Oregon Zoo. The zoo opens at 9:00am, and in the summertime, you’d better get there by 10:00am if you want to find a parking space. I arrived and began my own version of a “three hour tour,” and much like Gilligan, I got sidetracked and ended up spent vastly more time there… 9+ hours actually.
One of our female Asian elephants, Rose-Tu, was expecting a bouncing baby girl. The due date, after 22 long months of gestation, was anytime between late August and early October. I just wanted to go commune with the animals that morning and leave by noon, not having heard that Rose was in labor. I arrived at the elephant exhibit and found the doors to the indoor viewing area blocked off and covered with paper and signs advising that only staff could enter. I quickly found a volunteer and confirmed my suspicions, that the blessed event was imminent. Much to my excitement, I also discovered that the staff had set up a flat panel TV inside the Elephant Museum building with continuous live feed of the labor & delivery process.
I understand that for many people, watching video of an elephant in labor would rank only slightly higher than watching paint dry, but to me it was irresistible. I stood in that museum for 4 hours, watching, waiting and praying for a safe delivery. Some people might find it a bit odd to pray for animals, but I figure the Lord cares for all of his creation and wants to see animals thrive as well as humans.With the recent decline in the Asian elephant population and a decade-long hiatus on any serious breeding programs, we are at risk of having only 20 Asian elephants left in North American zoos by 2050. The 30% mortality rate for infant elephants doesn’t help either.
Rose-Tu wasn’t alone in her time of need. Shine and Chendra, the other females, kept her company. Normally the “experienced” mothers in a herd would function as midwives and assist a first-time mother such as Rose. Although neither Shine nor Chendra is a mother, Shine had actually witnessed Rose’s birth 14 years ago, when she herself was 11 years old. Shine did her best to comfort her, staying nearby and stroking Rosie's contracting belly with her trunk.
I started watching around noon, just after her water broke, along with a crowd that ranged from perhaps 50-60 people in quieter moments to upwards of 200 in the final hour before the delivery. Early on, Rose-Tu’s labor seemed to be progressing nicely, but by 3:00, it seemed to have stalled. The keepers and vets came in to perform another ultrasound and give her some massage to encourage her contractions. After determining that a.) the baby was in a safe position and b.) that labor had virtually stopped, the vets decided to administer oxytocin to speed things up. The gamble paid off, because at 3:56pm, the baby arrived!
The crowd cheered wildly in those first moments, until things took a frightening turn. It’s common for elephants to nudge their newborns to break the amniotic sack and help the baby to stand, but Rose-Tu seemed confused about what was happening, and became aggressive. She kicked the poor little guy repeatedly, sending him spinning around like a hockey puck. I watched, horrified and wondering if the baby was alive, as the keepers rushed in to intervene. The video feed cut out at that point, leaving the crowd shocked and unsure of what we had just witnessed.
The first update, given by the verklempt Deputy Director about 20 minutes after the birth, was dire news indeed. Although the baby was alive – and surprisingly a “he” rather than the “she” that was expected – they anticipated that he might have internal injuries. The news 20 minutes later was slightly better; the baby was on his feet (with some help), and didn’t have any obvious fractures or deformities. X-rays and scans were needed to rule out any invisible injuries. I spent the next couple of hours wandering around aimlessly and periodically returning to the Elephant Museum for updates. Finally there was some good news! The baby was walking around, had a good sucking reflex and had accepted some fluids, and he was calling for mom. Better yet, Rose-Tu was starting to call back to him. At that point, the Deputy Director said they were “guardedly optimistic,” and I breathed a major sigh of relief.
The battle wasn’t over, yet, for our dedicated staff. Although baby appeared healthy, they now had to reintroduce him to Rose-Tu and determine that her intentions were maternal instead of murderous. The first couple of attempts did not go well, and there were fears that she would reject the calf entirely. After a slow and careful reintroduction process that took nearly 4 days, Rose-Tu began to nurse the baby and accept her role of mother. Hallelujah!!
