31 August 2009

Yoga at home. Or, why on Earth didn't I think of this before?

After roughly six weeks (possibly less, but Jesus, does it seem like more) with only a handful of yoga classes, I finally got the idea tonight to root around in the storage area of my entertainment center to see if I still had the yoga tape I bought many, many years ago and used maybe a couple of times.

Yes, that's right. Yoga tape. It is a VHS tape that I bought sometime prior to 2001. The tape is dated 1994 (I totally had to Google Roman numerals to figure that out, by the way), but I vaguely remember where I lived/worked/worked out when I bought it. So I'm guessing I bought it in 2000, right when I first tried yoga. When I told The Boy I Currently Like about my plan he said, "Yoga 'tape?' Geez--what's up, Grandma." Whatever. Good thing I have a combo DVD/VHS player. Suckers.

My original plan was to do cardio tonight, but my low back is spasming for some reason. I helped KayGee and the Prison Librarian move into their condo on Saturday and I worked out yesterday, but my back wasn't that bad. It's been super tight lately. Apparently, that is where I've been storing my tension instead of in my shoulder/neck area. It's fun to keep things fresh, I think.

Anyway, I might have moved oddly while getting ready this morning or my attempts to stretch my low back out actually backfired and started the spasms. Who knows? All I knew was that I would not be doing anything strenuous.

I spent all fucking day going back and forth with myself about whether or not I'd do anything tonight. I can't have an entire evening free at home. I just can't.

Despite the fact that I am, in theory, trying to lose weight much more slowly than I had been (which is not working, by the way -- and I bought Oreos last week! I ate them, too ... they were reduced fat and I was so stressed out I pretty much didn't eat lunch all week, but still), I feel incredibly guilty about not working out -- even if I'm hurt and I know that walking five miles will quite likely fuck my back up more.


So the yoga-at-home plan seemed to be an acceptable compromise. I'd be doing some sort of physical activity that might also ease my back spasms.

Can I tell y'all -- at-home yoga is pretty fucking sweet. Now, I'd much rather go to a class, but this is a really decent substitute. The tape is dated and some of the Sun Salutation series are a bit odd (lots of back rolls), but all in all, it did the trick. My living room isn't exactly spacious, and I'm a tall woman, so space was a bit funky. Halfway through, I had to turn my mat because I was afraid of nailing my head on the entertainment center and my feet were pushing up against the couch in Downward Facing Dog. Of course, when I moved, I had to be careful not to nail the coffee table that I'd moved when lifting into Three-Legged Down Dog.

But the pluses were many. I wore whatever shit clothes I wanted. I put some lavender oil in my oil burner to calm me, I could fart to my heart's content (it's not nearly as funny when you're alone, but it's still kinda funny), I could talk to myself ... and the best part was Savasana. Being in my own living room made me uber comfortable. So much so that I think I might have been dozing off and when the narrator came back on, I nearly pissed myself I was so startled. Awesome!

Also, my back does feel better. If it's not at least 80 percent tomorrow, I won't feel bad about coming home and doing more yoga. I know enough now that I can take some liberties and do my own thing in many places. It is still nice to have a guide, though. It's also nice to have my outlook on life improve a tiny bit. Yay!

30 August 2009

I've kept you waiting long enough.

You've been dying to know what I decided to do about my foundation, haven't you? God, it was like, more than three weeks ago. So terribly sorry.

In my defense, however, you need to take a little time to see how things work before you can pass judgment -- especially when you're talking about anything skin care-related. Also, my sense of time has become fairly fucked up over the summer.

I ended up going with Pur Minerals. There were a couple of reasons for this. First: the foundation was two-for-one, which made it cheaper than Bare Minerals, which I had been using, and Sephora's brand. Second: Ulta is quite good about returns. And I'm quite glad for that, because I had to exchange my first shade the day after I bought it.

Now, the Pur Minerals was just two-for-one this time. When/if I purchase more, it will be essentially the same price as the Bare Minerals I'd been using for a couple of years. So, it isn't really cheaper. However, Ulta often has a 20 percent off everything coupon and I have never once seen Bare Minerals be on sale at all, much less buy-one-get one.

