Long Story Short

Why do people say that? They never really mean it, and they only ever say it after they've told the long story.

Hey! You just wasted another three words of my life to preface a summary of a story you just told me in whole! Stop now!

Defining Destiny

Oh, NPR.

Today's Morning Edition had a segment about a double agent, but the author of the book--yeah, yeah, yeah, a real blogger would find out who that person is and what the book was, but that's not the point, so I'm not doing the research--said we have this concept of America's destiny for greatness, when really we could have gone either way. To which I say, isn't that what destiny is? That we could have gone any of a dozen different ways, that things could have and perhaps according to history should have happened differently but didn't? Reaching our current state of being despite a multitude of other options seems to define destiny to me: we're still here and it doesn't make sense that we should be.

And just in case anyone's wondering, this jury's still out on destiny because of the conflicts it has with my thought on free will. But since the guy brought it up....Personally, I choose to believe that we would not be given a destiny in which some people have ten homes while others have none. I like to believe that's the result of human machination, and not the work of a divine power.

Role-model Writers

I mean, let's give Roethlisberger credit. At least he wasn't packing a firearm like so many of his athletic brethren do when they are out taking the air these evenings.

That’s Frank Deford’s response to Roethlisberger’s suspension as a result of his alleged sexual assault. Now, I agree with most of the rest of the article—athletes shouldn’t be held to a higher standard than anyone else simply because they’re famous and talented, any more than we should excuse their foul behavior for the same reason. They’re people, and they run the gamut of human frailty and strength in each league, from curling to cricket and football to football. If the public doesn’t like the behavior of its premier athletes, it needs to vote with its wallet (which, I suspect, is exactly what Goodell was hoping to avoid by suspending the quarterback; reputation is everything in sales, and Roethlisberger—or any QB, really—is the face of the team and therefore of the league. A face with “Schmuck” practically tattooed on the forehead).

No, my argument with Deford has nothing to do with his logic, and everything to do with his thoughtlessness. At least he wasn’t packing a firearm. So, comparatively, sexual assault, in which you hurt someone else, is less harmful than, say, carrying a weapon and shooting yourself? We can give him credit because the only protection he had were two bodyguards, and his only potential weapon was his own 240-lb frame? Just how much more do you need to be a threat to the average 5’ 4”, 125lb—145lb 20-yr old college girl? A hundred pounds of muscle and a Glock would have made it less fair in the assailant/victim ratio?

I’m not saying he did it, though she did have to be treated at the hospital, and he did apologize, which implies guilt if not crime. I’m not saying she wasn’t drunk out of her mind, though that’s no excuse for poor behavior on either side. I am questioning that we’re supposed to give him credit because the stupidest thing he did was look at a female who was obviously intoxicated beyond the ability to consent, something college freshmen are briefed to avoid like plague (even if they don’t), and still took advantage of her, because he’s BR the Badass.

If nothing else, that’s on the same level of stupid as those who are packing, unless he was smarter than the guntoters because he picked an activity and a victim that he knew wouldn’t hold up in a criminal investigation. Unless we’re supposed to credit him for being smart enough to pick a crime with grey areas, rather than a clearcut illegally-concealed firearms charge. Give him credit because he’s a smart thug. I don’t think either of those is what Deford wants to say, but that’s certainly how it reads, and I’m not the only one who got that impression.

I know Deford’s a better writer than to miss that, but he seems to have become so caught up in his own wordplay that he gave readers ammunition to call him a rape apologist. If he wants people to pay attention to the point, he needs to pay attention to the words he’s using, or he risks becoming the wrong kind of role model for writers, commenters, and journalists. Unfortunately, we already have enough of that sort.

