So I'm sitting at my desk at work. We had a couple of power outages right after lunch that kept the computers off until almost 3:00, and that was good. Any time we get to just sit around the office and bullshit without getting into trouble is good. But, alas, the power was restored and we're supposed to be working, now. But I had finished my module just before lunch, and there was nothing left for me to do but e-mail it to the guy who's doing the rest of the program and wait for him to encounter bugs. (I'm pretty sure my algorithms are sound; I expect things to be pretty slow here at work for the next couple of weeks. Maybe I'll have a chance to do some work on my webpage.)
But during the two hours that there was no power, I was talking to Matt (did I mention we work for the same company?) and we agreed that if the power was still out when we left work, we wouldn't be able to go to our water aerobics class tonight. But the power came back on, dammit. So now I'm trying to see if I can come up with some other reason not to go to class.
I wonder why it is that I do this to myself? I hate exercising. I can't think of a single type of regular exercise that I enjoy. I don't like games that require physical activity much, either. Well, I enjoy dancing, but dancing alone in your apartment feels really dorky, and going out to clubs just to get exercise is a little expensive.
The problem is, when people ask why I don't like exercising, or they suggest activities for me to try, my reasons for hating it come across as mere excuses. Whiney excuses, even. I can't stand feeling sweaty. Chlorine makes my skin itch. I hate changing clothes in the middle of the day - especially if I'm wet. I have yet to encounter a bicycle seat that doesn't give me a wedgie. I have a bad back. I have bad feet. (That one's medically documented, at least.) I hate the dirty feeling that comes with sweating and doing floor exercises like situps.
And all that's true. But that doesn't stop it from sounding like whining.
My Weight Watchers leader, Deby, gave us a suggestion that I thought was good a while back - when you're watching TV, get up and march or jog in place during the commercials. There are a good 15-20 minutes of commercials in every hour of TV. Unfortunately, we don't usually watch any TV at all in the evenings. And when we do, Matt isn't usually the sort to turn on to a particular show and just leave it there; he has to flip around the channels. And not just during the commercials - Sometimes, just as I think I might enjoy some show, he gets bored and changes the channel. It's usually not worth the bother to tell him to turn it back. The point remains that we don't watch enough TV to turn it into my exercise schedule. (Maybe when the new B5 show starts... But that will still only be once a week.)
Why can't I just suck it up and deal with it? Why does it seem to me that my 45-minute aerobics class eats up half of my free time? (Well, it does; I get off work at 5, the class runs from 5:30 to 6:15, and since I have to change clothes afterwards, we don't get home until almost 7. And I have to start getting ready for bed by 9 or there's no way I'll get enough sleep. So two hours out of my four-hour evening is half.) But there's got to be some form of exercise I can do that won't be so time-consuming and oppressive... It's not even like the class is that hard - but three times a week I find myself dreading it; hoping that Matt will forget about it so I don't have to go; looking for an excuse - any excuse - that will get me out of going to that damn gym and putting on that damn bathing suit and getting into that gods-be-damned WAY too cold water and changing in that WAY too cold locker room afterwards...
Pathetic, isn't it?
I need to have an exercise partner, because otherwise I won't do it. But by the same token, I don't know anyone who's as out of shape as I am, and I'm so fucking competitive that I hate exercising with someone who's better at the activity than I am, so I just start to resent whoever my partner is. It's not quite as bad in the aerobics class because I can just internally complain about how rude the old women in the class are, which keeps me from having to hate my own husband. But I still hate it.
I want an exercise that I can do in my own house that will let me read a fucking book so I don't have to think about how much I hate it. When I was living with my parents, before my feet got so bad, I walked on their treadmill and watched TV. (It had to be subtitled TV because the treadmill was so loud, but hey. I've got an anime collection.) That worked, even though I got *really* grossly sweaty, because I didn't have to get up early so I could just get up and do it before I took my shower. If I got up any earlier than I do now, I'd have to start going to bed at 8.
Dammit, I'm whining again. Sorry, guys. I'll be more upbeat next entry. I'm just so fucking discouraged today.
Update: Finished that entry about five minutes before I left to go to my water aerobics class. After typing it all in, I was even more irritable about it than before. Snapped at Matt as we were getting in the car, drove in complete silence to the gym. Well, not complete silence, because I was crying most of the way. Can you believe it? Crying! I don't even know why. I take that back - I was crying because what I really wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs that I hated exercising and I hated my body and that the world was unfair and I hated it, too. But I couldn't, so the anger sortof backwashed and I started crying. Dumb, huh? Sometimes I wish I weren't a woman.
Anyway, we got to the gym and gave them our tickets. (Stupid dork taking the tickets tore the last ticket off my bracelet and tried to give me the empty, useless bracelet back. Duh!) And we went into the locker room. I changed, amid way too many people. (I hate changing clothes standing up. I used to be able to do it, but I'm too fat now.) Went into the pool area, and started down the ramp into the water. For once, the water was a reasonable temperature. Got in about up to my waist, and Matt starts giving me these "Don't come any further" gestures. It turns out that our instructor, Nancy (who I really like, by the way - no matter how much I hate exercise, I like the instructor for this class)... Where was I? Oh, yeah. Nancy was sick, and hadn't been able to find a replacement. They had told the people at the front desk, but given the half-drugged stare of the guy who took our bracelet tags, I'm not surprised he didn't remember it.
For a few seconds, it was like having your teacher out sick on the day you were supposed to read your book report. I can just turn around and go home now, I thought. I was relieved more than anything else. I'm going to turn around and go dry off my legs and put some lotion on them so they don't get all itchy and then I'll get dressed and go home and read a book while Matt makes dinner. So I opened my mouth to tell Matt that I would meet him in the lobby.
"Well, it's Lap Night. We can do laps without Nancy here."
Who said that? Not me, surely. All I wanted to do was go home and flop down on the couch. "Are you sure?" Matt asks, looking surprised.
