Disclaimer

Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Spoiler Alert: Barbie Fed (Caused?) My Shopping Addiction

When I was little, I had a ton of Barbies.  I was Barbie-obsessed.  Everyone used to joke about how I was the Barbie child.

And I was a weirdo and an only child, so Barbie influenced my thinking in lots of ways.  For instance, I only went to the bathroom once per day.  Like, once every twenty-four hours.  I thought I was abnormal for having to go to the bathroom.  Nobody on TV went to the bathroom!  BARBIE doesn't go to the bathroom!!

Barbie's style became my style when I was old enough to start dressing like an adult.  Of COURSE you wear skin-tight sweaters and pants!  Of COURSE you wear tiny dresses!  That's what BARBIE wears!

I know most of the people who read this blog have known me a long time, so I am covering familiar ground with the Jennifer-plus-Barbie thing.  Suffice it to say that Barbie was a huge part of my education on how to be a woman.

When I got older, I had something that I would definitely qualify as a shopping addiction.

I was not popular in school, and (as I have said ad nauseam) the group I hung out with got spit on by the popular kids.  Whenever I would go to the mall, I was dizzy with the possibilities.  I could be whoever I wanted if I just had the right clothes.  So buying new clothes became equal to changing my life in my mind.  I still remember going back-to-school shopping before starting sixth grade and being SO excited that instead of ugly sweat suits, I was going to be wearing all these great solid tops with patterned Hammer pants (don't judge!) all the time and was going to be a totally new person and was going to be SO popular and happy!!

Long story short, wearing different clothes has never changed my life.  And I never connected the idea that I thought they might until last weekend.

The man-person and I were talking about random stuff and got into a discussion about girls in STEM fields.  Then we started talking about how girls tend to quit things if they aren't good at them on the first try.  THEN we started talking about how boys are not socialized to believe that putting on the uniform will make them Alex Rodriguez or John Elway or Michael Jordan.  They, it seems, are generally led to understand that practice is the only thing that will get them there - their lives will not change the minute they put on a suit, tux, yachting outfit (LOL), or sports uniform.  But girls, through Barbie, ARE taught that.

Barbie puts on a lab coat and is a doctor or a veterinarian.  Barbie puts on an astronaut outfit and is suddenly Sally Ride.  Barbie puts on a suit and is a business woman or the President.  But we are never shown the work that Barbie puts in to becoming a doctor, or an astronaut, or the President.  Only the result.  And the result is never actual work, just the outer trappings of whatever career she has that day.

SO even though I feel that the advertising message of Barbie from the eighties is as empowering as toy advertising could be - "We girls can do anything! Right, Barbie?" - the underlying message still remains that you don't have to actually WORK at BECOMING whatever it is you want to be!  Just put on a lab coat and start dispensing those pills at the pharmacy.  Just put on a flight suit and hop on into that fighter jet.  The underlying message is still that for girls, buying clothes will make you into the thing you want to be.

My epiphany was pretty crazy, since I had done some art pieces once with different Jennies in different clothes - President Jennie, Southern Belle Jennie, etc etc etc.  But suddenly I realized, in a way that I never had before, that Barbie had taught me something insidious.  Something that had not brought me happiness, and in fact brought me some amount of needless debt.  Barbie had taught me that all I needed to do to be whoever I wanted to be was to go to the mall!

My epiphany comes a little late, as I have already made significant progress on my shopping addiction.  But I thought it was so interesting that two of the things that made up "who I was" in my teens and twenties were connected in a way that I had never before realized possible!  Here's hoping that the generations of girls who come next will be socialized to be themselves from a much earlier age.  Here's hoping that they will be socialized to understanding that mistakes are not failure, that they are a springboard to success.  Here's hoping that they will be able to, along with the boys their age, become whole, happy adults who will be able to successfully carry humanity to a brighter future!



Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Friday, May 9, 2014

Wherein I Learn An Important Lesson

NOTE:  Sorry, guys, this one is much longer than I thought it would be.  I apologize for my windy explanation of the situation, but please know I am only so VERY Cliff Claven-like in order to give you sufficient background into my humbling.


PART I: WE DON'T TAKE NO SHIT
Two of the most influential people in my life were well-known for not taking any shit! from anyone.  And I have always admired that.

