Archive for the ‘ego’ Category

Day 90: I still have a month to go…

December 27, 2007OK. Yes I know this is not a complete full photo…again. I don’t have a full-length mirror in my home if you can believe that. And I always forget to tell people to take a full photo of me when I’m out or at work. But I will make sure to get “the” final shot done by someone. A full one. I do have one though, in pajamas. And let’s just say I would never share it here! I think that once I’m done with this on the last day of the countdown which is my birthday — January 27 — I will recruit a work friend to do it. The office already knows what I’m up to. And they know how to properly use my camera.

But one thing you should know about his photo. I’m notorious for turning my head to make my face look smaller. In this photo I am shooting dead one — no super-cool camera angles, shooting above or photo-shopping. This is me. And my new glasses. Well, and funky hair. On average I hate taking a photo dead on.

So far I’ve lost five pounds. My arms have a little more definition. My mother said my bum looked smaller. Trust me. She doesn’t give those observations lightly! And I can’t be sure but I think I’ve lost at least two inches. All I know is that all my jeans fit a tad more loose which I’m guesstimating it’s about two inches more room. I feel so dumb but I didn’t take my measurements prior to starting this. But over the holiday my mother did and notated where I’m at now so by the end of January we’ll have some kind of accurate gage.

Another thing that doesn’t quite set right with me yet is that it’s been nearly 100 days and this isn’t 10 pounds lost! But I guess that’s not bad considering I started this in the triple threat holiday season and I didn’t gain a pound during all the temptation. Got to pat my back for something I guess…

Day 63: The power of a note on the door…

Be gone all you thiefs!I woke up to discover this morning that my tiny Christmas tree equipped with tiny, shiny, glittery little ornaments was swiped from my front porch. I know that it may not have been the best thing — to actually leave something I gave a rip about on the front porch. But combined with the gold bells on my door, the bow I made latched on to the door knocker — everything felt so nice when I came home. Because from inside and out my house was so very pleasantly festive with Christmas cheer. Well, my Christmas cheer faded with my little discovery.

I became enraged. I left a polite note on my neighbor’s door about it after looking around the complex (and glancing the trash) to see if I would find it somewhere. I sat in my house, numb with anger of course. I’ve been robbed several times in my life. Mostly related to my car. This was it. So I kept checking the peep hole every now and then just to see if I saw someone to ask questions. Then I noticed this one young looking guy coming down from upstairs who looked quite guilty when he stopped at my neighbor’s door to read my note which read:

“If you happen to know who stole my tree, please let me know. It wasn’t very nice. Signed (my apartment number).”

Then after he read it, he looked down directly where my Christmas tree WOULD have been. When I saw his face I decided to draft another letter and this time put it on MY door. This one read:

“Merry Christmas Asshole. Whoever stole my fucking Christmas tree doesn’t know who they are fucking with. You will get yours — one way or another. Signed (my apartment number).”

I fumed. Ran errands and came home. Then I heard some really loud walking and looked out the peephole. I saw my “friendly” upstairs neighbor going downstairs. I decided to wait for her to head back up. She would have to pass my door to get to her apartment. I waited because the connection was made. She was surely friends with the guy from earlier in the afternoon. Before I could completely ask her if she had heard anything funny last night she confessed that her friend stole my tree. She said he was “intoxicated” and that she was sorry and was bringing back the tree. Guess what she said next?

“I didn’t appreciate that note. It wasn’t very Christmas-like…”

THE BALLS ON THIS CHICK! I told her I didn’t give a damn, she stole from me and that I’ve been through a lot in my life. And that I didn’t appreciate HER stealing from me. She proceeded to say it wasn’t her. It was her friend. Same damn thing. Long story longer, she brought it back and said that she didn’t want it to affect things with her and I. Hilarious. My punctuation mark was letting her know I’ve been victimized in my life and that stealing from me was wrong. She felt like shit. Her face was if she may have concluded I was once upon a time kidnapped and left for dead.

What does this have to do with the countdown? Nothing. An hour walking in a parade carrying a giant Curious George yesterday and ending my day getting back stolen property counts as a workout for me.

FIN.

Day 25: Not ready for the before and after shot

I’ve been thinking about how I “forgot” to shoot a BEFORE photo. Sure the one I have on my countdown page was supposed to suffice but the helmet, fishnets, knee pads and skates are distracting. Then I thought am I even ready for the BEFORE photo…?

Thing is I’m usually the one behind the camera and I’m really picky about who takes my photo. I always hate it. The other problem is that I’ve lost inches, so the BEFORE photo wouldn’t be accurate. Maybe it should be an AFTER THE MISSING BEFORE PHOTO photo.  However my inches lost are probably not even significant enough to be detected…And did I mention I’m a photographer without a tripod?

Anyway, I haven’t worked out since Day 21 but I’ve managed to lose a whopping two pounds and like I said, a (very) few inches. I blame stress, fluctuating water weight and general malaise for the extremely minor accomplishment. I have until January 27 to get this right. I’ll settle for my old fighting weight — pre-college graduation. I will be heading to the gym tonight after this post…even though this day ended pretty much with a work-related phone call that lasted two hours during dinner.

