Halfway to 50!

Twenty somethings unite!

Resolutions from a Twenty Something January 1, 2012


Well, I did it.  I came full circle.  Last New Year’s Eve I told some friends at a party that my resolution was to start blogging.  What was I going to blog about they asked.  I didn’t know… I just wanted to take my love for writing and making people laugh and then merge them into a hobby for myself.  This year when people asked what I did for fun I actually had an answer: I blog. 

Normally I come up with resolutions that last oh… a week or so and then go back to my old ways.  (By the way, what’s so wrong with the old way of doing things?)  But not this year.  This year, I wrote my very first blog on January 1st and went on to write 22 more blog over the next 365  days.  I surprised myself with my continued attention to this blog and the enjoyment I got from each writing session.  It is incredibly liberating to just share stories from my life with whoever wants to listen.  It’s been surprising to watch how many people view my stories, comment on them, and then… then… find out that people actually subscribed to my blog!  (OK, so it’s like 6, but that’s REALLY exciting to me!)

So…. what do I do this year?  What resolutions do I make as a twenty-something moving forward into my… (gasp) late twenties in 2012?  Read on!

Resolution #1: I will be nicer. 

OK, so I am a nice girl.  But I can get a little catty.  I call those my “Reality TV moments.”  I attribute my occasional z-snap to the sassy Real Housewives, my icy stare downs to the Kardashians, and my excessive cussing to the Jersey Shore.  The moment I feel the need to share a saucy thought with a friend about someone else, I will stop myself and say, “This is real life.  Your actions and words have actual consequences and will not results in higher ratings.”  Done.

Resolution #2: I will not look like a lost puppy when shopping for baby gifts at Target.

Last year, I experienced several trips to Target in search of the perfect gift for my friends’ new babies.  I would walk in, print out their registry, and then stagger around looking for aisle E7.  E7?  Who thought of this system?  After a kind employee pointed me in the right direction my jaw dropped upon reading that my friend wanted some “nipple pads” and “butt paste.”  What the hell?  Are you trying to kill me with embarrassment?  You’re going to get an outfit of my choosing and you’re going to like it!  Done.

Resolution #3: I will find my best angle and pose when getting my picture taken.

Go ahead, call me self-centered, but this is something I think every girl needs to figure out.  In a typical year, I have one maybe two photos, of the hundreds that were taken where I actually like the way I look.  You know what I’m talking about.  You load the pictures from a vacation onto your computer and find The One.  Your hair is almost glistening, your skin is just the right tone, your look happy but not cheesy, fake, happy, and your body looks relaxed as if your hand just happened to be on your hip when the picture was taken.  Perfection, or at least as close as you can get.  It quickly becomes my Facebook profile picture, computer wallpaper, framed an end table, and slapped onto our Christmas card.  This shouldn’t happen once a year.  It should just happen always.  Maybe I can talk my hubbie into acting like paparazzi this year for practice?  Done.

Happy 2012 my fellow bloggers!  May your resolutions be lighthearted and your days filled with laughter!

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Feeling Guilty About My Guilty Pleasure June 10, 2011


I was in a crazy rage the other night.  Literally, sweaty palms, shaking, flushed face, the works.  So what happened?  Someone cut me off on the road?  No.  The hubbie shrunk my favorite jeans?  No. Worse.  Much worse.   The TV.  Went.  Out.

Ok, ok, so most of you are now raising your eyebrows thinking I’m some gross slob who sits around and watches hours of TV with no life outside of the couch and the remote.  Not true.  But I do have this, what I now consider an obsession, with reality TV.  So imagine my surprise when mid-Real Housewives of New York, my TV screen goes blue (as if they purposely chose this depressing color to solidify the sadness of the news) delivers me a message on the screen: “Hello.  We’re restarting the hard drive.  Do not power down or restart.”  Ugh!  Seriously?!  This is a new episode!  What am I going to do with myself if I don’t know how the Ramona vs. Jill fight ends? 

It all started because of this crazy rain we were experiencing.  It had been pouring off and on all evening.  If there is ice, snow, or severely cold temperatures, DirecTV stands strong.  But if there is even a hint of rain, our satellite goes out.  It seems to shut down about 10 seconds before a heavy rainfall starts.  It is a nice little weather forecaster, but annoying as hell when you’re watching something as wonderful as The Real Housewives.  So there I was, typing up a paper that was due last week on my laptop, sipping a Diet Coke and 30 minutes into a special 75 minute episode of The Real Housewives of New York.  Then it happened.  The blue screen and that damn message.  I swallowed the Diet Coke that I had just poured into my mouth, slowly set the can down, closed my laptop, and stared at the TV.  I didn’t know what to do.  I paced back and forth in my living room trying to think of a solution.  The more I paced, the more angry I became.  I was sweating, nervous, and confused.  I started talking to myself, “How can we put a man on the moon, bring Internet through cell phones, and have a video conversation with someone on the other side of the world, but THE SATELLITE GOES OUT IF IT RAINS?!?!”  Seriously, our TV satellite people need to do some serious research on how to get the signal to go through, no matter the weather.  How does this happen? 