As of right now, however, I'm on the Pur Minerals train. Even if it isn't technically cheaper, I feel it is better. I was worried a tad, because Pur Minerals has shea butter. I imagine that is what keeps it solid in the compact. I have ridiculously oily skin that is also horribly acne prone, so shea butter is a huge red flag for me. My worries seem to be all for naught, though.

Pur Minerals covers better than Bare Minerals. It stays on longer, as well. This is very good for me, especially now that my allergies are going crazy and I am blowing my nose all the damn time (and especially because I can't afford to get all my allergy med prescriptions). Pur Minerals doesn't cake up and dry out my skin like Bare Minerals did, either (the shea butter is at work here ... dry, oily skin is a delight, let me tell you). My pores don't look like giant craters and it doesn't fill into the wee wrinkles under my eyes that I've had for years from wearing contacts (there's much squinting).

It took a bit of time for me to figure out whether it would work or not. I'd changed my face wash, which made my skin go crazy for a bit. There was (and is) all the stress I've been under fucking with my face and I'm hormonal. But the last couple of days, my face has looked really quite excellent. So, Pur Minerals it is. Yay!

I may not have any money and work might be kicking my ass, but at least I look good.

28 August 2009

Trying to find a balance.

You may or may not have noticed, but I've been in a bit of a funk lately. What? I know. It's crazy.

My problem at the moment is that it's getting harder and harder to keep it under wraps, or under control or what have you. It would have been bad enough that I had several hundred dollars worth of car repairs to deal with last month. But there was the change to the payroll, which meant an extra week without a paycheck. It also meant that I was kind of losing that third week of pay. Oh, I'll get it -- when I leave the company.

Somewhere in there, I was accused of plagiarism, which was SO awesome. Oh, but then it was time to get paid. Except, when the new pay day finally came around, I didn't get a pay check. Then two weeks later, there was another problem with the pay check. Finally, my check will have cleared and I will have money tomorrow. For a day or so.

This shit is absolutely fucking exhausting. It is just wearing on me and dragging me down. It's one thing after another and I just can't even dig myself out of the hole I'm in, much less get caught up or ahead.

I've realized that it's all I've been writing about in my blog. You don't come here to read about how much my life sucks. At the same time, the reason I started this blog was to have an outlet. That's all fine and good when no one is reading, but now I have to take y'all into consideration.

Then there are the people in my real life. If I'm getting sick to fucking death of talking about my financial and work situations (they're pretty much inseparable), I can't imagine how my friends are feeling.

But the question is, how do I deal with it? I can only talk about it so much. Putting on the happy face is such a chore. It's also a big, fat lie. Avoiding contact is a good way to not lie and to not subject the people in your life to your constant Downy-Clowniness. However, that can lead to people worrying about you.

So what do I do? Not one of those options seems to be ideal. Is there something I'm missing? Should I just stop caring? Tell everyone to fuck off? I kinda want to just hide under my bed for the next six months or so, because at this point, drinking really isn't even working anymore. I'm a little scared.

27 August 2009

Oh, Mormons.

Related religious tidbit: To avoid the followers of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness at Lake Calhoun (who knew?), you simply have to be walking on the opposite side of the path, as they will apparently not cross it to give you literature.

26 August 2009

Wishing on Wednesday.

I wish old women wearing too much, too-dark lipstick, chatting with child-molester mustachioed, jeans-and-Cowboys-hat-wearing dudes at the gym would stop talking and get to lifting so I can use that machine.

I wish yoga would start back up again, already.

I wish I knew what the fuck this meant:

(Sorry for the quality. I was in my car, after all.)

Dudes. I wish you could try this salad I just made. It is phenomenal. Using bacon from the farm, CSA tomatoes, homemade bread and mint from my mom's garden probably didn't hurt. I halved the recipe and you'd better believe I'm going to eat the whole damn thing, or die trying.

I wish it was Friday.

I wish Emily a ridiculous amount of success with her new job.

I wish I was absolutely certain that today is actually Wednesday.

25 August 2009

Is there no refuge?