Oh, shit. That was me... And for no apparent reason, I cheer up all of a sudden. Oh, I'm not Miss Congeniality or anything like that, but I'm reasonable enough to smile and crack a few jokes with the other people there for the class. Almost everyone who came in stayed anyway. Everyone else appointed one of the long-time members the leader for the night while I loudly denounced them (jokingly) as conformists and Did My Own Thing for forty-five minutes. But I did the laps. All eighteen of them. And then I did some arm exercises. I tried the abdomen exercises, but decided I still didn't want to deal with that much water in my hair, so I gave up. But I was there for the entire duration of the class. And now I'm home, and my darling husband (who is, I can tell, extremely relieved that I recovered my sense of humor) is in the kitchen making one of my favorite dinners. (Don't read anything special into that - we take turns making dinner, and it happens to be his turn. And we have Cheating Chicken Cacciatore almost every week anyway, because it's easy and fits well into my diet. But I still appreciate that he's nice enough to trade off cooking duties with me, because neither of us is a big fan of cooking, but him less so than me.)
Anyway, after that big whine-fest up at the top of the page, I thought I'd just post a quick update to let everyone know I didn't make poor Matt's life miserable all night.
Now I'm going to go flop on the couch and read a book...
Wednesday, February 24, 1999
Tuesday, February 23, 1999
Archive - 23 Feb 1999
Love is coming to bed not only with cold feet, but cold hands, arms, and legs, and having your husband snuggle close to warm you up.
Love is waking up at 4:30 in the morning, wedged tightly between your husband and your cat, and not really caring that they just want your body heat.
Love is getting up every morning at 4:30 (when the cat thinks it wants breakfast) and putting the cat outside - and never waking up your husband and insisting that he do it for once.
Love is telling your husband that you really don't feel like cuddling after you put the cat out - and it doesn't bother him.
That was my night/morning. I'm feeling pretty loved.
It's Weight Watcher's day again. Time to go face the music for giving in and having the french toast at Denny's this weekend, I guess. Though I was mostly good for the rest of the week, so maybe it won't be too bad.
I'm leaving work early today because I have some shopping I want to do, and some of it has to be done without Matt. (Have you seen the romance page?) I generally don't like shopping (I'm a mutant female, I know) but it's sortof fun shopping for other people. (Note to readers: The romance page mentioned above has been removed, but the reference was to the book 101 Nights of Grrreat Romance: How to Make Love With Your Clothes On, by Laura Corn.)
I was having a discussion yesterday with my office-mate, Jeremy, and my friend Nancy. We were talking about shoes. Matt insists that I have a lot of shoes. I tell him that he has no idea - for a woman, I have a startlingly low number of shoes. Maybe a dozen pairs, of which I actually wear about five of them most of the time. All the men I know have exactly three pairs of shoes: One pair of sneakers, one pair of loafers, and one pair of dress shoes. That's it. I told Jeremy and Nancy that I would give a lot to have three pairs of shoes which would cover my entire wardrobe. I would. I hate picking out shoes, and I especially hate picking out women's shoes. I hate wearing pointy-toed shoes like, say, everything except sneakers.
Jeremy offered the opinion that men have nothing to do with women's shoes - that, in fact, men never notice women's shoes. I laughed and pointed out that the only reason women wear high heels is to make their legs look nice for men. Jeremy conceded that, but suggested that heels should fall into the category of dress shoes and that one pair should be sufficient for every dress occasion. He suggested that no man would ever say anything like, Oh my god, look at her - does she really think those shoes go with that outfit?
I was willing to consider it - a pair of white sneakers, a pair of brown loafers, and a pair of black heels. There might be something to this, after all. Nancy, on the other hand, was horrified by the thought.
Jeremy offered the further opinion that if every woman in the world could agree on only three pairs of shoes, then it would eventually become the norm and wouldn't bother anyone. Nancy - proving his point that it is the women who control the shoe hysteria - reacted as though only having three pairs of shoes would be the end of the world. ::sigh:: Which, I suppose, means that I'm stuck with my dozen pairs of shoes, and my husband's ridicule. Oh, well...
Who am I to complain? At least my husband loves me. And the cat wants my body heat.
Love is waking up at 4:30 in the morning, wedged tightly between your husband and your cat, and not really caring that they just want your body heat.
Love is getting up every morning at 4:30 (when the cat thinks it wants breakfast) and putting the cat outside - and never waking up your husband and insisting that he do it for once.
Love is telling your husband that you really don't feel like cuddling after you put the cat out - and it doesn't bother him.
That was my night/morning. I'm feeling pretty loved.
It's Weight Watcher's day again. Time to go face the music for giving in and having the french toast at Denny's this weekend, I guess. Though I was mostly good for the rest of the week, so maybe it won't be too bad.
I'm leaving work early today because I have some shopping I want to do, and some of it has to be done without Matt. (Have you seen the romance page?) I generally don't like shopping (I'm a mutant female, I know) but it's sortof fun shopping for other people. (Note to readers: The romance page mentioned above has been removed, but the reference was to the book 101 Nights of Grrreat Romance: How to Make Love With Your Clothes On, by Laura Corn.)
I was having a discussion yesterday with my office-mate, Jeremy, and my friend Nancy. We were talking about shoes. Matt insists that I have a lot of shoes. I tell him that he has no idea - for a woman, I have a startlingly low number of shoes. Maybe a dozen pairs, of which I actually wear about five of them most of the time. All the men I know have exactly three pairs of shoes: One pair of sneakers, one pair of loafers, and one pair of dress shoes. That's it. I told Jeremy and Nancy that I would give a lot to have three pairs of shoes which would cover my entire wardrobe. I would. I hate picking out shoes, and I especially hate picking out women's shoes. I hate wearing pointy-toed shoes like, say, everything except sneakers.
Jeremy offered the opinion that men have nothing to do with women's shoes - that, in fact, men never notice women's shoes. I laughed and pointed out that the only reason women wear high heels is to make their legs look nice for men. Jeremy conceded that, but suggested that heels should fall into the category of dress shoes and that one pair should be sufficient for every dress occasion. He suggested that no man would ever say anything like, Oh my god, look at her - does she really think those shoes go with that outfit?
I was willing to consider it - a pair of white sneakers, a pair of brown loafers, and a pair of black heels. There might be something to this, after all. Nancy, on the other hand, was horrified by the thought.
