Month: December 2012

Reasons Why 2012 Was Great, Even Though I Hated It

My friend/coach ATD recently wrote a blog post called 10 Reasons Why 2012 Was Great. When I saw the title but before I read the post, I was like, “OH HELL NO 2012 SUCKED AND I’M SO GLAD IT’S ALMOST OVER PHFTHTHPT.” But I thought about my tendency toward the negative and my attempts to cultivate gratitude, and I figured I’d give it a try. I didn’t think I could come up with 10 things, but maybe five, you know? I jotted down 11 in a matter of minutes.

1. Working with people that I like. If you let me, I’ll bitch all day about my job, but truth is, I’ve never had a better teaching situation, so I’m gonna try to STFU with the complaints.

2. Time with the Scott clan. Particularly my nieces and nephews.

They are hilarious.
They are hilarious.

(The eldest/scribe was concerned that Santa might get his fingers snapped in one of various rodent traps that were… necessary at my dad’s house this year. The cheese in the fridge was fair game, but Mr. Claus seemed to be OK with the pretzel treats and whatnot.)

3. Tubing down the Dan River with my friends. I don’t have any photos because nobody has a waterproof camera. That’s probably a good thing.

4. Doing the Tough Mudder. So great. Also, really, really terrible.

5. The Monti. Hosting, putting my name in the hat, just sitting and listening. I enjoyed it all, and I learned so much each time.

6. Fostering Buffy and Tulip. Buffy’s mommies fostered a male dog after they adopted Buffy and ended up adopting him. Talk about paying it forward! And Tulip’s mommy is—well, I’ll put it this way: I can’t imagine a better situation for her. (Go to Tulip’s Facebook page, and scroll down to her status update for December 7. Tulip’s mommy and I wrote it together.)

7. Wire-Watching Zombie Squad. Four friends and I get together most Sundays and throw ourselves into a big pile on the couch and watch an unhealthy number of episodes of The Wire. And I love it. I just fucking love it.

8. Seeing Reggie Watts live with my buddy Kyle.

Do it if you get the chance.
Do it if you get the chance. It’s an experience like no other.

9. When Margo came to visit. I love Margo.

10. Being a CrossFit Durham athlete. I’m not “in shape” by any standard, but I’m definitely in the best shape of my life, and I’ve made so many new friends there.

Also the fact that Dave lets us go rogue and do ridiculous things. Exhibit A: the enTire Mile, an event conceived of by Shiv, during which six of us, taking turns in pairs, flipped a tractor tire an entire mile. Just for the hell of it.

Six of us flipped a tractor tire an entire mile.
That’s me on the left and Shiv on the right.

11. Costa Motherfucking Rica.

Being me, I also wrote down things that sucked about 2012, and I was startled how few I could come up with:

  • having a career that’s not my calling;
  • being thwarted at our first attempt at the Tough Mudder;
  • suffering from depression;
  • taking two big risks that didn’t end the way I wanted them to; and as a result,
  • still being single.

And, with the exception of the Mudder (which we got to do later), those are Big Things. I’m not going to say they’re not, or that they didn’t suck real, real, real bad. But you know what? There are a lot worse problems than not having your career dreams fulfilled, and my depression is probably a lifetime affliction that I’ll just have to manage, and I learned a lot about myself in the face of failure/rejection.

Moreover, I’m not really single right now, am I? It seems I have a Dutch boyfriend.

Treat, a Play in One Act

Setting: Present Day/Kitchen

Characters:
DOG-pit mix of approximately five years
DOG-pit mix of approximately three years
THE OWNER-middle-aged, single female

Curtain opens. Both DOGS sit by the door and look back and forth between THE OWNER and the treat jar.

THE OWNER: (indignant) You think I should give you a treat for just coming inside?!

(beat)

THE OWNER: OK, I’ll give you a treat for just coming inside.

Curtain.

The end

IMG_3568

What Not to Wear

As promised, Kate the Ginger Menace took me shopping. She, along with our friend Michelle, told me what to try on, what worked, what didn’t, and what would work if I had it tailored.

I’m not gonna lie—it was real stressful for me, and I had to do some deep breathing in Ann Taylor Loft, which was the first store we went into. But I bought stuff, and I told the girls as we walked out the door that I was giving myself an attitude adjustment for the rest of the stores, which I did pretty successfully I think.

The thing is, I don’t understand fashion. I’ve never considered myself a total shlub, but in the past, if I had jeans and a white t-shirt that were clean, I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. If I wasn’t wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, I must not have had any that were clean. And I mean, I didn’t own that many white t-shirts, so I wore other things. Like green t-shirts.

But you know, not boxy unisex t-shirts—fitted ladies’ ones that showed that I had a waist and also complemented my eyes. Moreover, my sister had a friend who once said she hated it when people wore running shoes “as attire”, and since then, I’ve always tried to reserve my sneakers for the gym and wear actual shoes when not there. (Except my super-cute pink and gray New Balance. But they’re super-cute.)

Kate, though, Kate wears real clothes and legit shoes and honest-to-god accessories. Every day. (She also wears makeup every day—that’s how she was able to give me the tutorial.) Girl always looks put together. So I listened intently to all her advice.

She had some good blanket statement guidelines, like

  • Work with neutrals (gray, brown, black, navy), but add a splash of color;
  • Boob pockets—not for people with boobs; and
  • A bendable ballet flat, no matter how expensive, is a shit shoe.

Stuff like that. I can remember that.

