So, one time I deployed for six months. I know, that is kind of a big deal and I should have mentioned it sooner, but I was too busy eating Oreos. For the most part, it was a great experience. I really had a lot of fun in a war torn country that is full of people who shit in the same water they drink regularly. I worked with amazing people and learned a lot about myself. I realized I'm not nearly as tough as expected, but that that's an OK thing and I can still tolerate a lot of bull crap when it matters.
I also managed to lose a lot of weight, and this has been the most eye-opening experience for me. I had no idea that I could run as hard and as fast as I can now. I had no idea that I had it in me to NOT eat a whole package of Double Stuf Oreos. I had no idea that I could lose 40 pounds on my 5'2" frame and feel pretty much the same on the other side. Skinny me? Chubby me? Still me and having lived as both people, I like them equally.
But this isn't about my deployment or my weight loss journey, at least not entirely. I will have to explore those topics considerably over the course of a lot of posts and caffeine-fueled beverages. Instead, this post is about my butt.
If you know me in a manner such that you are horrified by the thought of reading anything about my butt (e.g. Sorry, Dad.) then maybe go look at Bachelor Frog memes or something.
Alright, I came into this world with a blessing of a backside. I am not going to out my husband as an "ass man" (as opposed to "breast men" anyway) but I know that my former perky and round butt was not unappreciated.
I mean, I'm not saying I was Beyonce or anything, but I could give her a run for her money in the right amount of sequins.
On the flip side of things, I have dabbled with running off and on for the last 10 years. I have ran distances at qualifying times and I have dry heaved doing just one lap around a track. For the last two years, I've been secretly longing to start running again as my main form of fitness and secondary choice in stress relief. Two years is a long time to sit on your ass and think about running, but I did anyway.
Oh, and my butt? It got bigger during this time frame. I had to buy jeans in sizes that I thought only pregnant women wore.
Deployment came at a great time because I was at my hugest and on the precipice of being in really, really bad health. I started running on the lone treadmill available to me as I lived in the area that was not conducive to outdoor running (Uh, twisted ankles and torn ligaments much? I hate rocks.)
At first, it was bad. Like, extremely bad. I would run so early in the morning when no one else was awake just so no one would see me sputter and gag as I pushed myself through mile after mile.
Then, I don't know. It just got easier. I just kept running on that treadmill like I had nothing better to do. 5 miles? That's a warmup. 10? Whatever. 15? Now we're talking. I couldn't stop and I didn't stop and I am proud that I managed to stay motivated running on a human hamster wheel day after day after day for six damn months.
And here I am, 40 pounds lighter and infinitely faster and woefully butt-less. Treadmills destroy your butt. It is an ass muncher in the worst possible way. I now can't fill out a pair of pants without some padding and I NEVER THOUGHT I would be a pancake butt woman.
So, as I struggle to add squats and lunges and dead lifts to my fitness routine, I catch myself looking mournfully at my own butt in the mirror. Actually, it's not that I'm at looking AT it so much as I am looking FOR it.
Maybe you're sitting there rolling your eyes at me.
"God, she is skinny now. Get over it!"
Maybe you're a woman with a fine derrière laughing at my expense.
"Hahahahaha!"
Maybe you shouldn't have read this post about my butt and you're upset with yourself.
"I can't look her in the eye anymore....but then I'll look at her butt! OH GOD NO!"
Whatever the case and whoever you are and whatever state your ass is in, I want to caution you from running on a treadmill nonstop. Apparently, you don't really use your hamstrings or glutes as the treadmill extends your legs for you. I know, that sounds like science to me too, but this woman at the gym explained it to me when she caught me staring at her butt. I had to tell her my situation so that she wouldn't file a sexual harassment complaint, and she really sympathized with me and gave me that nugget of knowledge.
But she is a bitch because I could have dropped a book on that shelf...
Monday, May 6, 2013
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
This is NOT a DIY Blog
I might not come across this away on the internet or even real life, but I'm actually a nice person.
Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.
I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.
When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd ratherrun walk (who am I kidding?) to the other side and use my indoor voice.
That is, until I painted my living room.
OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.
And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!
I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.
Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.
I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.
I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.
When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.
During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.
Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?
While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.
At all.
Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.
Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.
And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.
That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.
Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.
I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.
When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd rather
That is, until I painted my living room.
OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.
And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!
I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.
Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.
I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.
I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.
When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.
During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.
Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?
While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.
At all.
Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.
Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.
And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.
That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.
Monday, May 21, 2012
I Was in a Time Warp, but I'm Back. Hey.
I know, I know, I KNOW. Where HAVE I been? What on earth could have been so hugely important that I ignored my blog for (almost) the first half of 2012?
Since when did it becomeApril May already by the way? What in the hell? I swear it was only yesterday when I was snowed in my apartment for three days straight, and now there is this THING in the sky that is called "sunshine" or whatever. I don't even think I have enough SPF to get me to the store at this rate.
But yeah, I know that I've been sorely neglecting this blog. Like, a lot.
I don't even have a great excuse like getting married (achieved that milestone two years ago, BAM!) or having a baby, or traveling the world with unreliable internet for the past five months.
Nay, instead, I've been doing a lot of this life balance sort of stuff, and the olde blog of yore here fell to wayside. As far as life balance goes, I dedicate at least 16 hours of my day to work in some fashion (to include waking up, getting dressed, and commuting) and I'm still not OK with that.