Warning: Poem Post

Delta
A careful plan, a flawless thought,
all executed to the letter,
or was it merely a stroke of luck
that made it something better?

we cling like bats to our forms and unforms
and leap from them at will to sound the night
looking for new love, for ways to write it
without the words

heart
love
I
you

our stomachs churn at the overdone simply
for its chew, a rare steak ruined, a corked
wine run sour and poured for the masses
we search for love in viscera, to write it

with the ink of bodies or to pull from it
some essential universality, an alchemy of
mundane experience become shard divinity
the purest love

the purest love in poetry is not found in
words or couplets, not rhyme or meter
attempting a heartbeat
we fail because we do not write for love

and we do not write in love; we lose
because our poetry is the object of
the wrong proposition—we write
of love

I delighted in a question: why did the road
bend there? And my love, who posed
the question, who wondered at the curving
highrise nesting on a delta between boulevards

caught my answer in a butterfly net of end-
rhymed quatrains and pinned it to a page,
giving me a love poem that spoke nothing of love,
but in it, sang it in the delta between lines

my love found the universal in a poem of
question marks and urban planning,
a butterfly garden for the bat poet hungry
no more for words of love

After a Long Short Weekend

Ok, first? See The Blind Side. I was not keen on yet another feel-good sports movie, I was cheesed that Sandra Bullock beat Meryl Streep for Best Actress, and the only real reason I was up for it is because Jeremiah has been jonesing to see it since the Oscars. He downloaded it, and it was amazing. A. Maze. Ing. I kid you not, I cried like a snotmonster, and laughed really loudly. It was a good movie. That's it. Just a good movie with great acting and a great plot. No huge effects. 1 big-name actor. No preaching. It was just well written, well acted, well shot--it was the whole package. It was great. I want to share it with everyone, and it's just ten times better that it's not preachy--it's someone doing something good (in real life) without trying to make you the viewer feel horrible because you've never done something like that (unlike, say, Avatar, which seemed to want to make me feel horrible for living on once-native lands, using energy, drinking lattes, and not using a vehicle with a soul. People, Squishy barely has air bags--a soul would be pushing it. Avatar also made me somewhat queasy, and we didn't even see it in the ultrasuperamazing 3-D, just the straightup, savetheextrafourdollars 3-D.)

Second, great weekend. Two DQ Blizzards (my first) in one weekend, a ridiculous chili cheesedog, two great movies (The Blind Side and Finding Forrester, also a first and every MFA's fantasy), a marriage aptitude test, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Oh, wait--you noticed that bit? About the aptitude test? Hmm. Well, alright. See, I'm Catholic. J's about as notCatholic as you can get without being antiCatholic (read: he is at once completely skeptical of the Church and wholly supportive of my participation in it). Because I am religious and he is not, we are getting married in a Catholic church, because otherwise no living together. Awkward for a married couple.

One of the first things to do when getting married in the Catholic Church is to talk to your priest like, ten seconds after the proposal and acceptance. We, of course, spoke to the priest after reserving the church, reception hall, catering, and cleanup crew. In our defense, though, we tried to talk to the priest first. That's not the point, though. The point is you talk to the priest so he knows where you are in your relationship and a learns a little bit about you. If one of you isn't Catholic, he'll ask about your religion, how you want to work your traditions into the ceremony, and all that good stuff. Then he signs you up for the test.

Now first, let me tell you that the whole point is, as I've said in previous posts, to make sure that both parties understand that they're in this for a marriage, not just shooting for a wedding. The Church, because it doesn't really believe in divorce at all, wants to make sure that you're in it for the long haul (read: no prenups, no backup wives in other states, no 'trying it out to see how it works,' no just getting married so the baby has Dad's last name and then a quick divorce after). So each diocese has guidelines for marriage preparation. In some dioceses, it's a weekend of talking. In ours, it's about 6 months of conversation with a couple that's been married for a long time (1 convo a month), a couple of talks with the priest, and some recommendations for a retreat and a family planning class. Easy. Oh, and the test.