But the day was also full of new vocabulary (“saturated colors”) and conversations like

Kate: Higher. On the smallest part of your waist. (hitching my skirt up)
Me: Noooooooooooooooooooooo. 
Kate: Yes.
Me: It feels weird. I feel like a kindergartener! I feel like an old lady! I don’t know how I feel!
Kate: It looks better there.
Me: It’s above my belly button!
Kate: Right.
Me: (whimper)

And

Me: What kind of belt would I wear with this?
Kate: None. Unless it was a statement belt.
Me: What’s a statement belt?
Kate: A belt that makes a statement. That ties the outfit together.
Me: What if I just need a belt to hold my pants up?
Kate: (sigh) Then you need to get your pants altered.

And

Kate: The dark jeans and the turquoise top with the open shoulders and the purple jacket.
Me: Yeah.
Kate: That outfit says, “I’m here for sex.”
Me: “I’m here for sex.”
Kate: You’re there for sex.

I bought a bunch of stuff. When we got home, Kate laid everything out on her bed, and I took pictures, for reference, of all the outfits she made. And I’ve worn… some of it. The skirts, not yet, but it’s cold! I’ll wear them. Pretty sure I’ll wear them. At some point. I have to because when else will I get to wear my new

tall boots?!
tall boots?!
Tall boots!
I got really excited about the tall boots.

(The other option, other than skirts, is to buy skinny jeans <shudder> to tuck into them.)

Kate got a little concerned today because I haven’t worn many of the clothes yet. But I will, I promise! I know they’re good, they’ll make me look good, even if I don’t necessarily feel at home in them yet. It just takes me some time. Listen, I put on all the makeup last night even though I was going out to dinner with Michelle and her husband, neither of whom I feel the need to impress! Just because I was going out! Progress!

Anyway, maybe I’ll post some photos when I get to that point with the clothes. Like if I get a skirt and the tall boots on. Or if I’m there for sex.

Retrobruxist Friday 12/28/12

Hope all you Avid Bruxistists are having a lovely holiday or two or eight nights or however many days Kwanzaa is. Seven, right? Seven. Pretty sure it’s seven.

I just looked it up. It’s seven. Is it me or does the Official Kwanzaa Website need a graphic designer like whoa?

Three years ago… well, I figured out how to turn off the IM function shortly thereafter.

Me, Dad, last-minute shopping at Walgreen’s. Terrible consequences. Two years ago.

I can’t believe it was a year ago that I found this guy. I still get sad about him sometimes. But he meant two 2012 miracles for me. One step back, two steps forward.

Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.

Retrobruxist Friday 12/21/12

Happy End of the World!

Three years ago, I was—shock!—dating. Go to that link, read it, and pay close attention to #3. I may have a real interesting update in the near future. Like, tomorrow night.

Two years ago, I was watching boys at the gym. The funny thing is I’ve gotten to know all three of the dudes I mention in this post, and I can’t imagine them now as anything other than my bros. Which is good because they’re all taken. As is every other worthwhile dude on the planet. What.

P.S. Look at my dogs! Oh my god, they are so cute.

I was contemplating impermanence this time last year. Still am, of course. The events in Newtown have kind of forced the issue, haven’t they? Six years old. Six. Three hundred weeks. Two thousand days. That’s all they got.

It’s weird how we chronicle our unknown number of days, or what makes us aware of their passing. A lot of people cross boxes off a calendar. Some people write in a journal. Me, I’ve been acutely aware of my life ticking away since I started using a

giant, geriatric pill box.
giant, geriatric pill box.

I empty compartments four times a day, and at the end of the week, when I shake the box and it doesn’t rattle, I know another week of my life is gone. Another week. One week as the numerator, and yet there’s absolutely no way to know the value of the fraction because the denominator is and always will be—whether because of the End of Days or America’s boner for the freedom to own assault weapons or cervical cancer or whatever—incalculable. Best live as one whole, I guess.

Previous/Next

Hi, guys! Several readers mentioned that they liked the previous theme’s function that allowed them to scroll back through posts and read any comments that had shown up since their last visit. Well, my buddy Craig installed a plugin that allows you to do just that! See those sexy tiger stripes on either side of the screen? Click on them for the previous or next post.

Now, he did it in about five minutes on my laptop in a coffee shop, and now that I’m home, I’m realizing the button on the left side is covering some of my sharing buttons, but people don’t share my shit anyway, so I’ll figure that out later.

Happy browsing.

Shanna’s Fosters

You guys, my friend Shanna, a true doggy-angel, rescues and fosters dogs (pit bulls and chihuahuas mostly) through various organizations. To her, it’s not about one organization or the other; it’s about the dogs. She finds great dogs, whisks them away from certain destruction, takes them to her house, and makes it work—despite the fact that she has four dogs and a cat of her own.

As you may remember, Tulip got adopted through her own Facebook page, so I helped Shanna start one for her fosters.

Right now she has two sweet babies who need homes. There’s Bella, who’s

6 pounds of snuggly lovin.
five pounds of snuggly lovin,

and Tank,

Tank
a pit bull who was abused and neglected (he has the scars and heartworms to prove it) and is nonetheless a 60-lb hunk-a sweetness.

Oh, that empty stare? That’s ’cause he’s blind.

If you’re so inclined, will you please Like her Facebook page and, better yet, Share it? And put the word out to people who are in the dog market (or not) that these two silly monkeys are ready to be adopted.

Thank you, Avid Bruxistists, for indulging my doggy fervor once again. I love you for it.