So this brings me to this past weekend, and the title of my blog… On Saturday, August 30th, the zoo starting offering limited viewing of our new boy. Naturally, I *had* to be there, to bring the traumatic events of the previous Saturday full circle in my mind. I arrived at 9:00am, and stood in a line of hundreds to get a brief peek at the little one. Of course, “little” is a relative term for baby elephants. Nonetheless, our boy tops the scales at 286 pounds – significantly more than the 200-250 pound average.
When I reached the front of the line and entered the viewing area with eager anticipation, I was elated to find a healthy and curious baby, with mom stoically eating and keeping tabs on the boy. This guy is all charm and personality, and it seems clear he’ll be a handful when he gets bigger. And like all newborns, he sleeps. A lot. In fact, while I was watching, he deemed it was time for a nap, and went from exploring and literally trying to climb the walls, to flopping down for a snooze. I think the transition took all of about 20 seconds, and left the observers giggling and emitting gleeful noises.
So the pachyderm connection is clear, but what about the pickles? Well, that was the other main event in this 3-day weekend… trekking to Sauvie Island with Beth and Rebekah to procure 50 pounds of lovely, petite cucumbers for this year’s pickling extravaganza. After 2 days of washing, sorting, slicing, packing jars, and boiling brine we are now knee-deep in dills, bread & butters, and tarragon pickles. The payoff for the labor is worth it in the end, but as Beth indicated, it’s an exhausting process that tends to leave a person smelling like a deli and not wanting to see another pickle for quite some time. Luckily, this is the stage where the pickles “rest” for about 6 weeks, and by the time they’re ready for eating, we’ll have forgotten the long hours in the kitchen and will appreciate anew the glory that is homemade pickles. :o)
Pachyderms + Pickles + 3-Day Weekend = Contented Lisa
One of our female Asian elephants, Rose-Tu, was expecting a bouncing baby girl. The due date, after 22 long months of gestation, was anytime between late August and early October. I just wanted to go commune with the animals that morning and leave by noon, not having heard that Rose was in labor. I arrived at the elephant exhibit and found the doors to the indoor viewing area blocked off and covered with paper and signs advising that only staff could enter. I quickly found a volunteer and confirmed my suspicions, that the blessed event was imminent. Much to my excitement, I also discovered that the staff had set up a flat panel TV inside the Elephant Museum building with continuous live feed of the labor & delivery process.
I understand that for many people, watching video of an elephant in labor would rank only slightly higher than watching paint dry, but to me it was irresistible. I stood in that museum for 4 hours, watching, waiting and praying for a safe delivery. Some people might find it a bit odd to pray for animals, but I figure the Lord cares for all of his creation and wants to see animals thrive as well as humans.With the recent decline in the Asian elephant population and a decade-long hiatus on any serious breeding programs, we are at risk of having only 20 Asian elephants left in North American zoos by 2050. The 30% mortality rate for infant elephants doesn’t help either.
Rose-Tu wasn’t alone in her time of need. Shine and Chendra, the other females, kept her company. Normally the “experienced” mothers in a herd would function as midwives and assist a first-time mother such as Rose. Although neither Shine nor Chendra is a mother, Shine had actually witnessed Rose’s birth 14 years ago, when she herself was 11 years old. Shine did her best to comfort her, staying nearby and stroking Rosie's contracting belly with her trunk.
I started watching around noon, just after her water broke, along with a crowd that ranged from perhaps 50-60 people in quieter moments to upwards of 200 in the final hour before the delivery. Early on, Rose-Tu’s labor seemed to be progressing nicely, but by 3:00, it seemed to have stalled. The keepers and vets came in to perform another ultrasound and give her some massage to encourage her contractions. After determining that a.) the baby was in a safe position and b.) that labor had virtually stopped, the vets decided to administer oxytocin to speed things up. The gamble paid off, because at 3:56pm, the baby arrived!