The test did not go over well. Goal of the test: to ask some general questions, scope out where each partner is on some big topics, and give the mentor couple a place to start the conversations. Example: If I want a dozen kids, and write that "we" want a dozen kids while Jeremiah marks "strongly disagree" on the "We plan to have children" question, that's problematic for starting a life together. If I, being way Catholic and planning to raise my kids Catholic, have not mentioned to Jeremiah that I'll be taking the kids to church, and we haven't even talked about religion--we just ignore it because talking about it would start a fight--we're probably not ready to get married just yet. That kind of thing. It's not a pass/fail, just a "where are you on the spectrum" thing.

That was all fine. No, the problem with the test was not that it was pass/fail, or it cost money (because if you can't afford it the Church will pay), or that it was none of their business. The problem was that the questions were yes/no questions and the answer options were spectral. E.g., "I wish my partner would participate in more faith activities with me." The answer is either yes, or it is no--I don't strongly wish, or strongly unwish--I either do, or I don't. Neutral is don't. So we're taking the test, not talking to each other because we're trying not to skew the results, and every now and then I see this little eruption at the computer desk--Jeremiah's logic rage. "THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! THE PHRASING IS STUPID!"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the two of us fit. I am perfectly fine with the test because it doesn't have to be perfect if it has good intent and potential good outcome. Jeremiah can't stand it because its lack of attention to reason obscures its finer points. (Together, we should have children who appreciate both logic and intuition.) Completely opposite reactions, which spurred a conversation, which led to ice creams, which led to a movie and snuggle time. I think the test probably did exactly what it was supposed to do...it got us talking.

Stockholming: Week 3

So I think I'm going to pull a TJ and Stockholm once a week, for a couple of reasons. 1) Internet access. I don't want to be staying after work to borrow the internet three days a week. 2) Clothes. I'm running out of them. 3) Picture quality. It's kind of poo. and 4) I want to be able to spend time checking out other people's Stockholming progress, but can't commit that kind of time every day. SO here's Day 14, Week 3. The hair's a bit poufy, but you can see the reason I'm wearing an ivory wedding gown and not a white one, right? No. You can't see it, because the white tank under the jacket blends into my skin. I thought about tucking the shirt, but then I'd look naked, and we've already talked about naked Stockholming, haven't we? /Shudder.

Now: off to the gym. 13lbs down, and 15 more to go before I start trying on wedding gowns.

Cloud Nine

Yeah, it's where I live today. Why? Because I have three documents and a deadline, and am looking at a late night. That may not sound like much, but I thrive on a deadline. The quality of the work is the same whether I spread it out or cram it up (give or take...and depending on who assigns the deadline...) but the main thing is that I have three documents and carte blanche to improve the docs as I see fit. This--this is what I live for, professionally. I'll manage meetings. I'll take notes. I'll incorporate other people's comments. I'll rearrange files. But when someone tells me to take this doc and make it better, without telling me how to do it (because really, if they knew how, why would they be talking to me?)...Let us just say that I don't mind working through lunch for that. My concept of job satisfaction is one word: control.

Stockholming: Days 11 (left) and 12 (right)


I was planning to post yesterday, but I kind of felt that my head was about to explode, and then J and I had a misunderstanding (trying to be too polite to each other...it was pretty ridiculous) so it was 10 before we finished dinner, and yesterday just didn't happen. Let me say, though, that I'm feeling pretty good about the changes I'm affecting. Notice the smiles in the pictures?





Hmmm. No. You can only see one picture, because I still can't get the lighting right in the full-length mirror. Monkeys. Well, there's a smile in each one, and it's a real smile, not a "I'm takin' a picture" smile, because I'm happy with both the bod and the outfit. I could pick each one apart--I'm actually starting to do it in my head--but mostly I'm just thinking how much I like the pencil skirt in Day 11 (Old Navy, best thing ever...I may need about 5 more in varying shades of dark-wash denim) and how much narrower I'm starting to look in the waistal region in Day 12 (either by real work, dehydration, posing, or clever clothing selection. I'm not picky; I'll take whichever one I can get). Next steps: believing that J doesn't actually want to run screaming when I'm all tired and sweat-panted, which he cleverly masks with smiles and marriage proposals. Shifty man.