Let's talk about one.  My dad.  When he is over a situation, he is OVER. IT.  He doesn't want to talk it out, he doesn't want to fight over who gets what, he just wants to do whatever it takes to be done.   I have always felt a little uncomfortable at the thought that I take after him in this regard.

I will take shit from someone for a while.  But then, sometimes when I don't even know it's coming, I will lose my patience with it.  That is why, when my boss berated me for several minutes one day for something for which I had already apologized, I lost it.  Was it smart?  Probably not.  But he was, in my opinion, continuing to harass me for something I could not control and for which I had already tried to take responsibility.  When I quit that job a few weeks later, he was a big part of why I left.  He left a few months after that, but of course I do digress.

ANYway.  I consider myself a more willing vomit target than my father, but not much more.


PART II: "OH, THAT'S OKAY, I UNDERSTAND"
I also have noticed that I tend to let people get away with things that add up until suddenly I am frustrated.  I try to treat people as if they were my friends when they are providing me a service.  For instance, if I were having jewelry repaired, I try to be as flexible as possible regarding when I need it back.  But when people take advantage of that, I feel frustrated.


PART III: THE BACKSTORY
Which brings us, at long last, to our point.  We switched insurance companies a month or so ago.  I researched and filled out forms and e-mailed etc etc etc to get the best deal and to try to find the best vendor.  We ended up going with ... let's call them "A" - they have an office just down the road from our new house.  I e-mailed back and forth with the girl who set up our account, trying to make sure we got everything we needed.

However, since we switched banks too, I was restarting our budget in a new "Bill Pay" account.  I keep our budget in Google Drive and basically have all our regular monthly expenditures pool in that Bill Pay account.  Everything else gets transferred to "Discretionary", and used for doctor visits, haircuts, etc.  Because the Bill Pay account was with a new bank, it didn't have the same years-old buffer.  So I was worried about playing it close.

The old insurance company debited us one last time for our auto coverage, which I wasn't expecting.  Fortunately, I had left money in the old Bill Pay account to cover that just in case.  Because Tuesday.  The new company was originally supposed to debit our account on like April 2, but I requested a withdrawal date that was timed to duplicate that of the old insurer.  They had debited their payments on the 27th of each month.  I was prepared to double-pay for April and May on April 27th.

However, that's not what happened.  I was debited once on April 27th, for an amount about $30 more than the agreed-upon auto premium.  "No worries," I thought.  It was probably just extra because we waited so long to have it debited.

Then I received a statement that May 27th's debit would be that same $30-more amount.  So I e-mailed the girl.  This was her reply:
"I called billing to see what the problem was, and because we changed the date of the withdrawal you went from being an "early" payer to a "late" payer. I completely apologize for this, I have never encountered this problem with a customer before. Because the late payer has less billing opportunities than an early payer, you have higher payments."
I was pretty furious, but I held my cool.  It certainly was not the Girl's fault that I had chosen a later payment. I was fully prepared to take all responsibility for not understanding the ramifications of later payment.  But then, as I drove home, I started to become frustrated.


PART IV: THE DREADED ANGRY E-MAIL
I feel like equal parts Rick Moranis and Mommie Dearest when I attempt to craft an angry e-mail.  I don't want to be too mean, so I meekly suggest alternatives and pull all the blame onto myself.  But I also want them to know I'm angry, so I threaten to pull my business blah blah blah.  Here was how my angry e-mail looked when complete:
"Thanks, {GIRL}. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m frustrated. I would NEVER have agreed to be billed so late if I had known that it would result in a permanent increase in our monthly expense. I only did it because we used {OLD COMPANY} Bank, too, and I had switched all our bank accounts. I had the money but didn’t think it would increase our premiums - I wanted to build up our budgeted bill money in the new bank.  
Please talk it over and let me know if {NEW COMPANY} is willing to do anything to rectify this situation.  
Again, {GIRL}, I appreciate your time."
Pretty toothless, n'est ce pas?  But I was both glad that I had sent it and glad that I hadn't ripped her face off, because here was her response:
"I completely understand! I will call them in the morning and see if they will make an exception. They are only open until 5, or I would call tonight. I'm sorry for any frustration this may have caused. As soon as I hear back from them I will let you know. Enjoy your evening!"
I was satisfied.  This is what she replied today:
"Okay, so I'm glad that I called them, because I got a much better explanation of why your bill increased. Since we changed the date of the withdrawal they didn't take the first 2 payments out, they just divided the entire premium among 5 billing opportunities, instead of 6. Not that this is helpful, because it still gets in the way of your budget, but at least it makes more sense. Are you still going to keep the higher deductibles to maintain a lower monthly rate? Let me know what you think, and if you have any other questions. Sorry about all the confusion! Enjoy your weekend!"
I decided to just suck up that extra $30 per month for the next five months, because it will go back to normal after that.