The crowd cheered wildly in those first moments, until things took a frightening turn. It’s common for elephants to nudge their newborns to break the amniotic sack and help the baby to stand, but Rose-Tu seemed confused about what was happening, and became aggressive. She kicked the poor little guy repeatedly, sending him spinning around like a hockey puck. I watched, horrified and wondering if the baby was alive, as the keepers rushed in to intervene. The video feed cut out at that point, leaving the crowd shocked and unsure of what we had just witnessed.
The first update, given by the verklempt Deputy Director about 20 minutes after the birth, was dire news indeed. Although the baby was alive – and surprisingly a “he” rather than the “she” that was expected – they anticipated that he might have internal injuries. The news 20 minutes later was slightly better; the baby was on his feet (with some help), and didn’t have any obvious fractures or deformities. X-rays and scans were needed to rule out any invisible injuries. I spent the next couple of hours wandering around aimlessly and periodically returning to the Elephant Museum for updates. Finally there was some good news! The baby was walking around, had a good sucking reflex and had accepted some fluids, and he was calling for mom. Better yet, Rose-Tu was starting to call back to him. At that point, the Deputy Director said they were “guardedly optimistic,” and I breathed a major sigh of relief.
The battle wasn’t over, yet, for our dedicated staff. Although baby appeared healthy, they now had to reintroduce him to Rose-Tu and determine that her intentions were maternal instead of murderous. The first couple of attempts did not go well, and there were fears that she would reject the calf entirely. After a slow and careful reintroduction process that took nearly 4 days, Rose-Tu began to nurse the baby and accept her role of mother. Hallelujah!!
So this brings me to this past weekend, and the title of my blog… On Saturday, August 30th, the zoo starting offering limited viewing of our new boy. Naturally, I *had* to be there, to bring the traumatic events of the previous Saturday full circle in my mind. I arrived at 9:00am, and stood in a line of hundreds to get a brief peek at the little one. Of course, “little” is a relative term for baby elephants. Nonetheless, our boy tops the scales at 286 pounds – significantly more than the 200-250 pound average.
When I reached the front of the line and entered the viewing area with eager anticipation, I was elated to find a healthy and curious baby, with mom stoically eating and keeping tabs on the boy. This guy is all charm and personality, and it seems clear he’ll be a handful when he gets bigger. And like all newborns, he sleeps. A lot. In fact, while I was watching, he deemed it was time for a nap, and went from exploring and literally trying to climb the walls, to flopping down for a snooze. I think the transition took all of about 20 seconds, and left the observers giggling and emitting gleeful noises.
So the pachyderm connection is clear, but what about the pickles? Well, that was the other main event in this 3-day weekend… trekking to Sauvie Island with Beth and Rebekah to procure 50 pounds of lovely, petite cucumbers for this year’s pickling extravaganza. After 2 days of washing, sorting, slicing, packing jars, and boiling brine we are now knee-deep in dills, bread & butters, and tarragon pickles. The payoff for the labor is worth it in the end, but as Beth indicated, it’s an exhausting process that tends to leave a person smelling like a deli and not wanting to see another pickle for quite some time. Luckily, this is the stage where the pickles “rest” for about 6 weeks, and by the time they’re ready for eating, we’ll have forgotten the long hours in the kitchen and will appreciate anew the glory that is homemade pickles. :o)
Pachyderms + Pickles + 3-Day Weekend = Contented Lisa
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Jonathan
A poem for Jonathan, who sees the zoo through his own unique eyes... :o)
jonathan at the zoo
shrewd felines wink conspiratorially
sagacious apes soundlessly beckon
meerkats hint at secrets unbidden
but the stalwart owl reveals nothing
nimble elephants dance a merry jig while
stately giraffes converse in rhyme
placid fish take fight beyond
the long reach of resolute penguins
peacocks dabble in vain pursuits
bears stifle giggles behind huge paws
zebras heckle neighboring gazelles
and the croc nods his head in approval