Sick

I'm not feeling too hot, and despite my best attempts to call it allergies, the pollen count and air quality in Anchorage are both fine, so it's a cold. What you see here is the result of me taking more drugs than I should have to stop the coughing and oversleeping, even though Jeremiah called multiple times to wake me up. I just needed the sleep, I guess.

I promise that the hair looks better in person, but the sweater...It's one of my faves, and the color is great, but I'm afraid that the ribbing along the lower hem is tightening it around the hips. Tied under breasts + tight around hips = highlighting spare tire. Yep. Methinks it's time for this to go. I just wish you could see the fun copper ballet flats that all the men in my life think are really slippers but that you and I know are fun and easy shoes, good substitutes for Danskos, even (not as foot healthy, but much cheaper).

The "Say Yes" Chronicles

This morning, I was watching Say Yes to the Dress and one of the brides was looking at her options for her dress, since her fiance cancelled the wedding. It was so sad, but what just blew me away is that she kept the dress, because her family had deposited $6,000 of the $11,000 cost of the dress, and it was too late to get the deposit back.


Now, I guess I can understand not wanting to lose the deposit. And I also know that you're planning for forever--you don't hold back on what you're spending because the wedding might not happen; you do that, and you're hedging your bets, which just isn't the way to enter a marriage. At the same time, though, I have to wonder why her fiance called it off. Part of me wants to say because she spent $11K on the dress, and goodness-knows how much on the rest.


With all of these shows--the Say Yeses and the Platinum Weddings and Bridezillas--we as a society have decided that the wedding is almost as important as the marriage, and I don't blame people for freaking out. If you're spending $25K, or half of your annual salary, on a wedding, then sure--you want everything to be perfect, because that's an awfully big investment in a day. And that's what we're forgetting: the wedding is a DAY. One 24-hour period. And yet women drive their friends insane over it. The become their own evil twins over it. And an entire industry has sprung up over this pursuit of the perfect wedding, as though having the perfect wedding will guarantee the perfect marriage.


How many people spend the same kind of effort planning their marriage as they do planning their wedding? How much better could married life be if they did? If, say, instead of spending three hours harping over seating arrangements with the in-laws, you spend that three hours getting to know the in-laws, and screw the seating chart? If instead of freaking out about your friends' impressions of your wedding, you concern yourself with how to get your friends involved, so that you can start to create that group of "our friends" from "his" and "my" friends? If instead of racking up debt for the wedding you pay off debt for the marriage? What is wrong with that?


Why is it that when I say I don't want to spend more than $500 on a dress, and I'd like to get more than one wear out of it, half of my female friends act as though I am insane? I hear some women comparing the size of their engagement rings, and the cost, and I have to shake my head. I don't even want to know. I don't want a number attached to that ring, and the size of the rock is not representative of how loved I am. There's no rock big enough for that. The only thing that ring says to anyone is that someone loves me enough to ask me to hang out with him every day for the rest of his life, and I love him enough to say "I'd love to." Too often, I think, we spend more time convince other people how much we love our spouse/spouse-to-be, and not enough time letting him/her know, and I guess that's how I see the whole ballooning wedding thing.


So back to the Say Yes. The bride was completely surprised; didn't see it coming when her fiance cancelled. And maybe it wasn't the dress. Maybe it wasn't the cost. Maybe it was completely different, and maybe she just didn't want to share with the camera. But I can't imagine that it came out of nowhere, unless she had such wedding blinders on that she forgot to see the man she was about to marry and make sure he was still right there with her. I can't help but think that maybe she saw some things going wrong, but her investment trumped her worry that this wasn't right for either of them. Wonder if maybe he saw that she was all about the wedding, and he was all about the marriage, and that just wasn't good enough. I know it wouldn't satisfy me.