PART V: WHEREIN THE LESSON IS LEARNED
So basically, by shutting up the demons of my usual nature, I had achieved what I wanted.  I had been polite so as not to give the impression of a suddenly-infuriated shrew, but I had stated my problem and gotten a satisfactory resolution.  One of the threats I had written and then deleted was that we would have to go with one of the other insurance companies that I had previously researched, but I was glad I had let that go unsaid.  Plus, I didn't want to switch AGAIN!!  I am coming to the conclusion that one is just as bad as the next and the second runner-up was the only company that was pestering me to e-mail my VINs - all the others were able to find VINs when they searched for our names.

All in all, I am very pleased with this outcome.  Sure, my trusting nature is costing me $30 more per month, but it will all go back to normal in relatively short order, and I didn't have to deal with refund checks and VIN-finding and all that other business.  And more importantly, I got a question answered.

Instead of just running away when faced with a conflict, I resolved it.  And while I readily admit that some business relationships just can't be saved, I'm glad I saved this one.  I learned that running away will sometimes take the problem off your hands, but will also often result in more pain than just dealing with the issue.


DISCLAIMER TO THIS LESSON:
Obviously does not always work in marriages.  I said business relationships, people.  I don't blame my dad for divorcing my stepmom.  She turned into a true poop.



Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

On Being British

I don't think I come from a particularly closed-off set of people.  My mom is infamous for sharing her life story with the people waiting in line at Nebraska Furniture Mart and my dad comes from an Irish family of seven/eight kids.  As you can imagine, the stereotypical Irish storytelling-loving boisterousness applies perfectly.

I don't think of myself as particularly non-touchy either.  I like hugs.  And I was an ordinary type of gregarious child, making friends with the rest of the carpet monkeys running around at Tuesday evenings at the square or during the blanket laying-out in preparation for Fourth of July fireworks.

So it has come as something of a surprise to me that now I am firmly within the jaws of something my husband calls "Being a WASP".

Now, he doesn't really mean WASP in the original sense, as I am not technically wholly any of those things. But very mostly Caucasian, yes.  Formerly Protestant, yes.  Partly Anglo-Saxon, yes.  But what he REALLY means when he uses that shortcut word is "New England-ish" or "British".

See, I have found a Twitter account that really speaks to me.  The following tweets had me nodding my head vigorously (but silently!) in agreement:
























All of those things are totally things that I do, too!  Especially the not-hearing someone.  If I'm giggling like an idiot at something you've said and it's not appropriate to the situation, it's probably because I didn't hear you and I am too embarrassed to say so.

I don't hug "strangers" now, with the definition of the word "stranger" being synonymous with "someone outside my immediate family".  The first time my husband's parents said they loved me, I was struck silent with awkwardness, not knowing what to say back.  My next-door-neighbor and friend just lost her good friend to cancer, and I couldn't bring myself to offer a hug.  I offered her beagle kisses instead, which are well-known as a panacea for grief.  When one of our clients lost her 20-year-old son to a sudden aneurysm, I stood with tears pouring for several minutes before I broke completely free of my Work Situation Protocols and rounded the desk to give her a hug.

I don't know when this transition took place, but it weirds me out.  I'm not that stiff-upper-lip person on the inside, so what has made me that way on the outside???

I wonder if British people and New Englanders feel it too - they think that a growled "Ayuh" as the lobster boats pass in the pre-dawn is equivalent to a Midwest potluck in late afternoon, I'm sure.  So then I naturally start to wonder where it came from.  And I think I have isolated its peak in British society:



Now, I haven't done any research and I'm certainly not going to do so before I say this, but I presume that this was a popular sign during the Blitz.  One of my favorite World War II spy novels has tales of joking signs outside bombed police stations and stores that say things like "More open than ever!" and it is easy to imagine Londoners during the bombing raids stiffening their upper lips to the point that no one would ever be able to smile naturally ever again!

