Category: Liftin’ Heavy Objects Over Ma Head

CrossFit! CrossFit! CrossFit!

30 Days

I’ve been attempting to focus on the abundance in my life, rather than participating my usual Trance of Scarcity. The meditation (see Day 25) definitely helps, but I also thought I’d tweet one of those annoying 30 Days of Thankfulness things, except try to make it not-annoying.

The most difficult part was not coming up with things for which I felt grateful—I got plenty. The most difficult part was staying within 140 characters. You know how I like to babble on. The teacher of a writing workshop I took last year said, “You’ve got 25-30% too much fat.”

I was like, “DON’T I KNOW IT. Wait, you mean my writing?” He was right. I need to trim it down…

Arg! If I wanted to go on a word diet, I would’ve been a poet!

But I did it for thirty days. (NB: The following is not poetry. It’s just skinny prose.)

That 4-year-old, man. She’s dramatic and sassy, she wants what she wants, and she’s in the 8th percentile for height. In other words, she’s me. Hahaha. No, she’s not. She’s her. She’s her own person. But kind of me. I yub her.

This girl. She does something to my heart.
This girl. She does something to my heart.

This goes for both my parents. My parents showed the fuck up.

I’m still bad at crying (i.e., I need to do more of it and less eating/checking Facebook/self-flagellation/etc.), but I have good role models (namely, Cat, EJ, and Melissa).

(Typo: That was supposed to be Day 13.)

When the doc actually felt it, she goes—I shit you not, “Yeah, you got a lot of lumps and bumps, and this one doesn’t feel any different from the other ones.” :/

Also, if they do hate me as a result, that’s their own goddamn problem.

It’s a good job. I just wish I got paid more and didn’t have to deal with so much bullshit. I guess that’s everybody, right? Except I really should get paid more.

Every so often I consider it, dry-heave, and un-consider it.

I’m hosting the StorySLAM on December 11, folks! Come on out!

So, in today’s ironic news, when I need to unplug, I use an iPhone app. It’s called Get Some Headspace, and I highly recommend it. The dude who leads the meditation is a former Buddhist monk, and he sounds a tiny bit like the Geico Gecko so everybody wins.

Terrified of jinxing it, but there’s an amazing woman who has created a passion project, and we met, and it was awesome, and she’s invited me to be part of her team, and I hope I can keep up.

I watched 5 episodes of Game of Thrones in the middle of the day yesterday, true story.

As you can see, I’m thankful for a lot of things, including those of you who’re reading. Happy rest-of-your-holidays!

Signed,

Lumpytits

You Guys, It’s My 4-Year Blogiversary (with Retrobruxist Friday 8/2/13)

I’ll be accepting your gifts of linen, silk, fruit, flowers, and/or electrical appliances. Thank you. You’re too kind.

Three years ago, as one commenter said, I was paying off some bad karma.

I learned two years ago that what I was doing had a name: the Valsalva Maneuver.

A year ago, I was having one of those ducks-but-water moments. I finally bought one of those reusable ones. Today, when I arrived back at the classroom with my mug in hand:

Student: You sure do like coffee.
Me: I sure do like being caffeinated.

What you may have missed on Fat CrossFitter: I get pretty excited about dinner too.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

 

 

Retrobruxist Friday, 7/26/13, Also I Could Use a Little Guidance

It’s funny how once you’re aware of a thing it clicks. Like with my finances—as soon as I over-drafted, I was all, “Oh yeah, regular bikini waxes during an extended (I mean extended) dry spell? Probably not the wisest investment.” Click.

(Seriously though: extended.)

Same with my avoiding intimacy.

I thought about the time recently when I tried to buy a movie ticket at the machine (so I wouldn’t have to talk to the ticket person, natch) and it wouldn’t give me the discount I thought I was supposed to get. I went through the line, asked the clerk about the discount, and when she told me they no longer honored it, what did I do? Did I buy a ticket from her? No no, I walked out of the line and back over to the machine. Saved myself a good 15 seconds of one-on-one human interaction. Click.

I thought about that night in March when I ran lights for a Monti/Sacrificial Poets show. (It was very technical—I raised and lowered a dimmer switch.) The sound person, with whom I sat in a booth for a couple hours, told the director later that she’d wanted to talk to me—she was a fan of mine(?!)—but I didn’t seem to want to talk. I must’ve come across as a super-snob. Click.

I thought about the conversation I had with a friend a few months back at Nanataco. I made an off-hand comment about being addicted to Facebook, and she said, “Yeah, sometimes when we’re together and you’re on your phone, it makes me sad.” I apologized profusely, called myself a gaping asshole, and changed my behavior. But now it’s clear, of course, that my iPhone was a salve to soothe my intimacy-averse psyche, jangling from all that Being With. Click.