Jeremy offered the further opinion that if every woman in the world could agree on only three pairs of shoes, then it would eventually become the norm and wouldn't bother anyone. Nancy - proving his point that it is the women who control the shoe hysteria - reacted as though only having three pairs of shoes would be the end of the world. ::sigh:: Which, I suppose, means that I'm stuck with my dozen pairs of shoes, and my husband's ridicule. Oh, well...
Who am I to complain? At least my husband loves me. And the cat wants my body heat.
Friday, February 19, 1999
Archive - 19 Feb 1999
Whew. I hate bad dreams. I had a doozy this morning, for a good two hours. I couldn't escape it, either - I woke up several times and once even got out of bed, but as soon as I closed my eyes, I was right back in that same dream. It wasn't as bad as some; the circumstances of this one were so patently absurd that as soon as I woke up, I knew there wasn't anything to it, but I didn't sleep well and as a result I'm very tired this morning.
I can't remember the early stages of the dream, but it seemed I was one of a dozen or so people who had been enslaved or captured (the circumstances weren't very clear) by this Woman (capitalized because I don't know that she had a name) and she was driving us like cattle all over the country. Every now and then one of us would try to escape to alert the police, but they always ended up battered and bruised and back at our feet. Somehow, she decided she had to take us to this cafeteria to eat, and I decided that I had to try to get away. So I took this plastic toy duck and went and sat in the children's playpen playing with it (don't ask how I thought this would help me escape; logic wasn't a strong factor here) but every time I heard footsteps coming around the corner, I couldn't resist looking to see if it was her coming to look for me. After this had happened a few times, I decided I was never going to escape, so I left the duck in the playpen and went back to the table with the rest of the captives. They were reading notes that she had left for us, and mine contained some veiled references to duck hunting, so I was afraid she knew what I'd tried. Just when I was trying to figure out whether it was coincidence or not, I turned around and there was my mom, standing with her arms outstretched. (That surprised me. I don't usually dream about people that I know in real life.) But I was so happy to see her that I ran to her and hugged her before I realized what I'd done. The Woman came up and started saying things like "Oh, another one for the collection," and I begged her to let my mom go, and eventually she gave in, more out of boredom than any compassion or mercy. Right before I woke up, I was backing away from my Mom toward the Woman, facing my mom and gesturing for her to hurry up and leave before the Woman changed her mind, and frantically mouthing to her that she should get the police, not sure if she could read my lips...
Anyway, it wasn't really that awful, as I said, because the whole thing was so ridiculous that I couldn't take any of it seriously. (If the Woman had some kind of power to control a dozen or so adults, what made us think that the police could help? And what the heck was up with that duck?)
I'm not one to analyze dreams, really, so I haven't tried. Especially considering how tired I am this morning. But it's been quite a while since I had a dream this vivid, so I thought I'd try to write it down. And then I thought, as long as I was writing it down, I'd put it up in my journal. Maybe someone else out there can interpret it for me. Or maybe you'll just get a kick out of it. ::grin::
I can't remember the early stages of the dream, but it seemed I was one of a dozen or so people who had been enslaved or captured (the circumstances weren't very clear) by this Woman (capitalized because I don't know that she had a name) and she was driving us like cattle all over the country. Every now and then one of us would try to escape to alert the police, but they always ended up battered and bruised and back at our feet. Somehow, she decided she had to take us to this cafeteria to eat, and I decided that I had to try to get away. So I took this plastic toy duck and went and sat in the children's playpen playing with it (don't ask how I thought this would help me escape; logic wasn't a strong factor here) but every time I heard footsteps coming around the corner, I couldn't resist looking to see if it was her coming to look for me. After this had happened a few times, I decided I was never going to escape, so I left the duck in the playpen and went back to the table with the rest of the captives. They were reading notes that she had left for us, and mine contained some veiled references to duck hunting, so I was afraid she knew what I'd tried. Just when I was trying to figure out whether it was coincidence or not, I turned around and there was my mom, standing with her arms outstretched. (That surprised me. I don't usually dream about people that I know in real life.) But I was so happy to see her that I ran to her and hugged her before I realized what I'd done. The Woman came up and started saying things like "Oh, another one for the collection," and I begged her to let my mom go, and eventually she gave in, more out of boredom than any compassion or mercy. Right before I woke up, I was backing away from my Mom toward the Woman, facing my mom and gesturing for her to hurry up and leave before the Woman changed her mind, and frantically mouthing to her that she should get the police, not sure if she could read my lips...
Anyway, it wasn't really that awful, as I said, because the whole thing was so ridiculous that I couldn't take any of it seriously. (If the Woman had some kind of power to control a dozen or so adults, what made us think that the police could help? And what the heck was up with that duck?)
I'm not one to analyze dreams, really, so I haven't tried. Especially considering how tired I am this morning. But it's been quite a while since I had a dream this vivid, so I thought I'd try to write it down. And then I thought, as long as I was writing it down, I'd put it up in my journal. Maybe someone else out there can interpret it for me. Or maybe you'll just get a kick out of it. ::grin::
Thursday, February 18, 1999
Archive - 18 Feb 1999
Did you ever get a canker sore on the inside of your lip? I have one that lines up just about perfectly with the bottom edge of my upper teeth. The reason I'm bringing it up is that because of its perfect placement, I keep biting it, which of course isn't helping it heal. Ouchie. I hate canker sores. I used to get a whole mouthful of them every spring and fall, but now I hardly ever get them. Not that I'm complaining, mind you!
I was going to slouch around the house last night in my pajamas - a baggy t-shirt and some sweatpants. I put them on and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water and thought, Wow, the legs of these pants are really cold. Another few steps and I was sure they weren't cold - they were damp. Uh-oh. We don't keep any drinks in the bedroom, and I'm pretty sure I would've noticed if I'd dropped them in a puddle of water in the bathroom. I pull them off and gingerly take a sniff. Yup. Cat peed on them. So Matt and I had to check everything else that was on the bedroom floor, just in case. And sure enough, Matt's shorts had also been peed on. Argh. It killed the romantic, cuddly evening we'd had up until then, because of course Matt got mad at him, and we had to change the litter in the litterbox in case he was trying to tell us something, and I had to worry... It used to be that Diamond only peed outside the litterbox when 1) the litter needed changing or 2) he was really angry. But lately we've had a real problem with it. It comes in spurts, and he usually stops for a while right after we change the litter - maybe he's just getting more picky about his litterbox in his old age. But I worry that maybe there's something really wrong with him. (The evidence is against it being an illness; for one thing, he always pees on the floor at the same time of the morning - right around 4AM. But I worry anyway.)