I can say that I’ve not had a single Sonic slush or burger in two weeks. I’ve been immersed in salads, stews,  and protein. I’ve limited severe indulges to one or twice a week — i.e. Tuaca Lemondrop Martinis and the like. But I’ve let Hefeweizen, organic flatbread and pasta slip in. I’m starting to think the triple threat holiday season is about the silliest time to get hot.

And for now, here is my best BEFORE:

fooled-ya-again.jpg

Photo by Hal Samples. It was taken last month. And yes. I know. Not really a full-length photo…

Day two: Satan lives at Sonic

So as you can read here I’m tracking my progress (or lack there of) as I stumble down the road to a “Hotter 30.” Well today was a dud.

This is where Satan dwells.Decent breakfast. But no time for lunch what with management training, a lengthy conference call, concerns of a recent company split (don’t ask but if you follow media news, you may already know) and more work stuff after an hour conversation with my boss. Managed to grab Boston Market for dinner though, so not too terrible. But I succumbed to the sweet lull of the Sonic apple-cherry slush. At least it wasn’t a large…and hey, there’s vitamin C! Yea. Right. I believe Satan took my order.

As you guessed it. No apartment gym. Instead got home around 10-ish, grabbed a beer and started checking work email. But the good news is I’m pretty sore from yesterday’s workout  so I’m still attempting to keep up the motivation. Here’s to tomorrow. Already slacking. Damn you Satan.

Day one at the apartment gym

So the new apartment has a gym. And not any kind of apartment gym that may as well be a closet with some equipment in it. You can actually breathe in this one. And there’s a great view of all the foliage and the creek surrounding the complex. I have to say all of this makes life a little easier working out.

Prior to this gym, I was working out at Curves. Yes, as you may have stereotypically pegged — Curves is really more for the mature ladies. I used to think this was just a stigma that was attached to Curves by the naysayers of their 30-minute circuit approach. But I think I was the only under 40 chick there and the only one that wasn’t a school teacher. And even though they tell you that 30-minute circuit is as good as a REAL gym, I think they are wrong. I never felt like I really pushed it like I would at a regular gym.

Plus one thing all Curves around here share is crazy hours not fit for chick that has no real set 9 to 5 schedule. The hours are only fit for who my father says are “respectable women.” Don’t misunderstand. He’s not saying I’m not respectable (well I don’t care if I’m not, hahaha) but that mainly that’s the whole angle of the Curves franchise. The hours are pretty much for housewives, teachers, secretaries and veterinarians. Anyway, I’ll miss those ladies and their crazy neighborhood gossip

Other than fighting off a spider hanging from the lat machine, the workout went well and I’m sure the thighs will be sore in the morning. I like the burn. And I have to add that all of this is either ironic or appropriate after going on about the food at the fair earlier today.

Bitch, please…

I’m not offended by this word. Hell there is even a magazine named bitch.

When I was in high school, I proudly displayed a sticker on my rear window which read Super Bitch with the Superman “S” in the middle.

I will admit it took me a while to take the word in a warm embrace and one day I just said, “alright—when someone says this to me, it’s always when I’m defending myself or when I’ve gone against the grain.” And then I just decided to wear it like a black dress instead of a chip on my shoulder.

But here we go again with a “celebrity” getting in trouble for name-calling. However this time it’s different. This time we are told that it’s OK to call a black chick a bitch if you are a black male but it’s not OK to do it when you are a white guy. Who said this wonderful tidbit? Mr. Isiah Thomas, New York Knicks coach and president. Read what the fuss is about.

For one thing. Like I said. I don’t care about this word. Even if some guy (or girl for that matter) calls me it when I’ve pissed him or her off. However to be told that it all comes down to race on whether or not it’s OK is just crazy. Because by dissecting it down like that, you are telling me that black people can degrade their own but not let the white folks do it.

I would have preferred if he just fessed up to the word just being derogatory, period. And that he was wrong for saying it. Not announce that because this word is so offensive it can only be used by blacks. What are you trying to tell me then? Blacks can be uncouth all they want but whites have to just sit back and use another word more appropriate for their skin? Bitch is bitch in any race or culture. And does Mr. Thomas realize that his statement just makes us [black folks] look foolish?

Race should give the “privilege” of using words that hurt people? Again, if Thomas were to have said, Don’t forget, you f——— bitch, I’m the president of this f——— team,” to me, I would have laughed in his face. The word bitch isn’t harsh enough to shake my spirit but that’s just me. However Thomas’ alleged following statement, “What the f— is your job? What are your job responsibilities, you f——— ho?” would have got him BITCH-slapped because:

A.) The egotist has just questioned my job ability. A big no-no if you know me. I’m a goal-hungry vixen and he would have regretted the moment he said that.

B.) Bitch I’ll answer to; “ho” will get you a loss of your scrotum.

Some ladies may not agree with me saying that bitch isn’t that big of a deal. Even the intent behind it. I just don’t care. But Thomas is a damn fool to think it’s OK to say it only if you are black.