Stockholming: Day 9


I'll attempt to post a full-length pic tomorrow, but this is the best I can do today. It was one of those "I'll wear X. Wait--is that a stain? A stain right in the front of the shirt? A stain that I would not have seen without this strange and helpful project?" So, thank-you, TJ and the Stockholming team. You have saved me from a day of walking around with a Rorschach stain front and center on my shirt. Binned!


Right: new bathroom at other office. Much better mirror.

Potty Talk

Good evening, ladies and gent, and welcome back to the bathroom at work. Usually you only see this in the background for my Stockholming pictures,and I got a couple of weird looks from one of the other ladies when she saw me sneaking my phone back into my pocket, but I have been pondering something in that bathroom for months now, and it must be resolved.

On the left, we have the automatic towel dispenser. It has a shifty little laser eye, and likes to dispense my 5.5" by 8" paper towel as I walk into the bathroom to my customary second stall (despite having read articles that tell me the first stall is the cleanest, I still can't bring myself to make the full 180-degree turn just inside the door. I also can't park left. I happen to be angularly challenged, and I don't think I'm the only one). On the right, the soap dispenser and faucet.

Now, I enter the restroom, greeted by the winking laser and subtle grrr of the paper towel dispenser. To the second stall. Do my thinking. Flush. Flush again, because unfortunately the second stall, albeit my favorite, has a weak flush, and I hate leaving any evidence of the fact that I use the bathroom. Exit stall. Wave hand frantically under the soap dispenser. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. AHA! The second I remove my hand from the line of soap fire, there's a puddle of foam in the sink. I have to scoop it up off the sink, and then stand there, waving my hands under the sink. Nothing. Nothing. Why? Because it's manual, not automatic. It's the only thing in the bathroom (aside from the flush) that's manual. I don't get it. You're gonna ration everything else, so why not ration the water? Or at the least not bookend the only manual thing with two automatics? Gimme all or nothing. This is just messing with my mind.

Stockholm, Day 8.

I really have to figure out what's going on with that full-length mirror, because this no work. Anyone know how to remove a mirror that appears to share its molecular structure with the door?

Below; the new hair. It clearly makes me happy. Either that or it's the shiny thing on my left hand. One or the other is making me smile. In the bathroom. Right before my coworker walked in. Gah!

Race to the Top

Education Secretary Arnie Duncan just said that the vast majority of funding (80-90%) of education funding is and should be local, because control of education should be local. How do you say that when the federal government sets the rules? And since when is it okay to hold supplemental funding up as some sort of carrot? "Do it our way and we'll give you the money to do it." Does it matter that if the schools were given the funding they could, in many cases, make their current programs successful? And what happens to these radical changes, these pioneering programs, when the federal money they just won runs out, and the local economy has to support the program? The only reason many school districts are going for the federal mandate is because they need the money. We are encouraging our school districts to subscribe to whatever methodology is popular and funded, rather than looking at building sustainable, local funding programs that allow schools to use educational best practices instead of politically-popular quick fixes that are the education equivalent of the grapefruit diet?

More importantly: you cannot incentivize academic success when that's only half of what particularly primary school teachers are teaching. You can link academic success to teacher pay when the teacher stops having to teach social and personal skills. Sometimes, no, a child may not be reading at grade level, but if he came in hitting and leaves able to interact with his peers, that's success. Alternately, if a teacher is having to teach social skills and reading, start paying them for the social work, too.

Discuss.

Sample Vultures

Today was Costco day. Dorked around for the morning, then menu and shopping lists according to store (Fred Meyer vs. Costco, based on the "can you store 25lbs" principle). All things going well. Untile we arrived at le Csotco.