I took Friday off of work, but had to go in for a conference call and to get my CSA veggies. While at the farm the rest of Friday, I had to talk about work with my family. There was more talking about work on Saturday, when I realized I'd not gotten paid again.

Even worse than that was the fact that Friday night and Saturday night I was dreaming about work. Sunday was blissfully mostly work-related-stuff-free. Save for having to prepare for the work week, of course. And the lingering payroll bullshit, which I imagine will be lingering for the foreseeable future.

After working all day yesterday, I talked to my mom and KayGee about work. And even though I only slept a little more than six hours last night, my work dream seemed like it lasted eight hours. Then it was back to work today AND IT IS ONLY TUESDAY.

Right now, I think all I can do is pray for the sweet release of death. Something's got to give, no?

Oh, and I broke two wine glasses within an hour of getting home from the gym. One, I apparently broke with nothing but brute strength.

Calgon, take me away.

24 August 2009

The most ridiculous thing I've read today.

Let's be clear, here -- I read a lot of ridiculous stuff. But this is not about the PelvicToner or the pelvic floor exerciser with anal biofeedback probe or even Fantasy Sports Insurance (I love that they used the picture of Tom Brady getting his knee ripped apart), because I technically discovered that yesterday.

No, the most ridiculous thing I've read today is the following comment on this story:

Worthless trinkets? What are you looking at? There are TONS of things that are quite amazing. There are shows going on ALL THE TIME! The street performers are funny and enchanting. The show has become so much more kid friendly, and 100 times more romantic for a date than "all the milk you can drink for a dollar".

posted by ahzmandius on Aug. 24, 09 at 11:24 AM

Okay, I'm not entirely sure I can disagree with the "100 times more romantic" part of the statement. However, I don't see all-you-can-drink milk at the State Fair as being more than say, a zero on the "romantic date" meter. So, you're looking at the Ren Fest being not-at-all romantic at best.

Granted, I've been to the Ren Fest maybe twice, but I can tell you that it is not romantic. And I have an incredibly non-traditional definition of what is and isn't romantic. Unless, of course, one considers a date spent making fun of all the Ren Fest dorks to be "romantic." Mildly enjoyable, sure, but I'd rather be sitting in The Boy I Currently Like's living room, drinking cheap wine and mocking the assholes on It's Me or the Dog or discussing the awesome hair and attire of the 70s-era families on Family Feud.

P.S.: Dear State Fair food vendors, I love hot dogs, french fries and deep-fried foods, but "a deep-fried hot dog encrusted with french fries" is not how I want to consume those things.

23 August 2009


I thought perhaps a day off on Friday would kind of start turning things around for me. However, I ended up having to go in to the office for a mercifully short, but insane, conference call. Fortunately, all I had to do was listen to the five people in the conference room on the other end talk over each other -- loudly and about things not at all related to our project. Thanks, jerkfaces.

The rest of my day off was spent home on the farm, hanging out with the fam. I had to come back yesterday afternoon, because I had plans with The Boy I Currently Like. Now, I was wiped the fuck out on Friday, as I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I really intended to check my bank balance, but I just spaced.

Before I drove back to Minneapolis, I needed gas. So I called to check my balance and ... my paycheck had not been deposited. Again. Fortunately, I had some cash. However, I had negative cash in my checking account. You must be motherfucking joking. I pretty much cried the entire 90 minute drive home.

Once I got home and unloaded my shit, I got the idea to take a closer look at my pay stub, to see if I could figure out where things went wrong. Upon closer inspection, the thing at the bottom was not my notice of a direct deposit into my checking account -- it was a check.

Hey, thanks so much for giving me a heads up that you had decided to stop direct depositing my check. I could have had that thing in my account Thursday night. Now, it won't be posted until tomorrow and since it's an out-of-state check, the funds won't be available for FIVE FUCKING BUSINESS DAYS. I wonder if they even know I got a paper check.

Honest to Christ. This shit is wearing on me. I told The Boy last night that it is just so exhausting.

My outlook on life improved dramatically after I'd been at The Boy's place for a bit. We had much fun watching the Twins, playing Tekken and doing the other stuff we do, as always.