But we worry about what to do in six months, when we're moving into our new house. Do we put in a cat-door for him and hope he'll go outside when he has to go? Lock him in the garage at night? Keep him out of the house altogether? I don't want to lock him in the garage or out of the house at all - I love it when he's snuggled up with me; there's something so relaxing about a purring cat. But if he's peeing because he's mad about something, then a cat-door just isn't going to do the trick, is it? ::sigh:: I just wish we could speak a common language and I could ask him why he's doing it!
Enough about bodily functions. Sheesh. So I'm working on learning PHP3, and I'm feeling sortof proud of myself because I wrote a guestbook yesterday, and then my darling and my officemate have spoil it by telling me about possible complications. (Notice for the humor impaired - I'm just joking, okay? I wasn't really crushed by their pointing out flaws in my logic.) So now I'm working on a more thorough parser.
I wish I had more time in the day. Now that KT and Kevin have moved back to the area, KT's talking about a semi-regular Alternities game, and she told me today that another friend is thinking of starting up a Vampire game, and I had wanted to start up a campaign myself in a couple of months... But I can't figure out when I'll have time for one game a week, much less several! Didn't I used to have more free time? What happened to it all?
I was going to slouch around the house last night in my pajamas - a baggy t-shirt and some sweatpants. I put them on and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water and thought, Wow, the legs of these pants are really cold. Another few steps and I was sure they weren't cold - they were damp. Uh-oh. We don't keep any drinks in the bedroom, and I'm pretty sure I would've noticed if I'd dropped them in a puddle of water in the bathroom. I pull them off and gingerly take a sniff. Yup. Cat peed on them. So Matt and I had to check everything else that was on the bedroom floor, just in case. And sure enough, Matt's shorts had also been peed on. Argh. It killed the romantic, cuddly evening we'd had up until then, because of course Matt got mad at him, and we had to change the litter in the litterbox in case he was trying to tell us something, and I had to worry... It used to be that Diamond only peed outside the litterbox when 1) the litter needed changing or 2) he was really angry. But lately we've had a real problem with it. It comes in spurts, and he usually stops for a while right after we change the litter - maybe he's just getting more picky about his litterbox in his old age. But I worry that maybe there's something really wrong with him. (The evidence is against it being an illness; for one thing, he always pees on the floor at the same time of the morning - right around 4AM. But I worry anyway.)
But we worry about what to do in six months, when we're moving into our new house. Do we put in a cat-door for him and hope he'll go outside when he has to go? Lock him in the garage at night? Keep him out of the house altogether? I don't want to lock him in the garage or out of the house at all - I love it when he's snuggled up with me; there's something so relaxing about a purring cat. But if he's peeing because he's mad about something, then a cat-door just isn't going to do the trick, is it? ::sigh:: I just wish we could speak a common language and I could ask him why he's doing it!
Enough about bodily functions. Sheesh. So I'm working on learning PHP3, and I'm feeling sortof proud of myself because I wrote a guestbook yesterday, and then my darling and my officemate have spoil it by telling me about possible complications. (Notice for the humor impaired - I'm just joking, okay? I wasn't really crushed by their pointing out flaws in my logic.) So now I'm working on a more thorough parser.
I wish I had more time in the day. Now that KT and Kevin have moved back to the area, KT's talking about a semi-regular Alternities game, and she told me today that another friend is thinking of starting up a Vampire game, and I had wanted to start up a campaign myself in a couple of months... But I can't figure out when I'll have time for one game a week, much less several! Didn't I used to have more free time? What happened to it all?
Friday, February 12, 1999
Archive - 12 Feb 1999
Well, chances are I won't write for this journal much this weekend, and I have Monday off for President's Day. So let me wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. I love you. (After all, you bother to read this journal...)
Wednesday evening Matt told me that I might get a Valentine's Day present on Thursday. "Thursday?" I exclaimed. "What's wrong with Friday?" Matt got a moderately grumpy look and explained that They hadn't been able to promise him a Friday delivery. Wednesday night, he contacted Their online customer support, but couldn't get any answers. But nothing arrived on Thursday.
He let it slip Thursday evening that the present - whatever it was - was going to be delivered via FedEx. Well, I thought, it certainly isn't going to be flowers, then. I speculated much, but couldn't decide on a guess. So this morning I worked keeping one eye out for the FedEx truck...
The FedEx truck showed up just as I was heading downstairs to the kitchen for lunch. Ten minutes into lunch, one of our officemates came into the kitchen and had a very quiet conversation with Matt, who promptly left. He returned a few minutes later and explained that he'd gone to arrange my gift.
I can act very cool if I work hard at it.
So I ate my pasta... My pineapple... My apple slices... I'd been intending to save my carrot sticks for an afternoon snack, but Matt was still working on his lunch when I'd finished mine, so I ate the carrots, too. Slowly. I made Matt wait when he finished. He even commented on it: "You're awfully blasé." I smiled mysteriously: "I'll get it." (Of course, all the time I wanted to forget lunch and go running up the stairs...)
It was worth the wait - a huge bouquet of rose-red tulips. I didn't count them all, but Matt tells me there are supposed to be fifty of them! I didn't want to leave them lying down, so I wedged the stems into my coffee mug. I hope I have a big enough vase at home, though! It may take two. That wouldn't be so bad - I could bring one back to work with me next week.
Anyway, I just wanted to brag about My Guy and his resourcefulness. (For those of you who are wondering why my flowers were delivered via FedEx and not FTD, he actually tried to go to a local florist to order the flowers, but they closed about the same time he left the office. So he ordered the flowers online from 1-800 Flowers. Maybe I'll get Matt to take a picture of me with the flowers after I get them into a vase.
Wednesday evening Matt told me that I might get a Valentine's Day present on Thursday. "Thursday?" I exclaimed. "What's wrong with Friday?" Matt got a moderately grumpy look and explained that They hadn't been able to promise him a Friday delivery. Wednesday night, he contacted Their online customer support, but couldn't get any answers. But nothing arrived on Thursday.