The thing about recognizing I was being a spendthrift is that there was a pretty easy fix. (In case the link breaks, google “snl don’t buy stuff”.)

But the intimacy stuff? I imagine the conversation with the guy in the commercial for that.

Him: “Just be with people.”
Me: “How do I do that? I’m scared of them.”
Him: “You be with them anyway.”
Me: “Can I do this from the comfort of my own home, without any other people around?”
Him: “No, you actually have to be with people.”
Me: “What if I just hang out with my dogs instead? Will I get the same results?”
Him: “No, they are dogs.”

Ugh. I need an action plan. Like, with SMART goals and stuff. Who’s on it?

*****

Three years ago, Redford saved me from almost-certain bovine death.

Two years back, I told the story of how I was an accessory to a crímen. Mas o menos.

I made a threat a year ago. I’m still down for it, Universe! (For real, so very, very extended. Hhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnngggg.)

What you may have missed on Fat CrossFitter: I always have good intentions.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Retrobruxist Friday 7/19/13

Experiencing a word shortage here at AB Headquarters.

These things happen.

Probably has to do with my cycle. And stress. The kids started back to school on Monday, and I’m doing my damnedest to teach them. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

The teaching and letting and showing take energy. Energy that I then don’t have for writing, or doing my second job, or socializing, or reading sperm donor profiles.

<sigh>

PITY PARTY STILL RAGING.

Three years ago, our heroine found herself on a quest.

Two years ago, I went on four dates in six days. Four dates. In six days. I think I just gave myself the runs thinking about it.

A year ago, I explained, not so gently, why CrossFit is not a cult.

What you might have missed on Fat CrossFitter this week: I’m trying to un-brainwash myself.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Retrobruxist Friday 7/5/13

I have no idea what I'm doing helicopter

Hahahaha! Me and that dog. We have no idea what we’re doing. Based on the <crickets> from my readers on the Road Trip Soundtrack series, I clearly need an editor. Would you like to be my editor? Or teach this poor dog to fly a helicopter right-side-up?

Three years ago, I wrote about… my road trip soundtrack.

I won at eBay two years ago.

A year ago, somebody littered porn in my yard.

What you might’ve missed on Fat CrossFitter: I illuminated the formula for every British talent show clip on the Internet, and I gave all those the-cake-doesn’t-jump-into-your-mouthers a gentle reminder.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Oops, I Missed Retrobruxist Friday, Also the Information Age Is Creepy

For future reference, you can have Retrobruxist ANYDAY, you know. Scroll down a little. See that heading on the right that says Archives? Click the drop-down menu, make a selection, and—bippity boppity boo—a month’s worth of old classic posts. That’s what I do every week! Now you know the magic behind Retrobruxist Fridays!

[Disclaimer: I wasn’t that good at blogging when I started, so maybe skip the first year. Or two, or three. Basically, don’t bother.]

This last Friday, I was busy driving from New England to Queens to see a play that my friends wrote, directed, and produced (I’m biased, but it was objectively EXCELLENT), and I had to get the dogs to their uncle-in-law’s place in Brooklyn for babysitting, and traffic, and what-have-you. It was all very complicated. Forgive me.

In case you were lazy and didn’t DIY:

Three years ago, I was wondering why my friends C and K weren’t married.

Two years ago, I was given an assignment to come up with ten things I liked about my body. I came up with five.

I didn’t write anything a year ago because I was on vacation.

What you may have missed on Fat CrossFitter: I cobbled together a WOD with the resources available to me, namely a picnic bench, a rock, and a Walker-Bay. By the way, I started Fat CrossFitter six weeks ago, and it already has more Facebook Likers than Avid Bruxist, which I began in August 2009. Granted, some are the same people, but still. Maybe I’ve been barking up the wrong tree this whole time—people don’t want to hear about dogs or dates or lawn mowers, they want EXERCISE.

Which reminds me, my birthday’s coming up (in 3 months), and I want this shirt.

We Are the Best

Anywhoodle, I got home from vacation last night. My fridge held an onion, some tahini, and a container of moldy lunchmeat, so I went Krogering this morning, and the cash register spit out these coupons with my receipt—you know, the ones for products similar to what you’ve purchased in the past?

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Pampers.

Pampers and wipes.

You know where I’ve never bought a product for a baby? Ever? Like ever-ever?

Kroger.

The whimsical-faerie-who-believes-in-a-speaking-Universe part of me wanted to believe it was a sign—a sign. About the time being right. About my capability to parent a child. I must procreate! The coupons decree it!

Alas, all I can think is that when I registered for an account with California Cryobank a couple weeks ago, they immediately sold me out to the grocery man.