Today, I had my fantasy football draft. We do it all online, so I drafted from The Boy's living room. I'm really quite pleased with this year's incarnation of The Bob Saget Fan Club, and he is totally excited about it. He was excited to be there while I drafted, as he is in a keeper league and doesn't have quite the pool of players from which to choose as I do in my redraft league.

As always, there were many, many stupid and inexplicable decisions coming from my league mates. It's hard to complain, though, because I always have great players falling to me when they should have been long gone. I can complain about the fact that I still haven't gotten my fucking money from last season, though. Nor will I get it. At least my league fees and about 20 transactions are covered. I don't even make that many moves during a typical season.

I appreciated having The Boy there to bounce ideas of of him and also to bask in his vast amount of fantasy football knowledge. He got me to make a couple of choices I never would have if I followed my normal draft procedure. Well, at least one, anyway. I have an elite quarterback this year!

Now, I am enjoying a lovely mint julep and making a pork loin to eat for lunch at work this week. I may not technically have money at the moment, but at least I have food and booze. I'm out of wine, though. That's no good.

20 August 2009

Lucille Bluth must be visiting.

Every day this week, I've seen a car parked in the wrong direction on my block. Today, I actually saw two, but one was in St. Louis Park.

Watch out, y'all. It appears to be contagious.

19 August 2009

Ain't that just a bummer?

Things today didn't exactly go all that well.

I spent an hour on the phone with a colleague repeating himself again and again about how we didn't have enough time to do this huge project we are working on that started today and ends tomorrow. Hey, thanks for the update and thanks for wasting an hour of my time that I could have spent working on the project.

The one little break I got during the work day, I spent on the phone with my brother, who was let go from his job yesterday.

Around 5:00, I called the gym to see if there would be yoga tonight. Adam, who answered the phone, said yes. When I arrived at about 6:50, there was a note on the desk saying yoga was cancelled. I sputtered and said, "But I called!" Apparently, the note had been out since noon. Thanks for getting my hopes up, Adam.

(The question for the booth on the Twins game tonight was submitted by a guy from my hometown. Yay?)

Because I was in complete panic mode at work today, I didn't eat lunch. I'm not sure that panic mode was what made me want to vomit when smelling my Thai salad (I swear, it's good! I ate it yesterday!), but I had neither the time nor desire to eat it. I made do with a few snacks. Quite frankly, I'm amazed I managed to do most of my workout. I'm even more amazed I didn't walk out of the gym and straight home to a bottle of wine when I saw that yoga had been canceled.

My day off on Friday is going to include a stop in the office for a conference call about this stupid fucking project asking us to do two weeks of work in two fucking days. I was stopping in anyway to get my CSA veggies, but now I actually have to fucking work. BOO.

There might be more, but I can't fucking remember. I was so hungry and so wiped out after the gym that I stopped at Trader Joe's and got a frozen pizza. I have homemade pizza dough in my fridge, but I just did not have the energy to do that much work. Dishes need to be done and ... there might be more. But I just don't fucking care.

At least drinking after working out on a REALLY empty stomach will get me drunk and happy in a most efficient manner.

18 August 2009

I hope to Christ you didn't pay for that.

What is it with these younger, female trainers at Bally? They fucking love them some fake hair. And not just any fake hair -- really, really bad fake hair.

The Trainer who looks like a monchichi has had many a weave/wig/extension while she's been the Bally. Quite honestly, I thought her shit was the worst I'd ever seen. Oh, how wrong I was. The trainer who originally set me up for my free training session went out and got herself some sort of horse-hair monstrosity.

It's a damn shame, because she had cute hair. It was about chin length and thick. Some days it was curly, others straight. Still others she wore it somewhere in between.

But tonight, her hair was suddenly halfway down her back. And thin and stringy, with a bump right at the base of her skull. It looked ridiculous. I had to work so hard not to laugh out loud at her. It was tough not to stare, too. I wanted to ask if she'd lost a bet. Because I could not imagine why she'd be wearing whatever that thing was. It was so. bad. I don't know how you look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Damn! I look good."

Things I really don't care about, yet can't escape.