He let it slip Thursday evening that the present - whatever it was - was going to be delivered via FedEx. Well, I thought, it certainly isn't going to be flowers, then. I speculated much, but couldn't decide on a guess. So this morning I worked keeping one eye out for the FedEx truck...
The FedEx truck showed up just as I was heading downstairs to the kitchen for lunch. Ten minutes into lunch, one of our officemates came into the kitchen and had a very quiet conversation with Matt, who promptly left. He returned a few minutes later and explained that he'd gone to arrange my gift.
I can act very cool if I work hard at it.
So I ate my pasta... My pineapple... My apple slices... I'd been intending to save my carrot sticks for an afternoon snack, but Matt was still working on his lunch when I'd finished mine, so I ate the carrots, too. Slowly. I made Matt wait when he finished. He even commented on it: "You're awfully blasé." I smiled mysteriously: "I'll get it." (Of course, all the time I wanted to forget lunch and go running up the stairs...)
It was worth the wait - a huge bouquet of rose-red tulips. I didn't count them all, but Matt tells me there are supposed to be fifty of them! I didn't want to leave them lying down, so I wedged the stems into my coffee mug. I hope I have a big enough vase at home, though! It may take two. That wouldn't be so bad - I could bring one back to work with me next week.
Anyway, I just wanted to brag about My Guy and his resourcefulness. (For those of you who are wondering why my flowers were delivered via FedEx and not FTD, he actually tried to go to a local florist to order the flowers, but they closed about the same time he left the office. So he ordered the flowers online from 1-800 Flowers. Maybe I'll get Matt to take a picture of me with the flowers after I get them into a vase.
Wednesday, February 10, 1999
Archive - 10 Feb 1999
Oh, yeah... I went to Weight Watchers last night and I'd lost almost four pounds! It made me feel better about going to Andy's for lunch and ordering a chicken salad instead of the chili-cheese-and-onion footlong hotdog that I really wanted. I still want that hot dog, though. Maybe this weekend I'll get some Ballpark fat free franks (they're actually not too bad) and make a little vegetarian chili...
All right! I was just sitting here working on this when Beth came in and gave me my paycheck (always a bonus) and a package - the swimsuit I'd ordered from Lane Bryant six weeks ago. That's good; my current swimsuit is getting a little loose since I've been losing so much weight lately. (Can you tell I'm happy about that?) I need to try the suit on before I take it to aerobics tonight, though. Swimsuits stretch so much that I'm not sure I ordered the right size. [A brief interlude while Liz dashes to the bathroom with her new suit...] Hey, it even fits! Huzzah!
Okay, someone else tell me whether this is innovative or just really gross. I really like popcorn. I've been eating light microwave popcorn lately, but there just isn't a lot of flavor there. So I thought I'd sprinkle it with some fat-free parmesan cheese, which is a leftover from my childhood. But the light popcorn isn't greasy enough to make the cheese stick, and I just wind up with a lot of cheese in the bottom of the bowl. So I recently came up with the following either-brilliant-or-gross idea: Now, when I take my popcorn out of the microwave, I spray it all over with some butter-flavored cooking spray. The cooking spray has no fat or calories to speak of, and gives the cheese something to stick to. I thought it was a really great idea. Matt thought it was clever, but he was a little dubious about whether the cooking spray was edible when it hadn't been, well... cooked.
Yike! What a mess! I just accidentally infected my machine with a virus-like program called a worm, and had to disinfect it! Okay, I know I don't exactly have a huge readership here, but to everyone who does read this: If someone e-mails you a program called Happy99.exe DO NOT RUN IT! If you do, then every time you send e-mail or post to a newsgroup, a second mail or post will be send without you knowing about it to the same address, sending them a copy of the file. It's a very tricky little program. If you happen to have been infected, e-mail me and I'll tell you how to get rid of it (which is, thankfully, very easy to do.)
Anyway, back to my life... I talked with my boss yesterday and he agreed that if I was unhappy with my current project, then I shouldn't be kept on it any longer than necessary. He agreed to shuffle me to a different project as soon as the current revision of this project is done (in about a month). So I have something to look forward to, which is making all the difference...
Valentine's Day is this Sunday. I have two presents for Matt in the trunk of my car, waiting for a convenient time to take them inside and wrap them. I'm dying to tell everyone what they are, because I think they're really neat, but since I know Matt keeps an eye on my journal here (hi, sweetie!) I can't say anything until after V-Day. I also know he got something for me last night while I was at my Weight Watcher's meeting. I came home and the cookie tin, which has been on top of the 'fridge, was on the counter. I asked him why he got the tin down, and he claimed to have been looking for cookies. It wasn't until almost an hour later that I noticed a few other items on the counter from the top of the 'fridge (we have a cluttered counter under the best of circumstances) and I realized that he probably had to move them to get to the cabinet over the 'fridge, which is where he hides my presents. (Because I'm too short to get to it without a chair.) I resisted the urge to peek, though. It's coming soon enough.
All right! I was just sitting here working on this when Beth came in and gave me my paycheck (always a bonus) and a package - the swimsuit I'd ordered from Lane Bryant six weeks ago. That's good; my current swimsuit is getting a little loose since I've been losing so much weight lately. (Can you tell I'm happy about that?) I need to try the suit on before I take it to aerobics tonight, though. Swimsuits stretch so much that I'm not sure I ordered the right size. [A brief interlude while Liz dashes to the bathroom with her new suit...] Hey, it even fits! Huzzah!
Okay, someone else tell me whether this is innovative or just really gross. I really like popcorn. I've been eating light microwave popcorn lately, but there just isn't a lot of flavor there. So I thought I'd sprinkle it with some fat-free parmesan cheese, which is a leftover from my childhood. But the light popcorn isn't greasy enough to make the cheese stick, and I just wind up with a lot of cheese in the bottom of the bowl. So I recently came up with the following either-brilliant-or-gross idea: Now, when I take my popcorn out of the microwave, I spray it all over with some butter-flavored cooking spray. The cooking spray has no fat or calories to speak of, and gives the cheese something to stick to. I thought it was a really great idea. Matt thought it was clever, but he was a little dubious about whether the cooking spray was edible when it hadn't been, well... cooked.
