At Zumba class tonight, 4 kids showed up a bit after it began, and stood in the back of the room. One was little, 7 or 8, with her older sister, maybe 14. They were tapping their toes. The teacher invited them in to be in the ballroom with us.
The older sister seemed to have a very sweet boy with her, who was crushing on her enough to dance Zumba with us! And the 4th one - maybe 13?, maybe 14? hard to say with boys that age - sat in the back, in the lone chair in the ballroom. Which is right behind the computer where the music is played from.
He watched, he laughed when we tried to get him come dance. I admit, my inner control freak wanted to give them the boot - what if they got hurt and hadn't signed a waiver? What about how they didn't pay, which is a loss to our amazing teacher? But I let the part of me win who respects authority - and I let the teacher, or more senior folks in the class, make the decision.
They left as we did our cool-down stretches.
I got a round of high-five's from my classmates on the 15-pound weight loss I'm now up to, combining Weight Watchers and Zumba.
And then I walked out, and picked up a water bottle that had fallen on the ground.
And another woman picked up a wallet that had fallen on the ground. She flipped it open, "Whose is this?"
And I looked at the ID. "That's R's. That's our teacher's wallet."
Sure enough, the kid in the back kept his eyes on us while he fished out her wallet and stole $20. He left her ID, her credit cards, her health insurance card - which is pretty important for a cancer survivor turned Zumba instructor.
I am enraged. This foments distrust in my neighborhood. This foments fear of teenagers, roamin' around in packs like they do. This encourages a really nice teacher, who was embracing the experience of letting some kids come dance with us - one of whom could certainly benefit from a good cardio class even at a young age, as she was rather heavy, and see that working out can be fun - to become hardened and wary.
Look, I don't care if he needed the money (and I don't believe for a second he did). I don't care if he has parents at home who ignore him or no parents at all. I don't care if he is teased for being a slow reader, a bad football player or too feminine. He came into our little fun workout world and stole money. And for the cost of $20, he sent home a room full of women with negative feelings, increased distrust and a reminder to not be kind, open, loving, or soft with the rules once in a goddamn while.
And don't you dare tell me our teacher could have made a better decision and not let them in, or made them sign their names, or not let him sit in the chair. She could have. But that comes awfully, awfully close to victim-blaming. And to use a more typical victim-blaming line: a short skirt did not a rape create. This kid stole. End of story.
So tell me. How do I heal that hurt? Sure, we students could pay our teacher back - but that's not the real loss, that's not her real pain, and if I come across that kid in my neighborhood, he better be fucking ready.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A first time for everything.
I am a person who wears her hair in a ponytail, or bun, or sloppy bun, every day. Every. Day. On my wedding day I did not; on M.A.'s 30th birthday I did not. If requested for an event, I will straighten and wear it down. I will then take a lot, a lot, a LOT of photos on these occasions, to trick you - and everyone on Facebook - into thinking I wear it down regularly.
Part two of this story: I am trying to live more in tune with my intuition. On items big and small, I'm trying to stop and check in with the soul, the spirit, the perfect little human voice inside me (that we all have), and hear what it is I should do next. Do I sense someone is in a bad mood and I should leave my question until after lunch? Done. Should I watch this documentary rather than read ten more New York Times articles, and allow some comfort and cuddle in my life, rather that sitting at a screen for even more hours? Done.
Or this week... should I go get my hair cut? On the way home from work? On a whim? Without worrying it to death for weeks? Perhaps at a walk-in salon on the way home, on this fine sunny Tuesday? I think I should. I think today is the day that I explain what I find so challenging about my hair, and explain that I wear it up everyday because I get too hot and sweaty, and because it gets too triangle-y and poufy, and then trust a professional to cut it as they wish. Let a little control go.
And guess what? I have worn my hair down, with the new cut, for two days IN A ROW. And I mean: all day. From leaving the house before 8 AM all the way until bedtime - through work, through cooking, through driving with the windows down. This, my friends, is a good haircut. Quite possibly my first one.
And no, I can't post a picture now; it is currently post-Zumba-workout hair and won't do justice to Ellie at Bishops salon on Alberta. Who was unknowingly a wonderful part of my let-it-go-and-let-intuition-guide-the-day day.
Part two of this story: I am trying to live more in tune with my intuition. On items big and small, I'm trying to stop and check in with the soul, the spirit, the perfect little human voice inside me (that we all have), and hear what it is I should do next. Do I sense someone is in a bad mood and I should leave my question until after lunch? Done. Should I watch this documentary rather than read ten more New York Times articles, and allow some comfort and cuddle in my life, rather that sitting at a screen for even more hours? Done.