SO please know that inside my stuffed shirt beats the heart of a little kid who will gladly dance in the road with you during a nice spring day, and a sympathy-giver who wishes that she knew whether or not it was appropriate to hug you.  I apologize for the weird jerky movements that look like David Cameron trying to smile.





Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Monday, May 5, 2014

You Can Never Go Back Home

Last night I cried watching "Game of Thrones".

I don't know if you watch it, but there is a boy, Bran, who has a chance to be reunited with his older brother Jon in last night's episode.  To me, Jon represents home to his little brother, a home that has been burned down to the ground.  If Bran chooses not to reunite with Jon, he has chosen his future, chosen to continue his path towards his destiny.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately, and even came up with a novel idea about it.

When I was a child, we moved often.  I attended three different elementary schools in six years.  We celebrated every special occasion in my parents' hometown, at my maternal grandparents' house.  To me, the town in which I grew up never felt like home.  The place that was my "home" was my grandparents' house and, later, my paternal aunt's house, a few miles away from each other.  I got ripped apart in college once by a friend when she heard me call my parents' hometown "home" - she insisted that the town where I grew up was my home.  But, again, I never felt that way.  "Home" is where you celebrate Christmas, Easter, birthdays.  "Home" is the place where your heart goes in your dreams.

I chose to be estranged from my grandmother when the list of horrible things she had done and said reached its zenith (nadir?).  She died without speaking to me again, and all the things that reminded us of our old life were eventually given to a random stranger.  So, like Bran, I couldn't go home even if I wanted to.

I tend to be a backward-looking person.  And I came up with a story about a girl who has a choice: go home, go back to being a happy child with a limitless horizon; or grow up.  As you grow, your horizon perforce must narrow: you can't be an astronaut, a veterinarian, a doctor, and a lawyer all at once.  You must choose which path to follow, and you can't always break free of that path once you start.  Or you can, but the consequence may be that your time to walk another path becomes limited.  So the temptation to stay nestled in the warm cocoon of childhood is great: my summer vacations with my grandparents meant endless reading, eating my favorite foods, riding around having adventures, and falling asleep to the eleven 'o' clock news.  Certainly, there was emotional abuse, but that seems sort of fuzzy looking back when the clarion call of no responsibilities and endless possibilities sounds, doesn't it?  "Home" echoes through one's mind and the memories act like Teles, Thelxepeia, and Thelxiope to draw one in toward the shore.  But just like the song of those creatures, it is a trap.

Thinking about my story idea made me realize that that trope is part of Pet Sematary, too.  Louis Creed wants his life to go back to being exactly as it was before a car accident stole his son from him.  He follows the path back toward the past but finds that the past cannot be resurrected.  He cannot have his son back from the grave.  The novel ends with him smiling as his dead wife walks back into their house, having been resurrected using the pet cemetery's juju.

In last night's episode of "Game of Thrones", Bran chooses as he must: he chooses not to reunite with his brother.  He chooses to forge ahead into the icy unknown, which is what we all must do in the end.  But I cried for him, for me, and for all of us as I watched him struggle to make that choice.  Funny that "life" is our everything and we do everything we possibly can to keep it moving forward even when it takes us from those people and places with whom and where we most wish to stay.  No one wants to live their life as a stagnant pool, but sometimes the rushing tide seems too fast and too hard.

And with the famous words echoing in my head, I launch once more unto the breach and start a new day.





Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Another Proud-of-Myself Moment

I don't know what's wrong (right) with me lately that I'm so pleased with myself!  So weird.

But of course I am still going to toot this horn.

Was reading an article about wedding etiquette and people are talking about gifts.  One person mentioned that a friend is marrying a man whose culture generally gives checks to the bride and groom to "cover their plate" and the bride is worried that people not from that culture will be offended.  AND, thank God, multiple people brought up the idea that you don't say ANYTHING about gifts because that's mega-tacky.

And it made me think if our li'l wedding.  We were so genuinely glad to have everyone there, especially since most people had to travel at least three hours to be there for us.  So the gifts we received were a nice bonus.