but animals aren’t the only ones who speak here
sidewalks tug at your feet
compelling you against restraint
“hurry, boy, lest you miss
the antics of these affable beasts”
jonathan at the zoo
shrewd felines wink conspiratorially
sagacious apes soundlessly beckon
meerkats hint at secrets unbidden
but the stalwart owl reveals nothing
nimble elephants dance a merry jig while
stately giraffes converse in rhyme
placid fish take fight beyond
the long reach of resolute penguins
peacocks dabble in vain pursuits
bears stifle giggles behind huge paws
zebras heckle neighboring gazelles
and the croc nods his head in approval
but animals aren’t the only ones who speak here
sidewalks tug at your feet
compelling you against restraint
“hurry, boy, lest you miss
the antics of these affable beasts”
Monday, August 18, 2008
Heat, Humidity & Profanity
For any of you not local to the Portland area, our summers are relatively mild, with typically maybe a dozen days of temps over 90 degrees, and only three or four 100+ degree days each summer. This weekend, we had three of those 100 degree days in a row. Now you might not think that's so bad, but I assure you, central air conditioning is not common around here given the usual climate. To make matters worse, I live in a 3rd floor dwelling, where the heat accumulates readily. One hot day won't totally ruin my indoor temps, but three sure will!
It was somewhere in the high 80's inside my apartment by Saturday night, and I was sweating while sitting still doing nothing. The cats at least generally had the good sense to avoid cuddling, so as not to combine our heat and increase it exponentially.
I was so desperate to escape the heat that I actually stopped watching the Olympics to go to a movie. I have been so entranced by the gymnastics and swimming events, that the last 10 days have left me sleep-deprived and thus relatively grateful that this only happens every four years (or every two if you count the Winter Games). :o)
I took a chance on "Tropic Thunder," the concept of which looked fairly funny. I was sorely disappointed... not by a lack of humor - the audience was certainly laughing - but by a level of vulgarity that made all other Stiller movies seem like Pixar flicks. This was a 1 hour 46 minute "f-word" marathon. The rare lines which didn't contain that particular adjective/verb/adverb/noun - they used it in more ways than I had ever imagined!- substituted euphamisms for male genitalia instead. By the end, I thought my ears must be bleeding. I really felt like a worse person for having watched it.
It's unfortunate that the writers chose to take it that route, because the concept was definitely funny, it was very well cast (Kudos to Robert Downey Jr!), and had the potential to be a laughable farse. Instead, I needed "brain bleach" afterwards to rid myself of the parade of expletives and graphic depictions of sexual favors.
Anyway, moving on to more pleasant territory... There is now large a cold front pushing out the hot air (hooray!), and resulting in some rip-roaring thunderstorms, reminiscent of when I lived in Nebraska as a kid. So with the weather somewhere in the high 60's right now, it's time for me to head home and catch up on laundry and other heat-creating household chores, not to mention catching up on 3 day worth of kitty snuggles. >^..^<
It was somewhere in the high 80's inside my apartment by Saturday night, and I was sweating while sitting still doing nothing. The cats at least generally had the good sense to avoid cuddling, so as not to combine our heat and increase it exponentially.
I was so desperate to escape the heat that I actually stopped watching the Olympics to go to a movie. I have been so entranced by the gymnastics and swimming events, that the last 10 days have left me sleep-deprived and thus relatively grateful that this only happens every four years (or every two if you count the Winter Games). :o)
I took a chance on "Tropic Thunder," the concept of which looked fairly funny. I was sorely disappointed... not by a lack of humor - the audience was certainly laughing - but by a level of vulgarity that made all other Stiller movies seem like Pixar flicks. This was a 1 hour 46 minute "f-word" marathon. The rare lines which didn't contain that particular adjective/verb/adverb/noun - they used it in more ways than I had ever imagined!- substituted euphamisms for male genitalia instead. By the end, I thought my ears must be bleeding. I really felt like a worse person for having watched it.