Or this week... should I go get my hair cut? On the way home from work? On a whim? Without worrying it to death for weeks? Perhaps at a walk-in salon on the way home, on this fine sunny Tuesday? I think I should. I think today is the day that I explain what I find so challenging about my hair, and explain that I wear it up everyday because I get too hot and sweaty, and because it gets too triangle-y and poufy, and then trust a professional to cut it as they wish. Let a little control go.
And guess what? I have worn my hair down, with the new cut, for two days IN A ROW. And I mean: all day. From leaving the house before 8 AM all the way until bedtime - through work, through cooking, through driving with the windows down. This, my friends, is a good haircut. Quite possibly my first one.
And no, I can't post a picture now; it is currently post-Zumba-workout hair and won't do justice to Ellie at Bishops salon on Alberta. Who was unknowingly a wonderful part of my let-it-go-and-let-intuition-guide-the-day day.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Brrrrr.
Like starting up a cold car, I am chugging back to the blog with great deliberation. The slow turnover of the engine... trying to roll down the windows, which are in half-frozen slow-motion...
Yes, like any great piece of procrastination art, the hardest part is over: I'm here on The Blog Home Page. But it is too late to do more than let the engine run for a few minutes. I'll think of something especially funny or interesting on the next post! Thanks for stopping by, I'm just warming up.
Yes, like any great piece of procrastination art, the hardest part is over: I'm here on The Blog Home Page. But it is too late to do more than let the engine run for a few minutes. I'll think of something especially funny or interesting on the next post! Thanks for stopping by, I'm just warming up.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
What did you learn today?
Growing up, sometimes my parents asked that question, rather than the old standby, "How was your day?"
So what did you learn today, or this week? In the last week I have learned:
So what did you learn today, or this week? In the last week I have learned:
- A new alternator, transmission pan and unrelated flat tire cost about $426 to fix.
- You should always, ALWAYS wait until the last week of the month to re-new your car registration. Otherwise, you might do it at the start of the month, for $124, and then end up with a $426 bill on top of that just three days later, and realize, shit. This is what John means when he talks about "sunk costs" and it is just TIME to get a new(ish) car. (Especially when said car has an $1800 problem that gets worse every day and there is no WAY you're ever going to fix that!)
- Car salesmen really need to make a sale these days.
- Car salesmen now use text messaging, phone calls and emails to hound you.
- Car salesmen do not have the thick skins they say they do, and when called out on their pricing, with a better deal at another dealership, they are not happy.
- He is married to someone who wants more car than she can afford, and she has a very hard time figuring what should be compromised and what should be stuck to. She may well stick to desired color, logic be darned.
- "I learned that I hate cat people like conservatives hate socialists."
Thursday, July 21, 2011
10
What things weigh ten pounds? Well, I almost did, when I was born. I believe I was 9 pounds 8 ounces (and I am sure my mother will set me straight in the comments!).
A big bag of sugar weighs ten pounds. A bowling ball - a small one - weighs ten pounds. Some dogs and cats weigh ten pounds, and Google says a gallon of water weighs ten pounds.
But what weighs ten pounds less? Me! Less than I did on May 21st at least, the day I started Weight Watchers!
I have put off writing about the program because it has a silly name, because some days I absolutely hate it, because it has made me deeply address my relationship to food and alcohol on a daily basis (as in, how they is my daily (or thrice daily) reward to self), because John and I are doing it together, and because it sort of feels temporary. Could I stay 10 pounds down? Could I maintain this? Could I feel more positive about my body at any given moment than negative? (This is the biggest change; looking in the mirror and saying something nice to myself. It's like living on a new planet.)
My goal, for those wonderful readers who remember a post from a couple years ago (that I am too tired to find the link for, sorry!), is to lose 20 pounds. Two years ago a doctor recommended I lose 15 to 20 pounds, and I thought, gah! What? How? Eat less and exercise?! Please! Like I can do that!
It turns out, I can! After 5 pounds were gone, my clothes started to fit and feel better. And now at 10 pounds gone, some things are really too loose to wear. And so while some weeks are going better than others, it's an overall downward weight trend, so maybe I can go back to that Doogie Howser lookin' doctor in another couple months and say, look! I did it!
A big bag of sugar weighs ten pounds. A bowling ball - a small one - weighs ten pounds. Some dogs and cats weigh ten pounds, and Google says a gallon of water weighs ten pounds.
But what weighs ten pounds less? Me! Less than I did on May 21st at least, the day I started Weight Watchers!
I have put off writing about the program because it has a silly name, because some days I absolutely hate it, because it has made me deeply address my relationship to food and alcohol on a daily basis (as in, how they is my daily (or thrice daily) reward to self), because John and I are doing it together, and because it sort of feels temporary. Could I stay 10 pounds down? Could I maintain this? Could I feel more positive about my body at any given moment than negative? (This is the biggest change; looking in the mirror and saying something nice to myself. It's like living on a new planet.)