The end of the night went like this:

My dad and aunts followed us back to our house.  Hub carried me over the threshold but it was unexpected so no one got a picture.  The aunts got a tour of our house, and then I went over my dad's taxes with him because the filing deadline was during the honeymoon.  Then everyone left and we opened the cards and gifts we received.  THEN we wrote thank-you notes.  RIGHT THEN.  And I mailed them on the way to the airport.  That's right, we wrote thank-you notes on our wedding night.  I'm pretty sure we were still dressed up, too.  So we wrote thank-you notes in our wedding clothes.

Now, the credit doesn't ALL go straight to me on this.  My mom taught me right around the time of my high school graduation that if you can't thank a person in person, you write a thank-you note.  And since we weren't about to open frigging gifts at the frigging reception, we wrote them.  I was really, truly SO grateful that people even gave us gifts that my heart was bursting.

So that is today's reason why I am not a total piece of shit. :)




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Weird Proud-of-Myself Thing

You know what?  Today I am proud of myself for my foresight.

Hubs and I have been talking about what to do with this house, and yesterday were discussing whether or not any layout changes could be made to the kitchen.  (Short answer: no.)  And he had some suggestions that would be GREAT for us, but horrible for the people who will buy our house when we are ready to move.

For instance: we always eat meals on the couch.  So when we bought this condo, we knew that the breakfast bar was all we'd ever need.  We only eat there when the couch would inevitably become tikka masala-covered.  That shit STAINS like no other.

So when he made the suggestion that we push the breakfast bar further into the living area, I was like No.  Because WE think a table and a breakfast bar is unnecessary, but every frigging place we looked at in this development had both.  OTHER people think it is important to have both.  And so I don't want the next owners to be put off when they look at our place.

And so I explained it using the OTHER thing we would like to do but won't.  WE would love to rip out the closets in the master bedroom and install giant floor-to-ceiling armoires instead.  From Ikea, of course. Duh!  But the problem is this:  WE love modern-looking clothing storage, but the next people would probably be mega-creeped by it.  So I am saving us a couple-thousand (so grammatically wrong but #NO1CURR) dollars by not buying us something that we probably couldn't take with us and that the next people would ABHOR.

Although these are so frigging hot that it's making me reconsider.

RAWWWRRRR.







Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Dee Eee Tee Eee Are Em I En Aay Tee I Oh En...

Before I met my husband, I did not have a lot of determination.  If something was too hard, I stopped doing it.  To me, it wasn't worth it to keep working on something that sucks.  For him, on the other hand, something difficult just adds to his NEED to overcome that obstacle, no matter how much it stinks to keep going.

I first realized his determination had rubbed off on me when I was gardening one evening.  I was trying to uproot a sucker that was too close to a tree using a shovel.  My hands were absolutely ripped open, my arms and shoulders hurt, and that sucka is still there to this day despite all kinds of manual and chemical attempts at botanocide.  I realized I was no longer the person who gave up.  And I'm not sure I like not being that person any more.

So yesterday I realized I wanted a place to plug my phone in the living room.  Hubs sometimes misses calls/texts because his phone is out of juice and he's plugged it in on the bedside table.  I have been running out of battery life long before bedtime lately, and leaving it plugged in on the breakfast bar just doesn't really work for me.  SO!  I decided that a little box I bought and didn't love for its intended purpose would get re-purposed as a charging station.  It is like woven paper, so I figured I could just cut a hole and Bob's Your Uncle!

I put it on the sofa table, and it looked like crap.  I needed something shorter, that didn't interfere with the other boxes on the table.  Yes, I have a box problem.  I like putting stuff in boxes so no one can see how much JUNK! you have lying around.  Cables, pills, pens, lip stuff, nail polish, all in BOXES!!

So I went to visit the love of my life, that wonderful lady dressed all in red.  And Target did indeed yield answers to my problems!  Big boxes, little boxes, fabric boxes, wood boxes!  And also possibly a fox in socks ;)

I bought two boxes and brought them home.  The first (and cheaper) one looked like yuck.  The second one, however, was kinda goin' with the vibe!  Alright alright alright.



BUT!  The hinged lid did not have quite enough space to put the cable through without the metal rubbing the cable.  And the last thing I want is to burn down our house.  So I needed a plan.  I considered moleskin wrapped around the cable and rejected it as being too bootleg.  And then I realized that I could gain some space by removing the peg that held the lid to the box, and just let it sit on top.  Glory!