Yike! What a mess! I just accidentally infected my machine with a virus-like program called a worm, and had to disinfect it! Okay, I know I don't exactly have a huge readership here, but to everyone who does read this: If someone e-mails you a program called Happy99.exe DO NOT RUN IT! If you do, then every time you send e-mail or post to a newsgroup, a second mail or post will be send without you knowing about it to the same address, sending them a copy of the file. It's a very tricky little program. If you happen to have been infected, e-mail me and I'll tell you how to get rid of it (which is, thankfully, very easy to do.)
Anyway, back to my life... I talked with my boss yesterday and he agreed that if I was unhappy with my current project, then I shouldn't be kept on it any longer than necessary. He agreed to shuffle me to a different project as soon as the current revision of this project is done (in about a month). So I have something to look forward to, which is making all the difference...
Valentine's Day is this Sunday. I have two presents for Matt in the trunk of my car, waiting for a convenient time to take them inside and wrap them. I'm dying to tell everyone what they are, because I think they're really neat, but since I know Matt keeps an eye on my journal here (hi, sweetie!) I can't say anything until after V-Day. I also know he got something for me last night while I was at my Weight Watcher's meeting. I came home and the cookie tin, which has been on top of the 'fridge, was on the counter. I asked him why he got the tin down, and he claimed to have been looking for cookies. It wasn't until almost an hour later that I noticed a few other items on the counter from the top of the 'fridge (we have a cluttered counter under the best of circumstances) and I realized that he probably had to move them to get to the cabinet over the 'fridge, which is where he hides my presents. (Because I'm too short to get to it without a chair.) I resisted the urge to peek, though. It's coming soon enough.
Tuesday, February 9, 1999
Archive - 9 Feb 1999
A whole week? Already? And so much has happened...
Well, okay, maybe not. Matt and I are still obsessed about our house. I suppose that won't wear off until we've actually be in it for a while... Got the news today that our loan has been approved and the floorplans are ready for our inspection! Whooo-hoo! Matt and I have an appointment on Saturday to go over to the model house and go over everything.
Had a rough couple of days last week. I'm not especially keen on a lot of things about the project I'm currently on, and along about Wednesday or Thursday I seriously started thinking about maybe getting into a new line of work. NOT something to do when you're about to buy a house, and of course it's not the entire job I hate; just this project. So I took Friday off for a mental-health day.
The plan was to spend the day spoiling myself; see if I could drag up out of the semi-funk I've been in lately. I did manage to sleep in a little, and spent a lot of time petting the cat. (Very important job, petting the cat...) It started to go wrong when I decided to take a bath instead of a shower.
What could be more luxurious than soaking in a hot tub with some nice-smelling candles in the background and a good book to read? I got the water just the right temperature, lit the candle, set the book carefully out of splash-area, but within reach, and stepped in... Oh, yeah. I haven't actually taken a bath in about five years. And I've gotten so fat in that time that I couldn't get the water to cover my thighs, much less allow me to luxuriate. Oh, well. I gave it a valiant attempt for a couple of chapters until the cat decided that he wanted to sit on my chest, then gave up and took a shower instead.
I'd planned for most of the rest of the day to do a little shopping, take myself to lunch, watch a movie - in short, continue with the plan. But a fair amount of the shopping I did was errands for the house (a utility knife so I could change the county sticker on my car, some fake flowers for a vase that's been sitting empty for the last nine months, clotheshangers... Like that.) And the shopping that was for me was a bit disappointing. The local crafts store can't seem to keep yarn in stock for more than an hour at a time. Lunch was good, but when I added it up later in my Weight Watchers book, it had cost me half of my allotted points for the day! And I'd had a salad! I was disappointed, to say the least.
The afternoon was better - I put on a movie and curled up on the couch with some knitting while I watched it. And that evening Matt and I went to Portsmouth to meet with some friends. We'd intended to do some gaming, but wound up going out to dinner and then sitting around talking all night. (And I totally blew my Weight Watcher's allotment anyway by having a big slice of tirami su for dessert! And it was worth every bite!)
KT and Kevin are moving back into this area this weekend. KT's very happy about it - Lynchburg drives her batshit with its heavily religious atmosphere and less-than-thrilling nightlife. I'm not sure how Kevin feels - I don't know him as well as I know KT - but he sounded like he was relieved to be out of Lynchburg, though disappointed that he didn't get the job promotion that would have kept them there. And Matt and KT seem to be trying to work out their differences, which is a big relief to me. (If you don't know, you don't want to. Just trust me on that.) There are still some doubts, though. KT's sense of humor is, well, biting - to say the least. And she doesn't feel any particular compulsion to lay off of someone just because they're not present. (In fact, she might even be a little crueler when they're not present.) And several friends have felt the need to tell me, after they've seen KT, what sorts of things she says about Matt and me behind our backs. I suppose it's because they don't believe her when she says she's gotten over It, and they want to warn me that her motives might not be the best. If you're reading this - and you know who you are out there - give up. I don't tell you what she says behind your back, do I? And believe me, she says plenty. You didn't think you were special, did you? It's just the way she is, and it's got nothing to do with the Event.
Well, now that I've got that off my chest... Wow. This has gotten pretty long, hasn't it? Guess I'll sign off and ramble some more at another time. And I get to go Weight Watchers tonight and see how much damage that tirami su did... Wish me luck!
Well, okay, maybe not. Matt and I are still obsessed about our house. I suppose that won't wear off until we've actually be in it for a while... Got the news today that our loan has been approved and the floorplans are ready for our inspection! Whooo-hoo! Matt and I have an appointment on Saturday to go over to the model house and go over everything.
Had a rough couple of days last week. I'm not especially keen on a lot of things about the project I'm currently on, and along about Wednesday or Thursday I seriously started thinking about maybe getting into a new line of work. NOT something to do when you're about to buy a house, and of course it's not the entire job I hate; just this project. So I took Friday off for a mental-health day.
The plan was to spend the day spoiling myself; see if I could drag up out of the semi-funk I've been in lately. I did manage to sleep in a little, and spent a lot of time petting the cat. (Very important job, petting the cat...) It started to go wrong when I decided to take a bath instead of a shower.