My goal, for those wonderful readers who remember a post from a couple years ago (that I am too tired to find the link for, sorry!), is to lose 20 pounds. Two years ago a doctor recommended I lose 15 to 20 pounds, and I thought, gah! What? How? Eat less and exercise?! Please! Like I can do that!
It turns out, I can! After 5 pounds were gone, my clothes started to fit and feel better. And now at 10 pounds gone, some things are really too loose to wear. And so while some weeks are going better than others, it's an overall downward weight trend, so maybe I can go back to that Doogie Howser lookin' doctor in another couple months and say, look! I did it!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Customized
I like to talk and ruminate on what I call our "customized living". If you have a perfect piece of customized living, please share in the comments!! I'm always taking new ideas.
For example, I have a Bose wave radio that I *love* in my kitchen/living room/dining room area. I listen to it morning, noon and night, mostly NPR, in lieu of TV news and entertainment. It's right there, with a remote by the couch, but I also have an On/Off/Mute remote button that is on a magnet, attached to the fridge. So when I am cooking and it gets noisy, I can turn it up. When the phone rings, I can mute it for a moment. I don't have to walk allllll the way to the remote by the couch, dripping water/grease/cake batter. This is the customized life.
Today, I realized how ridiculous this is... and I realized another one... I hate dust pans. I don't mind sweeping; it can be very satisfying. But using a dust pan? That is like 10,000 year old technology that doesn't fully work. So I've customized a hilarious and wonderful solution. I sweep all my little piles up, then put the broom away, and instead, zip past with the best-$50-I-ever-spent - also known as my Dirt Devil handheld vacuum, also known to Gen X as a Dustbuster. It lives tucked under the shit table* and my dirt piles are 100% gone! Better than a dust pan! Conveniently located! Tah-dah! Customized.
*Shit Table: A household necessity. A table that is large enough to hold mail, keys, coupons, change, sunglasses, phone chargers and a small amount of "other" items but NOT large enough to hold too much. That's the key. And, it is right by the front door, to keep counters and dining room tables clean, avoiding the dread All Horizontal Surfaces Covered in Papers & More (TM) household illness.
For example, I have a Bose wave radio that I *love* in my kitchen/living room/dining room area. I listen to it morning, noon and night, mostly NPR, in lieu of TV news and entertainment. It's right there, with a remote by the couch, but I also have an On/Off/Mute remote button that is on a magnet, attached to the fridge. So when I am cooking and it gets noisy, I can turn it up. When the phone rings, I can mute it for a moment. I don't have to walk allllll the way to the remote by the couch, dripping water/grease/cake batter. This is the customized life.
Today, I realized how ridiculous this is... and I realized another one... I hate dust pans. I don't mind sweeping; it can be very satisfying. But using a dust pan? That is like 10,000 year old technology that doesn't fully work. So I've customized a hilarious and wonderful solution. I sweep all my little piles up, then put the broom away, and instead, zip past with the best-$50-I-ever-spent - also known as my Dirt Devil handheld vacuum, also known to Gen X as a Dustbuster. It lives tucked under the shit table* and my dirt piles are 100% gone! Better than a dust pan! Conveniently located! Tah-dah! Customized.
*Shit Table: A household necessity. A table that is large enough to hold mail, keys, coupons, change, sunglasses, phone chargers and a small amount of "other" items but NOT large enough to hold too much. That's the key. And, it is right by the front door, to keep counters and dining room tables clean, avoiding the dread All Horizontal Surfaces Covered in Papers & More (TM) household illness.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Seasonal
In Portland, every restaurant serves things local, sustainable and seasonal. Even the local fast food chain! (Remind me to go get some Walla Walla onion rings, by the way...)
But sometimes, even in the middle of berries and green garlic and new fingerling potato side dishes, you want a Brussels sprout. So learn from me - it's not just the tomato in January that is awful. It is the Brussels sprout in July, too, that is all food porn: looks good but never delivers; the right color but you can't touch it without getting in trouble.
But sometimes, even in the middle of berries and green garlic and new fingerling potato side dishes, you want a Brussels sprout. So learn from me - it's not just the tomato in January that is awful. It is the Brussels sprout in July, too, that is all food porn: looks good but never delivers; the right color but you can't touch it without getting in trouble.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Re-View
Did I write recently about re-watching "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" and what a grand disappointment it was? Lesson: don't take a movie you loved when you were nine and watch it when you are twenty-nine. In all likelihood, it won't stand up.
However, what about taking a movie you loved at fourteen? It's a risk, I tell ya, but sometimes, it pays off.
In this case, Baz Luhrmann's William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet. Run out and re-watch it! Or, use Netflix streaming on whim, as I did.