So I began.  There were three hex nuts.  One on each end, and one inside the hinge mechanism.  WHY, INDIA, WHY?!?!   Laze out a little, wouldja?  The first two came off without TOO much issue, although the problem tended to be that the bolt/pin spun freely when I was trying to use needle-nose pliers to unscrew the nut.  Oh yeah, that's the other thing: I didn't have a socket that was small enough to get in there, and a regular pair of grips were too big as well.  And I only had one set of needle-nose.  So: fun!



I worked and worked and worked, getting frustrated and losing the grip on the pin a few times.  I took a break to do some laundry and again to reset my phone.  After I got the outermost nuts off, I realized that the third nut (ha ha ha haha ha) would be even worse, because there was nothing to push against and it needed to spin the opposite way.  Instead of "lefty loosey" like the other two, I had to "righty tighty" to pull the pin down through the holes so that it would unscrew from the nut.

Long story longer, it took me probably about three hours to get it all done.  Today my pad of my palm is sore from tiny turns of the needle-nose pliers.  The bolt's threaded ends are completely stripped.  But my frigging phone can now charge on the frigging sofa table in the frigging box.  And I'm pretty damn proud of that ;)




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Monday, March 3, 2014

BRILLIANT!

This blog post made me laugh out loud.


http://www.casadecrepit.com/archives/002283.html


Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Monday, February 24, 2014

Proud

This weekend my dad came to visit.  His house flooded and he wanted help picking out flooring to match his cabinets and countertops.  So we went to Lowe's!  We wandered through the flooring section, comparing and contrasting.  Then he needed to pick out drawer and door pulls, and find the ceiling fans we had looked at online.  I wanted to return the cabinet door sample to the cabinets department, so I pointed him and Hubs in the direction of ceiling fans.

I was so proud of myself; I knew right where they were in relation to where we were standing and they both looked at me, just dumbfounded, when I answered so quickly.  I blushed and said, "I come here a lot."

I know it's a weird thing to be proud of - the fact that I know where everything is at my closest blue big-box hardware store.  But there it is.



Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Perfect!

From Cracked:

when any obese person talks about how hard it is to lose weight, and their thin friends helpfully tell them they "just" need to watch what they eat, and "just" get a little exercise. They "just" need to win the brutal war that has exhausted every ounce of their energy, time, and emotional well-being for as long as they can remember. "And to be honest, dude, it's kind of weird that you and the other 1.4 billion obese people on Earth haven't tried that already."
I'm sure I've said this to people many times over the years, along with all of the other terrible advice on this list. So if I could go back in time, I'd tell Past David, and anyone else offering this condescending, dismissive, wet shart of an attempt at advice, to please grasp something:
The fat people you make fun of and condescend to probably have more willpower than you do.
Digital Vision./Digital Vision/Getty Images
And they look much more awesome in a headband.
That's because (and you would know this, Past David, if you were capable of pulling your head out of your own asshole long enough to grasp the idea that the universe contains beings who aren't exactly like you), in order to just stay at their weight, even if it's 300 pounds over the healthy level, they have to successfully resist the urge to eat more often than you do. Mocking them for having more fat on their body is like mocking an MMA fighter for having more bruises than you. You're not stronger, you're just living a different life.
That's because obesity physically changes the brain. The obese eat more, because they feel the urge more -- they feel it more often, and they feel it much stronger (if you want details, overweight people have 20 percent higher levels of the "hunger hormone" ghrelin and abnormally low levels of peptide YY, which suppresses the hunger urge). Their muscle tissue also burns fewer calories than yours, meaning each failure costs them twice as much. They usually gained these fat cells in childhood or adolescence, and once you have them, it is physically impossible to lose them without surgery -- dieting can temporarily shrink them, but your entire physiology will work to put them back the way they were.
I know you don't believe me, Past David, because your moral superiority has to come from somewhere, so if you want to know what it's like to be a fat person trying to lose weight, just don't eat or drink anything for the next 72 hours. Sure, you'll make it through a day. Maybe part of a second day. But soon, maybe 30 or 40 hours in, you'll understand how your power to "just" stop eating can be smashed to rubble by the body's base urges. That hunger part of your brain is much stronger, because it's also the part that regulates basic survival.
Digital Vision./Photodisc/Getty Images
As seen in this extraordinarily thin person.
At that stage, when the starvation triggers get flipped, the thinking part of your brain will start coming up with rationalizations ("Wait, why am I suffering like this just because some Internet writer from the future told me to?"). You'll tell yourself lies to save face. But here is the undisputed truth: I could chain you up in a room with nothing but a box of live cockroaches to eat, and at some point, you will eat them. Your disgust, your self-respect, your dignity, all will eventually be obliterated by the crashing tsunami of your hunger.
And your dieting obese friend feels like that all the time.
"But I lost 15 pounds one summer just by cutting back on chips and soda and walking to work! I know what it's like!" Yes, Past David, and I know what it's like to climb Mount Everest because I have to walk up two flights of stairs to my bedroom. I'm going to get the fuck away from you before you start wondering aloud why those black people in the ghetto don't "just" get jobs, at which point I'll set your goddamned smug face on fire and ask why you can't "just" stop feeling the pain. And then I'll feel the scars spreading across my own face, because oh shit, I just forgot how time travel works.