Happy Conspiracy-Theory Sunday, y’all!

RetrobruxOMGSchool’sOutBvvvvvvvvvvt

SCHOOL’S OUT. SCHOOL’S OUT. SCHOOL’S OUT.

Also, I QUIT MATCH.COM. Wahooooooooooooooooo!

I’ll have to find my man some other way. Thinking I might build a trap.

With all my dating woes, people frequently ask what I’m looking for in a man, and remarkably (considering how generally wordy I am), I’ve never been able to put it into words, you know? I mean, I want funny, but funny’s not enough, as evidenced by a recent two-date sequence. He has to be physically attractive too, but my taste in what’s physically attractive is (1) not all that conventional (I ain’t got no problem with bald, and sometimes a big nose just works) and (2) varies widely (lithe rock climber, sure; Viking with a mead gut, also good). He should be smart but not an übernerd. Kind but not a pansy. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW.

But then yesterday, I was stopped at a stoplight, and I saw this.

IMG_5646

Pretty sure I could be down with any man who says, “Amy, you and your parts come first.”

Thanks, Sport Durst.

**********

Three years ago, I discovered that I was NCGS. That’s like NCIS but infinitely less badass.

Two years ago, I was unsure of everything. Man, things don’t change much.

Any dude who wants to get with me must be definitively pro-gay, as I learned a year ago.

Some of the things you may have missed on Fat CrossFitter: I was OK with scaling. Then I wasn’t.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Sorry About All the Protected Posts

I’m kinda working through some shit. Don’t worry. You’ll get to read every last juicy detail in my tell-all memoir.

In the meantime, remember you can check out my other blog, the Fat CrossFitter. I’m equally ridiculous over there, just with a lot of numbers and stupid vocabulary like “metcon” and “snatch-grip deadlift”. What even.

And I installed a comments plug-in, but then I didn’t know how to see the comments?, but then I totally figured out how to do that too so we can chit-chat! I’m pretty much a computer programmer now. Larry, Sergey, don’t let the-boon-that-is-me slip through your fingers.

Oops, Late-Night Retrobruxist Friday 5/31/13

Ran across a blog post today titled Worst End of School Year Mom Ever. I can relate. I think most teachers feel like bad teachers at the end of the year.

Forge Mom's Signature

Main reason: standardized testing. It’s The Worrrrrrrrrrst. Bad for kids, sure, but as I tell the kids: “At least you get to DO something. I just have to SIT THERE.” In fact, read I Got Middle Schooled for a little taste of what teachers and proctors go through. It’s horrifying and hilarious.

***********

Three years ago, I shared my experiences with anti-depressants. The magic bullet I mentioned was amino acids—a monster truck load of them per day—which I took for several years, and they definitely helped. But they were super-duper-expensive and not-at-all covered by my super-duper-crappy health insurance. I weaned myself off them within the last six months, and I think I’m doing OK. I have my moments, but between CrossFit, food choices, and workin on mah shit, I’m maintaining a pretty healthy level of sanity.

Two years ago, I found the All-Time Worst Prospect on OKCupid. Seriously though.

A year ago, a shocking news story broke.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

 

Retrobruxist Friday 5/24/13, or I Am Rad

June 5. That’s when I cancel my Match subscription. Twelve more days.

The only reason I’m keeping my nose above water is my friends. My friends are pretty great.

Not Scary Spice

He added, “We are all rooting SO HARD for you.” And I know they are.

Dan NJ wrote: Since it’s been at least a month since I said so- can I remind you of the Avogadro’s number of awesome particles that make up, and emanate from, you?  These particular elements represent a periodic table of Amy’s awesomeness, and are subdivided into categories such as brilliance, loveliness, kick-assedness, nice-assedness, and noble gases.  (The last one is pure speculation on my part…)

And a little faerie (possibly named Megalu) writes pro-me statements on the sticky notes on my desk every time she comes over, which I find later and stick to my computer monitor.

IMG_5456

IMG_5455

 

And all these words of encouragement serve to remind me that, no matter what happens in my love life, I most definitely have love in my life. Thank you, friends, and I love you all.

**********

Three years ago, I cheered you up with some stellar knock-knock jokes.

Some people love my teaching stories; others enjoy the tragically delicious dating stuff. But there are those who just really revel in the fact that I’m, to quote a friend, “bad at lawnmowers”, e.g. this post from two years ago.

You know how Google’s informal motto is “Don’t be evil”. I wish that sentiment could be codified into all companies’ bylaws. Alas, as I mentioned a year ago, insurance companies are nothing but dens of thieves.

What you may have missed on Fat CrossFitter: Who gets to define my fatness, and my two cents on the problem with progress.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.