It's unfortunate that the writers chose to take it that route, because the concept was definitely funny, it was very well cast (Kudos to Robert Downey Jr!), and had the potential to be a laughable farse. Instead, I needed "brain bleach" afterwards to rid myself of the parade of expletives and graphic depictions of sexual favors.
Anyway, moving on to more pleasant territory... There is now large a cold front pushing out the hot air (hooray!), and resulting in some rip-roaring thunderstorms, reminiscent of when I lived in Nebraska as a kid. So with the weather somewhere in the high 60's right now, it's time for me to head home and catch up on laundry and other heat-creating household chores, not to mention catching up on 3 day worth of kitty snuggles. >^..^<
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
McDonalds, My Nemesis
I haven't been a frequent customer at the "Golden Arches" for several years now, probably since reading that a person would have to walk *10 miles* to burn off the calories contained in a BigMac value meal. Nonetheless, I periodically feel the draw of the drive-thru... much to my detriment.
For all of you ladies, you *know* how much hormones affect your eating choices, epecially on those PMS days when you are either craving a.) red meat b.) grease & fat c.) chocolate d.) salt or e.) all of the above.
I started the day on a reasonably healthy note, with a piece of string cheese and a slice of banana bread for breakfast. I then proceeded to have a low calorie, all-fruit "Pomegranate Paradise" smoothie (courtesy of Jamba Juice) for lunch. That's 5 servings of fruit in all their lovely, blended glory, baby! I felt pretty satisified until about 4:45pm when my stomach was empty and gurgling, and someone at work (you know who you are!) started talking with me about RedBox video rentals, which are located at --everyone say it with me-- McDONALDS!
Suddenly my mouth started watering profusely and I could taste that unique McD's burger grease. It was all I could think about for the next 15 minutes. I agonized. I looked at the clock. Dang it, 1.5 hours to go in my work day! No one could reasonably expect to fight a PMS craving for that long, with a growling tummy and a diabolically scheming uterus! Why is my uterus yelling at me this way? Why can't it just go back to its singing antics?! Doh!
I caved. I admit it. I am weak. I hopped in my car and drove to the drive thru, and I returned to my desk a very satisfied woman. Maybe a regular cheeseburger would only require a couple of miles of walking? Plus one more mile for the small order of fries? 3 miles isn't so bad, right?
Men, you will NEVER, EVER know the power of PMS. You may think you do --heck, you may even live with it for a few days each month-- but you will never really know.
For all of you ladies, you *know* how much hormones affect your eating choices, epecially on those PMS days when you are either craving a.) red meat b.) grease & fat c.) chocolate d.) salt or e.) all of the above.
I started the day on a reasonably healthy note, with a piece of string cheese and a slice of banana bread for breakfast. I then proceeded to have a low calorie, all-fruit "Pomegranate Paradise" smoothie (courtesy of Jamba Juice) for lunch. That's 5 servings of fruit in all their lovely, blended glory, baby! I felt pretty satisified until about 4:45pm when my stomach was empty and gurgling, and someone at work (you know who you are!) started talking with me about RedBox video rentals, which are located at --everyone say it with me-- McDONALDS!
Suddenly my mouth started watering profusely and I could taste that unique McD's burger grease. It was all I could think about for the next 15 minutes. I agonized. I looked at the clock. Dang it, 1.5 hours to go in my work day! No one could reasonably expect to fight a PMS craving for that long, with a growling tummy and a diabolically scheming uterus! Why is my uterus yelling at me this way? Why can't it just go back to its singing antics?! Doh!
I caved. I admit it. I am weak. I hopped in my car and drove to the drive thru, and I returned to my desk a very satisfied woman. Maybe a regular cheeseburger would only require a couple of miles of walking? Plus one more mile for the small order of fries? 3 miles isn't so bad, right?
Men, you will NEVER, EVER know the power of PMS. You may think you do --heck, you may even live with it for a few days each month-- but you will never really know.
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