You're laughing on the inside at me, I know. I can tell.
I can feel it in your eyes because they're slightly crinkled from your non-smile that is a smile because you're thinking something about how hard and long you work every day, and you're not complaining one bit.
Oh, and you have a family and a sky high mortgage and a two-hour commute and gas is almost five dollars a gallon, so really, what do I have to complain about with my measly work day? I guess you're right. You are so right.
Is that what you want to read about?
How you're so hard working and right and not the complaining type?
You want to read about that?
Then write your own damn blog, asshole.
Anyway.
This job thing has been going strong for nearly two years straight now, so since this schedule ain't going to budge, I came to the conclusion that I'm the one who needs to get with the program and rearrange my inner feng shui.
I changed my diet a little bit in that I eat more protein, less packaged goods and bread-y products, and more things that are green, and that has had a profound impact on my energy levels.
Like, really. I don't need an IV bag filled with caffeinated fluids to keep me going anymore. I am an effervescent bundle of energy all by myself, and it's pretty amazing.
(In spite of what you might think, I do NOT NOT NOT NOT eat Paleo, Caveman, or Neolithic (Wo)Man or anything like that. Seriously. If it's not covered in cheese or chocolate, then please leave me alone and keep your almond-flour-coated, cashew-butter-filled, coconut-milk-drenched, WHATEVER shit to yourself.)
I also don't have a computer anymore. This was a tough adjustment at first, but I'm really enjoying it at this point. As someone who was formerly chained to her desk for hours on end, it feels awesome to stretch my limbs and walk my ass out of the building all of the time.
I actually feel like I get more shit done because I don't have e-mails to attend to or PowerPoint presentations to generate. I'm meeting and talking with actual people in the flesh! More often then not, people are just so stunned to see me shadow their doorways that they feel compelled to shoo me the hell out of there, so SHIT IS GETTING DONE!
Maybe my positivity is connected with the warmer weather that is slowly easing its way through the Pacific Northwest.
Maybe it has something to do with the change of work scenery or a better, slightly cleaner diet. (I live, breathe, and die for Double Stuf Oreos SO. BACK. UP.)
But I can tell you right now, it has nothing to do with buying a goddamn house because that shit makes it hard to keep your cool when you're dealing with stupid people who don't have enough fingers to count your interest rate.
My blood pressure has probably never been this high before. Thank you, DHI Mortgage. I'm coming for you.
Since when did it become
But yeah, I know that I've been sorely neglecting this blog. Like, a lot.
I don't even have a great excuse like getting married (achieved that milestone two years ago, BAM!) or having a baby, or traveling the world with unreliable internet for the past five months.
Nay, instead, I've been doing a lot of this life balance sort of stuff, and the olde blog of yore here fell to wayside. As far as life balance goes, I dedicate at least 16 hours of my day to work in some fashion (to include waking up, getting dressed, and commuting) and I'm still not OK with that.
You're laughing on the inside at me, I know. I can tell.
I can feel it in your eyes because they're slightly crinkled from your non-smile that is a smile because you're thinking something about how hard and long you work every day, and you're not complaining one bit.
Oh, and you have a family and a sky high mortgage and a two-hour commute and gas is almost five dollars a gallon, so really, what do I have to complain about with my measly work day? I guess you're right. You are so right.
Is that what you want to read about?
How you're so hard working and right and not the complaining type?
You want to read about that?
Then write your own damn blog, asshole.
Anyway.
This job thing has been going strong for nearly two years straight now, so since this schedule ain't going to budge, I came to the conclusion that I'm the one who needs to get with the program and rearrange my inner feng shui.
I changed my diet a little bit in that I eat more protein, less packaged goods and bread-y products, and more things that are green, and that has had a profound impact on my energy levels.
Like, really. I don't need an IV bag filled with caffeinated fluids to keep me going anymore. I am an effervescent bundle of energy all by myself, and it's pretty amazing.
(In spite of what you might think, I do NOT NOT NOT NOT eat Paleo, Caveman, or Neolithic (Wo)Man or anything like that. Seriously. If it's not covered in cheese or chocolate, then please leave me alone and keep your almond-flour-coated, cashew-butter-filled, coconut-milk-drenched, WHATEVER shit to yourself.)
I also don't have a computer anymore. This was a tough adjustment at first, but I'm really enjoying it at this point. As someone who was formerly chained to her desk for hours on end, it feels awesome to stretch my limbs and walk my ass out of the building all of the time.
I actually feel like I get more shit done because I don't have e-mails to attend to or PowerPoint presentations to generate. I'm meeting and talking with actual people in the flesh! More often then not, people are just so stunned to see me shadow their doorways that they feel compelled to shoo me the hell out of there, so SHIT IS GETTING DONE!
Maybe my positivity is connected with the warmer weather that is slowly easing its way through the Pacific Northwest.
Maybe it has something to do with the change of work scenery or a better, slightly cleaner diet. (I live, breathe, and die for Double Stuf Oreos SO. BACK. UP.)
But I can tell you right now, it has nothing to do with buying a goddamn house because that shit makes it hard to keep your cool when you're dealing with stupid people who don't have enough fingers to count your interest rate.
My blood pressure has probably never been this high before. Thank you, DHI Mortgage. I'm coming for you.
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