About 15 minutes later the signal came back, I watched the rest of the show, and was fine.  But I came to an important realization: I may be addicted to TV.  I work out regularly, eat right, and work hard 8-5, and am thisclose to getting my Master’s Degree.  Don’t I deserve some down time at night with Teen Mom, Millionaire Matchmaker, and Real Housewives?  Should I feel guilty about my guilty pleasure?

 

How Aunt Flo Almost Ruined My Graduation May 14, 2011


It has been awhile since my last post and all of my fans are demanding that I put out another hysterical post ASAP.  Well…. that may not be exactly true.  But my growing readership of 4 subscribers is probably going to abandon my fan club if I don’t deliver soon.

Tonight I’d like to explain how I learned one very important lesson a couple of weeks ago: Always, always, carry a purse.

I have been taking graduate level courses for the past 2 years to increase my teaching ability, benefit my students’ learning, and let’s be honest… beef up the paycheck.  I attended my graduation recently and quickly found out how necessary my purse truly is.  Because we had a rather high-profile commencement speaker, we were told through several frantic emails not to bring a bag to the ceremony.  With airport like security (minus the awkward pat down), bringing a bag would cause us extra time in line and frustration.  Knowing my own patience level, I decide that a purse wouldn’t be a good choice for myself, the security workers, or anyone standing next to me that day.  I bravely followed their guidance and left it at home.  The catch?  Like clockwork, whenever I have some sort of important event planned, I also had my period.

“It’s going to be fine,” I told myself.  My mom can carry some lady items (this is what I call tampons and pads, see previous post, “Tampons, Pads, and Condoms Oh My” for further explanation) in her purse and we can trade-off my supplies at some point during the day.  Done.  Little did I know that my family would be enclosed in a different building for most of the day prior to the ceremony due to security purposes.  I was left high and dry… well not exactly dry but I won’t go there.

Once I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to meet up with my mom, I went into straight up panic mode.  I gathered the support of my 2 friends to go in search of a lady item.  We had 2 hours to complete our mission… plenty of time, right?

At first I was reluctant to approach perfect strangers for help.  “Um, excuse me.  Do you have a lady item? ”  I felt stupid and embarrassed.  But after politely asking the only 5 girls in the building who broke the rules and brought a purse with them, we created a new plan.  Let’s get a quarter and I can just buy one.  “Hi, sorry to bother you but I need a quarter.”  This was usually followed with a shrug and cringe from me.  After asking about 15 people, one fabulous female reached into her clutch and handed me what I’d been looking for.  As she revealed the quarter and handed it to me I almost saw it happening in slow motion.  I even think that it glistened in the florescent lights of the arena.  I hugged her like she had just returned from serving in Iraq for a year and ran to the bathroom- wait, I think I skipped- no, I frolicked.  I proudly set the quarter into the slot, cranked the handle around (by the way, why do they make those damn machines so fricken loud?) and peered into the dispenser as if it were a Christmas stocking on December 25th.  My beaming smile quickly faded when I saw nothing.  I started cranking the wheel right, left, and then right again.  Nothing.  Shit.  Now what?  Half of the people in the arena are now aware that I need a lady item, yet none can help me.

I did what any 25-year-old girl would do.  I grabbed my friend’s smart phone and called mom.  Close to tears and with a shaky voice I said, “Mom, I don’t know what to do.  I need a lady item and the machines don’t work, nobody has a purse so they can’ t offer me one, and we have to line up pretty soon to walk into the ceremony.  I’ll never last 3 hours with what I’ve got.  HELP!”  We arranged to meet at a side door and perform a hand off.  I found out about this secret door after speaking with someone in charge.  It went something like this:

Me: “Hi, how do I meet up with my mom who is in the other building?”

Lady in charge: “You can’t.”

Me: “Welllll, what if it’s an emergency?”

Lady in charge: Sigh… “What’s the problem.”

Me: (At this point I had lost all pride and came out with it as if I were talking about a TV show I saw last night) “I need a lady item, desperately, and will NOT last for the 3 hour ceremony without it.  Machines are broken.”

Lady in charge: “You see that long hallway?  Go down there.  There are doors in either side of the garage door at the end of the tunnel.  They open into the next building.  But hurry, we’re starting soon.”

My mission was clear.  Get to the end of the tunnel, find the door, meet mom without being jumped by security, and perform a handoff.