What could be more luxurious than soaking in a hot tub with some nice-smelling candles in the background and a good book to read? I got the water just the right temperature, lit the candle, set the book carefully out of splash-area, but within reach, and stepped in... Oh, yeah. I haven't actually taken a bath in about five years. And I've gotten so fat in that time that I couldn't get the water to cover my thighs, much less allow me to luxuriate. Oh, well. I gave it a valiant attempt for a couple of chapters until the cat decided that he wanted to sit on my chest, then gave up and took a shower instead.
I'd planned for most of the rest of the day to do a little shopping, take myself to lunch, watch a movie - in short, continue with the plan. But a fair amount of the shopping I did was errands for the house (a utility knife so I could change the county sticker on my car, some fake flowers for a vase that's been sitting empty for the last nine months, clotheshangers... Like that.) And the shopping that was for me was a bit disappointing. The local crafts store can't seem to keep yarn in stock for more than an hour at a time. Lunch was good, but when I added it up later in my Weight Watchers book, it had cost me half of my allotted points for the day! And I'd had a salad! I was disappointed, to say the least.
The afternoon was better - I put on a movie and curled up on the couch with some knitting while I watched it. And that evening Matt and I went to Portsmouth to meet with some friends. We'd intended to do some gaming, but wound up going out to dinner and then sitting around talking all night. (And I totally blew my Weight Watcher's allotment anyway by having a big slice of tirami su for dessert! And it was worth every bite!)
KT and Kevin are moving back into this area this weekend. KT's very happy about it - Lynchburg drives her batshit with its heavily religious atmosphere and less-than-thrilling nightlife. I'm not sure how Kevin feels - I don't know him as well as I know KT - but he sounded like he was relieved to be out of Lynchburg, though disappointed that he didn't get the job promotion that would have kept them there. And Matt and KT seem to be trying to work out their differences, which is a big relief to me. (If you don't know, you don't want to. Just trust me on that.) There are still some doubts, though. KT's sense of humor is, well, biting - to say the least. And she doesn't feel any particular compulsion to lay off of someone just because they're not present. (In fact, she might even be a little crueler when they're not present.) And several friends have felt the need to tell me, after they've seen KT, what sorts of things she says about Matt and me behind our backs. I suppose it's because they don't believe her when she says she's gotten over It, and they want to warn me that her motives might not be the best. If you're reading this - and you know who you are out there - give up. I don't tell you what she says behind your back, do I? And believe me, she says plenty. You didn't think you were special, did you? It's just the way she is, and it's got nothing to do with the Event.
Well, now that I've got that off my chest... Wow. This has gotten pretty long, hasn't it? Guess I'll sign off and ramble some more at another time. And I get to go Weight Watchers tonight and see how much damage that tirami su did... Wish me luck!
Tuesday, February 2, 1999
Archive - 2 Feb 1999
Well, Happy Groundhog's Day. It's looking pretty dismal outside, so maybe spring will come early. Actually, it already has - the high for today is supposed to be around 60. I'm not a big fan of winter, but I'm worried that such a short, mild winter will mean problems this summer - if not an especially hot summer, then a lot of mosquitoes and other bugs. And we're moving when?
Matt and I are "First Time Home Buyers". As a result, the mortgage company wants to make sure that we have at least half a clue about what we're getting into. Ken (our loan officer) tells us that we have a choice: We can either take a three-hour class some evening at the York County library, or he can mail us a book and the company will call us after three days to ask us a few questions.
I don't do well with tests. Especially orals. But Ken convinces us that there's nothing in the book that's difficult to understand, and tells us about one guy who studied and sweated and in the end was asked questions of such patent simplicity as "Do you know why you're buying a house?" So we get the book.
Last night they called. We were expecting it - the letter that arrived with the book said they would call three business days after we'd received it. But Ken lied to us.
They grilled Matt for a good fifteen minutes. And then they grilled me, having to make sure we both understood what was going on. In the end, we were given the certification. But we both felt drained and stupid for the rest of the night. How irritating.
Got my Weight Watcher's meeting tonight. I'm not sure what will happen - I was pretty good for most of the week, though I used up my banked points over the weekend, I'm sure. (I don't know for certain, because I lost my little lookup book a while back and haven't gotten around to replacing it yet.) But we went over to my parents' to watch the Super Bowl, and wound up eating chips and chili and ice cream all night. Come to think of it, I had two servings of the good-to-eat ice cream (Breyer's mint chocolate chip) and one serving of the good-for-me ice cream (TCBY bananas foster), and that was the worst. The only thing in chili that is bad for me is the meat itself, and I ate it with fat-free sour cream and Wow! tortilla chips and only a little bit of cheese. So I did pretty well, even though I ate a lot. So maybe I'll be okay.
I promise not to do this to you every week, even though I worry about it every Tuesday. It's just that I really wish I could reconcile my love of food with the desire to lose weight. Enough.
3GI's "Monthly Munch" was on Saturday. We had dinner at the Pub, which is just around the corner from Matt's and my apartment, and then went bowling. I had fun, even if the service at the Pub was lousy. (It wasn't their fault - as Matt said, they probably hadn't served that many people before ever, much less at one time.) Despite that, I really liked the food we got. I think I'd even like to go back sometime (in a smaller group!) but I don't know what Matt would think about that - he seemed sortof underwhelmed. Though maybe that's because we had planned on each eating half of our meals and then trading, and he didn't like the platter I'd ordered. (He eventually confessed and I was happy to trade back, but I wish he'd said so earlier!) Bowling was a lot of fun. The pain didn't hit until Sunday night - I seem to have wrenched my shoulder and pulled something in my thigh. But it's better today than it was yesterday, so hopefully I won't have to go to the doctor for it.
Kudos go to Matt for enduring a shopping trip. *grin* Let me tell you right now that I am not your stereotypical female shopper. Actually I usually hate shopping. Especially the sort of "just looking" shopping that most women seem to delight in. What's the use in looking if there isn't even a chance that you'll buy? I don't get it. And I really hate having to wait for other people's browsing. If I'm shopping with someone else, I prefer to split up and meet later. But this weekend was a true shopping trip, and I think both Matt and I did very well.