It absolutely stands up - the Nurse, Mercutio and Father Lawrence (yup, renamed in this version) are especially wonderful with both Elizabethan language and modern filmmaking. It breathes life into the bawdy jokes and it still pretty hip, 15 years on.
But upon re-viewing it, you get the true added bonus -- now you know who Leonardo DiCaprio is going to become. And so you get to see the very last traces of boyhood, the last bits of baby fat in his cheeks, and the end of adolescent angst right in front of you. If they shot this movie even two months later, he'd have been too old. But he was dead-on-perfect. And Claire Danes is all soft innocence, except for how perfectly she captures the singular obsession with sex - and sex with love, let's be fair - that Juliet and, ahem, some, teenage girls have.
The music is still good, the sets still interesting, and the angel wings/fireworks/watery kisses/morning bedsheets are as sexy as they were when I watched it in 10th grade on a date with Brandon at the Campus Square 8 in my hometown - twice!
I'll be on the hunt for more of these film gems that shine - and movie duds that stink, because frankly, they are probably more fun to write about.
However, what about taking a movie you loved at fourteen? It's a risk, I tell ya, but sometimes, it pays off.
In this case, Baz Luhrmann's William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet. Run out and re-watch it! Or, use Netflix streaming on whim, as I did.
It absolutely stands up - the Nurse, Mercutio and Father Lawrence (yup, renamed in this version) are especially wonderful with both Elizabethan language and modern filmmaking. It breathes life into the bawdy jokes and it still pretty hip, 15 years on.
But upon re-viewing it, you get the true added bonus -- now you know who Leonardo DiCaprio is going to become. And so you get to see the very last traces of boyhood, the last bits of baby fat in his cheeks, and the end of adolescent angst right in front of you. If they shot this movie even two months later, he'd have been too old. But he was dead-on-perfect. And Claire Danes is all soft innocence, except for how perfectly she captures the singular obsession with sex - and sex with love, let's be fair - that Juliet and, ahem, some, teenage girls have.
The music is still good, the sets still interesting, and the angel wings/fireworks/watery kisses/morning bedsheets are as sexy as they were when I watched it in 10th grade on a date with Brandon at the Campus Square 8 in my hometown - twice!
I'll be on the hunt for more of these film gems that shine - and movie duds that stink, because frankly, they are probably more fun to write about.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Summer is Here
OK, no more lazing. Summer is here! Sauvie Island begs to be visited, the patio furniture has been BOUGHT and we had our first al fresco dinner last night on it!, the first houseguests have come and gone, my first trip is done and John has one concert under his belt. So, a few things for you and I to blog and chat about:
- A pile of shoes by the front door of a home; does this indicate shoes-off-house? Yea or nay? Do you do shoes-off? Did you grow up with shoes-off?
- I have kept two secrets from you over the last month: I started doing Zumba and I am in Week 7 of Weight Watchers. (More on this to come, don't fear!)
- The crazy neighbor has not stopped. He is making ME crazy and I am accepting any and all suggestions on how to deal with a honestly mentally-unbalanced neighbor who is loud all the time... not the kind of neighbor you go chat with about the noise.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Facebookin'
Thing on Facebook that is incredibly weird: a profile photo of you, in your wedding dress, standing next to your dad. Putting that on Facebook is fine. Having it as your profile is creepy. I am unsure if that's groom or parent.
Thing on Facebook that is terribly good: all you people who have not set up your privacy settings! I love to see a person from high school who tortured me and is now fat and living in Idaho! I am terribly mean, it's true, but it's also true that you should set up privacy settings if you do not want to be on the receiving end of such schadenfreude. Privacy settings are good even if you were nice in high school, and no matter how thin you may be or far from Idaho may you live now.
Thing on Facebook that is terribly bad: the people who I am friends with that prompt a reaction in me of utter negativity. Whether it is an ex or an acquaintance that I can't seem to de-friend or someone who uses it solely for self-promotion and never, ever, has a dialogue, I manage to seek them out when I am feeling blue and trolling their profile just immediately turns my azure into navy. Boo. When will I learn to stay away?
Thing on Facebook that is terribly good: all you people who have not set up your privacy settings! I love to see a person from high school who tortured me and is now fat and living in Idaho! I am terribly mean, it's true, but it's also true that you should set up privacy settings if you do not want to be on the receiving end of such schadenfreude. Privacy settings are good even if you were nice in high school, and no matter how thin you may be or far from Idaho may you live now.
Thing on Facebook that is terribly bad: the people who I am friends with that prompt a reaction in me of utter negativity. Whether it is an ex or an acquaintance that I can't seem to de-friend or someone who uses it solely for self-promotion and never, ever, has a dialogue, I manage to seek them out when I am feeling blue and trolling their profile just immediately turns my azure into navy. Boo. When will I learn to stay away?
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