Now, Jeremiah and I made a deal: no pizza, no samples, no froyo. Big breakfast, no snacks. I thought it was pretty dedicated, because we even had a snack before we went. No, the problem today was not me--it was everyone else. It was the Sample Vultures. You know them--you might even be one of them. They're the ones that practically hear the food reach its doneness just before the microwave buzzes. Disturbance in the force! Free food! I will not be forced to wait for the next batch. I will park my three-ton dolly or my two-ton cart right here. Right in the aisle. Now, not only will the other vultures have to deal with me, but so will you, Miss Foolish Weekend Shopper, because here at Costco on a Sunday, it's all about the snacks.

Yeah. Yeah. You know who you are. And I have news for you. I just keyed your cart, and set your effigy on fire in my head. Get Out. The. Way.

Day 7: Feeling pretty good. The new cut looks way cooler in person--the back's all spikey, and the front has much more texture than it appears to have in the pic. But the hoodie's way comfortable, and the jeans are in day 3 of wear, by which I mean "perfect." And yes. These are borrowed socks.

R&R

Today was the first Saturday in quite some time that I didn't have to be anywhere at any specific time. Well, other than to book the wedding reception venue (Eagle River Lions Club, for those who might be coming). It was amazing. We had coffee, signed the paperwork, then had breakfast burritos, and headed off to Thunderbird Falls. We walked a mile in the snow back to the falls, and talked, and drove to Eklutna Lake, and then out to Palmer. Another coffee at Vagabond Blues, and a shopping rampage at the bookstore out there. It was marvelous.

The best part, though, was when I decided that I needed another haircut. Yeah, I just got it cut on Thursday, but the last two days I haven't been able to style it the way it was when I left Metroasis. I received a bunch of compliments, and the cut was great, but it was one of those things where I was getting my attempt at long hair cut off (I like the idea of long hair, but it bores me when it's on me...looks lovely on other people, but I only like my long hair when it's worn up, so might as well cut it off) I wussed out and had her keep it longer than I really wanted.

ANYWAY, having received a great cut, and the fault being mine, I couldn't very well go back for a redo. It's embarrassing. So while we were out in Palmer (for the nonAlaskans, that about 40ish miles from Anchorage), I spotted a shop and though, I can get it cut now. But Jeremiah was waiting on me, so I didn't. Until I mentioned it to Jeremiah, who said he'd take a nap in the car so I could get the cut. Who does that? He does. All the time. Today was a great day, just because we spent most of it together, and it was wonderful. We split up for a couple of hours to do errands, and that was good. Then home for dinner (he bought BBQ so I wouldn't have to cook. And because he was about to eat a wildebeest if he didn't have something.) and a movie, and now he's slaying dragons while I address save-the-date cards and investigate doctoring a boxed cake mix for use as wedding cupcakes. I cherish this little slice of domestic tranquility. It should be boring--it's Saturday night and we're in our after-work uniforms watching a movie and messing on the compies--but instead of being bored, I'm at peace. And I get to enjoy this for the rest of my life. How blessed am I?

Stockholming, Day 6: pre-cut, and yes, I went to Notre Dame. Twice.

My first full-length photo! The face is because Jeremiah decided to mess with my phone instead of taking a proper picture, but then again, he took the picture for me. Score one for the man!

Stockholming: Day Five

As J mentioned when he outed me yesterday, there is a hidden full-length mirror on the back of his closet. After coming over here for nearly a year, I probably should know that, but I didn't. It looks likes the silver in the mirror is tarnishing, possibly along the lines of the adhesive that has cemented it to the closet door. So, I have to ask--full length, or clear picture?

Methinks the vest isn't doing anything for me, though I am digging the hair cut. Aw, crap. I just had an epiphany: I'm taking daily pictures of not just me, but of my wardrobe. I, and the rest of the world, will get to see how often I wear what and exactly what it looks like. On the other hand, I am trying to thin out my wardrobe for the eventual shared closet, so maybe the timing is perfect. I can have those "Ugh, that looks like ass! I will wear it to work this one time and then give it away" moments now, instead of packing everything up and then discovering that not only does the outfit look bad, but that I spent time and money moving it instead of replacing it. Hmmm.