Read more: http://www.cracked.com/blog/the-5-most-useless-pieces-advice-everyone-gives/#ixzz2sNZJeUlF



Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Friday, January 31, 2014

Holy Geez, You Guys

I really don't think my problem is my appendix, but this is really scary!!!  Warning: picture of removed vestigial organ in post.

http://www.xojane.com/it-happened-to-me/i-had-appendicitis-for-3-years

I am really freaked out by the insane number of people who are saying their doctors basically patted them on the head, told them it was their silly ladybits or their silly woman brains, and sent them home.  When I gained 50 pounds in six months for no discernible reason and my older, male doctor told me it was just my silly lady metabolism, Hubs was like, "I'm sorry, but you need to get a new doctor.  And this sounds terrible, but you need to get one who is YOUNG and who is a WOMAN."

Obviously having a girl doctor isn't a panacea, since my friend told her obstetrician that she could feel that she was dilating (sorry menz!) when she went into premature labor and her obstetrician told her that was impossible.  Gah, obstetrician lady!  Have some faith in a girl, willya?  BUT it seems like people who graduated medical school more recently are more likely to be hipped in to what's going on today, and laydee doctorz seem to be better in most cases about understanding that you're not just making it up or feeling sad because PMS.

Frightening pattern, this.




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Slightly Less Tedious

Sorry, guys, had to take those last two posts down.  They were making me feel exposed and vulnerable and like I had said too much.  One reason I post much less on this blog is my increasing awareness that the internet is forever.  I am now paralyzed whenever I write, thinking about how it could come back to bite me in the ass later.

BUT.  I am reading this:

http://fugitivus.wordpress.com/lists/stuff-what-boys-can-do/

and it made me think of something.

I had an epiphany on Thanksgiving and couldn't really share it, because no one wants their Thanksgiving ruined with thoughts of rape.  But it occurred to me that the football-player frat on campus and the party-guy frat on campus actually had fewer rapists in them (according to my anecdata consisting of women I know who were raped at my college while we were there together) than the Nice Guy (TM) frats.  Frightening AND enlightening.

SO.  I have been reading all this rape stuff lately and was thinking of something that happened which I had forgotten.

During my junior year, one of my roommates was dating this guy we called Adam the Kid, because he was a freshman and she was a sophomore and he seemed so kid-like.  Generally seemed to be a nice guy.  Now, I can't remember if she was out of town, at a sorority party of her own, or passed out in our dorm.  It sticks in my head that she had gotten toasty and he had seen her home to bed, then appeared at a party that I was also attending.  This party was technically on-campus but was in a set of apartments not set in the main campus area.  It was a short walk back to my dorm, but on a back street and through a dark parking lot.

So Adam the Kid offered to walk me home!  So nice!  Such a sweet little kid!  My heart was warmed that my roommate's boyfriend considered me a friend.

But maybe you can guess where this is going.  He put the moves on me!  Gah!  What the HELL, Adam the Kid?!?!??!?!?!  Your girlfriend is my roommate for cry-eye!!

Never hung out with him again after that.  But it seemed to fit perfectly into my new perception of that frat as a whole.  Gross.

OBVIOUSLY AM NOT SAYING ALL GUYS IN THAT FRAT ARE RAPISTS.  Obviously.  In FACT, one of them was the guy I called out in the last post for refusing to sleep with me when I was too drunk for consent.  So don't freak out if you happen to read this and know the frat to which I am referring.




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Bury My Heart at the Last KA-BOOM

Wonder if the glossiness takes away from the invisibility?  May have to try this out. 