I grabbed my friend by the arm and began pulling her down the tunnel explaining the plan.  The whole while I kept thinking a security guard would be throwing me against a wall at any given moment.  I carefully opened the door praying that an alarm wouldn’t go off, got the goods from my mom, ran to the restroom, and sprinted to my seat just in time for our final directions.  Now I know what it’s like to experience a drug deal.

Although this whole ordeal made me miserable for the first part of graduation day, things quickly turned around and I was able eo enjoy the ceremony.  We took pictures of my family and I with my diploma and had a lovely dinner that night.  Everything turned out fine.  My lesson in all this is simple.  Always carry a purse with you, no matter how harsh the warnings are against it.  Any security line would have been worth waiting in if it meant being better prepared for my bitchy Aunt Flo.

 

Hey Jiggly Butt! April 29, 2011


We never grew up with a scale in our house.  Nobody was overweight or even worried about weight, so there was no reason to have such a judgemental tool lying on the bathroom floor.

This is why I was shocked at Easter when I went to my parents house and found one, lit up and glaring at me.

My brother, being as surprised as I was, decided it would be fun if everyone would weigh-in to determine their “pre-Easter meal” weight.  Then on Sunday (well you know what’s coming) after stuffing our faces with mounds of food, we’d all weigh in again to see what we’d gained.  Being a rather tall, gangly bunch, this wasn’t offensive to anyone and we decided it would be a fun family activity.  I mean, what better way to celebrate Jesus’ rise from the tomb than with a weigh-in?

Here’s where it went from funny to pathetic.  I got on the scale and wrinkled my forehead.  Huh?  I’ve been the same weight for years and was surprised to see that number change.  I got off and back on again.  Dammit.  An electronic scale doesn’t lie.  I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.  I wiggled my arms.  No flapping skin.  I turned to the side.  No protruding stomach.  I turned around and craned by neck to see the back of my legs.  No chubby legs.  Hmmmm.  I turned to the front and laughed at my own funny thought.  No, those few pounds were not added to my chest… I couldn’t be that lucky!  Oh well, I’ve been lifting a lot of weights over the past year so maybe it’s the added muscle.  I went about my business, enjoyed Easter, and didn’t think twice about those new pounds… until Thursday.

I was bent over digging through a filing cabinet in my classroom.  My students were busily working (most of them) when I felt a tap on my butt.  My eyes bugged out of my head and my heart dropped.  Oh my gosh.  My butt just jigged like crazy.  It was like a rock was thrown into a pond causing ripples to form.  I slowly turned around to tend to the student who needed me and quietly sat down in my chair.  I found the location of those new pounds.  My ass.  How can this be?  I’ve been lifting weights and running regularly!!  I don’t deserve this!  (Ok, maybe an exaggeration of my reaction, but I was pretty pissed.)

As I sat chewing my pizza last night, I discussed my ass with my hubbie.  He laughed as I went on and on about my jiggly butt that was poked by a student.  Determined to convince him that my butt had indeed grown, I stood up, bent over, and patted my own ass to show him how it reacted.  (Looking back, I don’t understand why I went to this extreme, but the point got across.) 

The morale of this story?  Owning a scale is stupid.  Weight is just a number.  Be sure you add some butt lifts to your daily workout.  Cheers to all 20 something asses that creep up and say “boo” when you least expect it!

 

5 Gym Pet Peeves March 15, 2011


Please wash off your equipment!  That is just one thing I’d like to yell at the gym on a daily basis.  I’m 25 and a couple of years ago I decided to making working out part of my regular routine.  I spent time at several gyms in the area trying to find the perfect fit for me.  Finally, I found The One and have been there ever since.  Upon becoming a gym rat, I have found that there are several things that bug the crap out of me when I work out. 

1. People jump off of equipment and walk away.  They just walk away without cleaning off their sweaty nastiness that I have to endure.

2. Women have no shame in the locker room.  I’m not saying women shouldn’t be proud of what their momma gave them, but at the same time, I don’t need to see your naked boobs as you change into your sports bra.  Find a bathroom please!

3. The gym is not a runway.  Please don’t show up in your low-cut, tight-fitting work out clothes.  One girl in my class does this and every time we have to do planks, her cleavage is looking back at me in the mirror. 

4. Kids under the age of 16 should not be working out with a personal trainer.  There is a 12-year-old who regularly trains with a professional at my gym.  What in the world are you training for buddy?  Got a big pee wee championship coming up? 

5. The T.V.’s should be on a variety of channels to meet everyone’s needs.  I’m a T.V. junkie and my time on the eliptical goes much faster if I can watch Real Housewives, E! News, or House Hunters.  Staring at Sports Center on 5 T.V.’s is boring.

What about the gym makes you crazy?  I’d like to hear from my fellow gym junkies!