Right, have to go to work. Hope everyone's having a great Friday--I'll cruise the other participants in a few.

Stockholming: Day Four

There is something seriously wrong with me this morning--I'm taking a picture in the morning, and posting before I go to work instead of at work. Actually, the fact that I am takign pictures of myself routinely makes me think I'm a little sick. I hate pictures of me. Don't get me wrong, I spend all kinds of time in front of the mirror, but to have it caught forever in digital celluloid...that's just weird for me. I don't J take any pictures of me, and make him delete the ones that he does take. Though in my defense, those pictures tend to be rear views when I'm bending over. Who does that? Oh, right--every man that loves a woman and thinks she'll find it funny. Just because I did, though, doesn't mean it gets to stay there. Those memory chips are HUGE. Someday he'll loan it to someone, they'll look for pics they can delete, and there will be my ass. I think not.


Anyway: the reveal.


Welcome to the guest bath. I wiped down the mirror immediately after seeing this picture. I am also standing on a step stool in the picture--closer and closer to full length. I may get there eventually.


I'm writing this as I finish watching What Not to Wear and much as I love the show, occassionally I just have to disagree. I am not going to go out and purchase loung wear for the house when my sweats work perfectly well. No one--seriously, no one except the most meagerly-busted women--looks good bra-less in a tank dress. You're just out there, and we all know it and ignore it. And you small-breasted women that we envy who can do it? You should still wear something under a white dress. Just think it through. And if someone is outdoorsy? Don't chuck all their hiking clothes. Those probably cost more at REI than the faux couture they're in now.


Oh, yeah--AND STOP PRETENDING THAT YOU'RE THERAPISTS. There's a lot to be said about the connection between clothing and self image (thence the show and the Stockholming), but stop trying to dissect these people on the show. Sometimes it's not style or mental obstacle: it's money. Most of us cannot spend $75 on a skirt and then another $30 on alterations, especially now when so many people need to spend $25 on jeans and their remaining $80 on rent, or gas, or food. No matter how good the new clothes would make us feel, having something good to eat or somewhere safe to live is, for most, a greater concern than whether our pants fit or we have the proper neckline.


Right. Now to work.

Stockholming, Days 2 and 3

So the greatest barrier to this project is the lack of internets. At my house, anyway. Here's how I'm going to handle it: photo every day. I look at it. I post it as soon as I get to the internet (probably on a lunch break). While it seems clumpy to the reader, the experiment still works because I am still looking at an honest picture of myself every day. So there.

Day 2: Attempt 1.

I was at J's house and thought aha! I can get a real full-lenth pic from the bed. Then I realized the ceiling fan was still on, so I turned it off but may have forgotten that it still kind of swings lazily around anyway. Not comfy. Also not too clear...let's not do that again.

I also hope that you'll forgive the formatting wonkiness of the blog--in case you haven't noticed, I don't spend too much time blogging these days so I don't have the technical expertise that others do.

Day 2: Attempt 2

Better, in J's master bath. I'm working on the whole "clean the bathroom and stop looking scared or elsewhere in the picture" thing, but the whole is a work in progress. I wold also like to justify the loobrary (Anita Blake novel; perfect bathroom reading) because it is the master bath. Someone would have to walk through the closet to get there so, having got there, they should just be lucky there's no toys, pore strips, or lingerie drying in the bathtub.

Day 3

And we're back in the bathroom at work. Camera's out of the way, but yeah. The "from the side" angle could be better. It's one of those outfits that looks great when I stand up straight, suck it in, and don't move. I wonder if BP needs a statue for the day...