I do not prime my spackle.  But I use paint plus primer, so maybe that fixes it?  But I love a good spackle product.




I will admit that we have made TERRIBLE messes when the Gorilla Glue inevitably bubbles up.  Sometimes it works to one's advantage, though.


I guarantee you the Hubs will drool when he sees that R-value rating.




This isn't really right for us, I don't think, but it is really neat!  I believe that tax credit may be expiring - you may want to check. 



Do you NEED this?  No.  Would it be cool to have?  YES. 



I have seen this in Meijer and been tempted.  Maybe the Hub will use it on the cabinets??  HA ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ahahahahahaahhaaaaaa.



Eventual fifties-esque horror or cool forever?  You decide!





CANNOT WAIT TO TRY THIS OUT!!!!!!!!!!  Do you KNOW how many floor plans we have tried to draw for various houses????  RIGHT NOW in my phone I have SEVERAL notes with different house and furniture measurements.  Be still my heart.




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

And Yet More KA-BOOM

I am all over this.  We replaced all the bulbs in the old house with CFLs and then LEDs as those burned out.  This is great!!! 



I don't think we could have this because our heater runs off our hot water heater, but Hubs has been talking about this kind of engineering for a LONGGGGGGGG time.




Those are really fun ideas.  Don't know that I would spend that much on fun ideas, but...................... 



If this runs as long as you need, it could be really great.




I love it! 



Just downloaded this.  We will see how it goes.




Could this end my extremely bad luck with starting seedlings?  Maybe!




This thing just looks like the BUSINESS.




We prefer charcoal, but I love the idea of flicking a quarter at a propane tank :)




I had an app like this for a while, and true story: I could hear the sound.  Since this has an adjustable frequency, it might be better.  Real Fax (TM): I am losing my low, low range and both Hubs and Daddy have lost their high range.  Sometimes we all just sit around and go, "What?  What?!"





Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

More KA-BOOM

THIS round is even MORE amazing!!

Say this like an Irish character from a beer commercial: "BRILLIANT!" 



Totally want one of these.  What?  Shut up!  I'm only 34, but I'm ENDLESSLY clumsy. 



Sapphire.  As useful as it is beautiful. 



You may not know this about me, but I basically can't stand to even put paint in a tray before trying it out.   GET ON THE WALL, AWESOMENESS!  This would help facilitate my impatience. 



If SOMEONE would hurry up and win the lottery, I wouldn't have to WORRY about drywall blades!!!




So amazing. 



The usefulness of this is literally endless. 



Soooooo.  My dad is taking our old house's kitchen appliances and trading us the kitchen cabinets from his "rental" house for use in our garage.  Since they are circa 1974, I think we could probably use this.  OOH!  I'LL MAKE HUBS PAINT THEM!!!!!  I mean, it's my garage too, but let's be honest here.




BRB.  Going to download this. 



OHHHHHHHHH HOW BAD DO I WANT THIS.  The amount I want this is directly proportional to the amount of COOL! that Hubs will think it is.  Luckily for us.






Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.

KA-BOOM!

Saw a great article (slideshow, more like) today on This Old House's website.  I picked out the awesomest things to show you.  AWESOMEST!

http://www.thisoldhouse.com/toh/photos/0,,20753086,00.html

Our addiction to diet Coke grows ever-more acceptable in the eyes of the technological world.


Yes!  This is a really cool idea.  I love IKEA's fronts, and we don't have IKEA cabinets anyway, but I am pro- anything that will let you have EXACTLY what you want in life.



Must. Find. Out. What. Metal.



Our microwave's built-in fan does not work worth a DAMN and is noisy.  I think I like this.



I mean, I would still glue it, but this seems really usable and like it will keep horribleness from invading your lungs.


Someone Plis to be buying me this.  Kthxbai.



See, this is just a smart idea.  Especially since I got that over-the-toilet etagere.  Although one presumes installation of a new toilet would be accompanied by temporary removal of said etagere ;)



'Bout to order me one of these.  And some Bon Ami.




We have been considering these for a long time.  I think they will continue to be VERY popular.



Some people in our house LOOOOOOOOOOOVE hex tile.  Some people don't.  I would be willing to allow this.




Disclaimer: My opinions are solely my own; they are not necessarily those of anyone else with whom I associate.