Matt had some things he wanted to exchange, so while he did that I poked around a kiosk I'd noticed that was selling purses. (My purse was less than six months old, but not quite big enough to hold my new Zaurus.) I picked up a new purse that I thought was a good compromise between more space and a nicer look. (So far three people have teased me about it being so big. I'm going to start hitting them with it.) When Matt had finished with his exchange, we went and had some lunch. Then we went and poked around J.C. Penney's for a bit. We still had gift certificates there left over from our wedding, and we'd gotten another for Christmas. We wound up spending most of them on a new lamp, which we both really like. (Which is good, because while I liked the look of the old lamp, its bare lightbulbs disturbed Matt, and because of its age, the wiring was starting to disintegrate. When we move, it might well just become the guest bedroom lamp.)
And then came the real pain - furniture. For our wedding (which was almost ten months ago) my grandparents had given us a check earmarked for a new dining room set. At the time, we were too busy to shop. Then when we did pick something out, the set we wanted was out of stock and not expected until August. When September rolled around, we realized that the saleslady had forgotten us. By then, we were planning on moving out of our apartment at the end of February, so we decided to wait. Now that it's February and our new house won't be built until August again... My grandmother is getting impatient. So we found a dining room set that we liked (again) and was told that it's too early to order it for August. But this time we wrote down the exact model of the set, and we'll come back every so often to make sure they haven't forgotten us.
And we looked at living room sets, beds, tables, cabinets, and refrigerators in preparation for the new house. This is going to be one expensive undertaking!
Oh, well, I suppose I've rambled on long enough...
Matt and I are "First Time Home Buyers". As a result, the mortgage company wants to make sure that we have at least half a clue about what we're getting into. Ken (our loan officer) tells us that we have a choice: We can either take a three-hour class some evening at the York County library, or he can mail us a book and the company will call us after three days to ask us a few questions.
I don't do well with tests. Especially orals. But Ken convinces us that there's nothing in the book that's difficult to understand, and tells us about one guy who studied and sweated and in the end was asked questions of such patent simplicity as "Do you know why you're buying a house?" So we get the book.
Last night they called. We were expecting it - the letter that arrived with the book said they would call three business days after we'd received it. But Ken lied to us.
They grilled Matt for a good fifteen minutes. And then they grilled me, having to make sure we both understood what was going on. In the end, we were given the certification. But we both felt drained and stupid for the rest of the night. How irritating.
Got my Weight Watcher's meeting tonight. I'm not sure what will happen - I was pretty good for most of the week, though I used up my banked points over the weekend, I'm sure. (I don't know for certain, because I lost my little lookup book a while back and haven't gotten around to replacing it yet.) But we went over to my parents' to watch the Super Bowl, and wound up eating chips and chili and ice cream all night. Come to think of it, I had two servings of the good-to-eat ice cream (Breyer's mint chocolate chip) and one serving of the good-for-me ice cream (TCBY bananas foster), and that was the worst. The only thing in chili that is bad for me is the meat itself, and I ate it with fat-free sour cream and Wow! tortilla chips and only a little bit of cheese. So I did pretty well, even though I ate a lot. So maybe I'll be okay.
I promise not to do this to you every week, even though I worry about it every Tuesday. It's just that I really wish I could reconcile my love of food with the desire to lose weight. Enough.
3GI's "Monthly Munch" was on Saturday. We had dinner at the Pub, which is just around the corner from Matt's and my apartment, and then went bowling. I had fun, even if the service at the Pub was lousy. (It wasn't their fault - as Matt said, they probably hadn't served that many people before ever, much less at one time.) Despite that, I really liked the food we got. I think I'd even like to go back sometime (in a smaller group!) but I don't know what Matt would think about that - he seemed sortof underwhelmed. Though maybe that's because we had planned on each eating half of our meals and then trading, and he didn't like the platter I'd ordered. (He eventually confessed and I was happy to trade back, but I wish he'd said so earlier!) Bowling was a lot of fun. The pain didn't hit until Sunday night - I seem to have wrenched my shoulder and pulled something in my thigh. But it's better today than it was yesterday, so hopefully I won't have to go to the doctor for it.
Kudos go to Matt for enduring a shopping trip. *grin* Let me tell you right now that I am not your stereotypical female shopper. Actually I usually hate shopping. Especially the sort of "just looking" shopping that most women seem to delight in. What's the use in looking if there isn't even a chance that you'll buy? I don't get it. And I really hate having to wait for other people's browsing. If I'm shopping with someone else, I prefer to split up and meet later. But this weekend was a true shopping trip, and I think both Matt and I did very well.
Matt had some things he wanted to exchange, so while he did that I poked around a kiosk I'd noticed that was selling purses. (My purse was less than six months old, but not quite big enough to hold my new Zaurus.) I picked up a new purse that I thought was a good compromise between more space and a nicer look. (So far three people have teased me about it being so big. I'm going to start hitting them with it.) When Matt had finished with his exchange, we went and had some lunch. Then we went and poked around J.C. Penney's for a bit. We still had gift certificates there left over from our wedding, and we'd gotten another for Christmas. We wound up spending most of them on a new lamp, which we both really like. (Which is good, because while I liked the look of the old lamp, its bare lightbulbs disturbed Matt, and because of its age, the wiring was starting to disintegrate. When we move, it might well just become the guest bedroom lamp.)
And then came the real pain - furniture. For our wedding (which was almost ten months ago) my grandparents had given us a check earmarked for a new dining room set. At the time, we were too busy to shop. Then when we did pick something out, the set we wanted was out of stock and not expected until August. When September rolled around, we realized that the saleslady had forgotten us. By then, we were planning on moving out of our apartment at the end of February, so we decided to wait. Now that it's February and our new house won't be built until August again... My grandmother is getting impatient. So we found a dining room set that we liked (again) and was told that it's too early to order it for August. But this time we wrote down the exact model of the set, and we'll come back every so often to make sure they haven't forgotten us.
And we looked at living room sets, beds, tables, cabinets, and refrigerators in preparation for the new house. This is going to be one expensive undertaking!
Oh, well, I suppose I've rambled on long enough...
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