By the way, this project is amazing but I am so glad that everyone's doing it fully covered up. I was in the gym locker room this morning when suddenly I was flashed by two 20-something nakeds and a couple of 60-something nakeds. I was stunned, because most of the time the morning crowd comprises dedicated towel shrouders, of which I am one. The afternoon, not so much, but precoffee naked strangers...HELLO! I try not to stare, I really do, but it happens anyway, because I have been comparing myself to other clothed women forever, and I both envy and hate other people's ability to be completely, unabashadly naked. It means they don't stare and they don't compare, and I am jealous. My next though: glad I don't see that on the Stockholming project. So thanks everyone.

Stockholming Myself, Day 1

I've been gone a long time, o loyal reader. Part of that is the bevy of social networking sites with blog-style functions, which--when combined with my tendency to dive right into the latest fad communication style--proved deadly to the actual blog-blog.

A briefing on the happenings since my last entry (on 2/27/2008. Good Lord.):

• Got MySpace. Tried to copy posts. Didn't work.
• Kept working at BP/HDR.
• Ditched MySpace when MafiaWars got boring and sexual solicitation became routine. Who knew that could happen?
• Returned to Facebook and started playing Farmville. Somewhere in there fell into and out of infatuation, investigated becoming a nun, slapped in the face by God to stop that silliness.
• Started seeing the love of my life (LoL). Four months later he started dating me, too. Mutually agreed upon anniversary: May 3. Celebrated our anniversary this past weekend. Don't ask--it was touching. Also, the food at Jen's is incredible--best creme brulee in the Anchorage Bowl, at least until I discover a better one.
• Kept working at BP/HDR.
• Birth of goddaughter. She is way cooler than anyone else’s godchild, including yours. Sorry, but it’s true.
• Gave up my internet to save money and prevent self from being consumed by Farmville. Sidebar: Why do people insist on giving you non-producing gifts? Why would I want a decorative gnome when I could get a fig tree? C'mon, people.
• Gave up Farmville, even at LoL's condo, because it was consuming me anyway.
• Ceded the battle and move to one space after periods, especially in fully-justified text.
• Got engaged. Total surprise. Wedding in 9.5 months and counting.
• Still working at BP/HDR. Assignment was originally for August to October 2007. Still going strong two and a half years later.
• Returned to childhood habit of eating sweet peas out of the can. Don't be jealous just because I've thrown off the stifling robe of good health and propriety, and chosen canned over frozen. If you'd stop letting Alton Brown rule your life, you could do it to. Alton, if you read this--you and I must disagree on this one small thing; while on most you are correct, canned peas are now and will remain good eats.
• Moving out of apartment by the creek to live in house with friend. Benefits: sort stuff now, rather than just before the wedding; live with friend, possibly 2; not have to worry about groceries going bad if not home for a couple of days; save about half on rent.
• Working out 3-4 times a week, and trying to eat better.
• Started Stockholming myself. Today.

So, Stockholming. It’s a genius concept generated by one Temerity Jane, operating on the idea that the more you see yourself as you are, the more you will like the you that you are right now, not the one that you will be if you lose weight/dye hair/get nosejob/grow ten inches. It’s not about weight loss, exercise, or any other goal other than knowing yourself and liking that self, physically. I like it, so I’m rolling with it. I gotta be honest, though—I will probably talk about weight loss, since my own goal is to be significantly lighter than I am now. But I’m hoping that if the Stockholming works, I’ll be able to take compliments better, rather than turning “You look great” into “Thanks; my butt looks enormous, though,” as though the speaker didn’t notice the size of the butt and if they had they would never have paid the compliment.




You kind of have to accept a couple of things.

1) I do not have a full-length mirror, so it'll be as full length as possible.

2) I will forget to do it, so I'm thinking weekly.

3) I will sometimes forget to do it at home; welcome to the inside of the bathroom at work.

One think I do like about this one, though, is that Stacey and Clinton would totally support my jacket, which draws attention to the thinnest part of my bod: right under the bust. On the other hand, I really need to do something else with the hair because--short though it may seem to everyone else--this hair has no character when it's this long.