1. Mad Men

2. Brett Favre

There may be more.

17 August 2009


Dear Twins --

You're really making it hard to be a fan right now. Another short start? TWO FUCKING INNINGS, F-BOMB?

Seriously. I don't want to give up on you, but throw me a freakin' bone here.

Yours in Christ,

P.S.: I am ready for some football.

16 August 2009

Can I tell you how classy I am?

Perhaps I should say "klassy," 'cause I have a hickey which I need to cover up when I go to work tomorrow. Curse my pasty white Irish skin.

Also, I'm most certainly not the tiniest bit secretly delighted or anything like that.

14 August 2009

Did anyone bother to proofread this?

Honestly, Star Tribune. This is just sad.

Police arrested at the scene a 49-year-old man who authorities described as either a resident of visitor to first floor of the duplex.

The man was unhurt, they said, and they lost in the crowd of people gathered to watch the fire.

This story is as poorly written/edited as the sidewalk chalk insult I read yesterday on the way to Lake Calhoun that said:

(heart) ASSHOLE
(Something else that didn't really appear to be a word)

Probably I was supposed to feel bad, but your message really loses its impact when you can't even spell "fucker" correctly.

Dear Week:

Please be over already. I've had more than enough of you, and will see you in Hell.

Lick my right one,

12 August 2009

Since you asked ...

In the course of my completely legitimate research today, I came across a pelvic floor exerciser for men. So, here you are Brian: the pelvic floor exerciser with biofeed back with anal sensor.

No need to thank me.

Tonight is a rare night off from working out for me. Given my financial upheaval, my gym dues haven't been paid and I probably won't pay them until this weekend. This means no yoga tonight or tomorrow, which blows, because the new yoga instructor started tonight. It was too fucking hot to walk around the lake, so that was a no-go as a back-up option. After 10 miles in two days, though, my knees are fucking killing me anyway.

Despite the fact that I'm trying to slow down on the weight loss, it's still so fucking hard for me to not be working out tonight. The pay fuck-up pushed back my ability to afford new clothes at least another paycheck and my brilliant plan of drying my dress pants in the dryer to make them not-so-big worked exactly once. Once my Aunt Flo-related bloating went away, my pants reached pajama-like status by, oh, 10 in the morning or so? I don't dare wear them again this week.

In the meantime, I guess I'll be wearing mostly skirts. However, I do have a gift card I can use to possibly buy pants that actually fit me. Exciting! Yesterday (?), I returned the dress I bought to wear to my summer weddings, because after washing it once and wearing it twice, it was falling apart. Fucking. Bullshit. While it would have been nice to get the cash back, properly-fitting pants might be more important.

Because I was not working out tonight, I needed to fill my time. I ran some errands after work and now I'm cooking. I mixed up my Artisan Bread and it's currently rising on the stove so I can bake it this weekend. There are also about five pounds of carrots in my fridge, so I'm making carrot bars, too. They're fairly healthy, though. But I'm making cream cheese frosting to drizzle over them. The frosting will use reduced fat cream cheese and skim milk, but dammit, I'm trying.

Having all this non-gym time is making this week seem so much worse. Even though I'm getting about 90 minutes of cardio in with the walk around the lake, I'm home so much earlier and I have all this time to sit around the house and it just feels wrong. I need to be busy. God, I hate that so much. Thankfully, though, I do have booze.

11 August 2009

Kinda like the ThighMaster, but not.

You remember the ThighMaster, don't you?

In the course of my completely legitimate research today (seriously, I'm getting paid to do this shit ... well, I sometimes get paid for it), I came across a product that reminded me of the ThighMaster. It's called the PelvicToner.

Apparently, you need the equivalent of the ThighMaster for your cooter to really properly work your pelvic floor. Kegels are no longer sufficient, ladies.

10 August 2009

Dateline: Lake Calhoun.

My original title for this post was "Fucked in the ass like a $2 whore." However, since I composed it in my head while taking an angry walk around Lake Calhoun, I thought that might be a better title.

I aspire to be family friendly, you know. Oh, you didn't know that? You must read this blog, then. A few weeks ago, I tried to convince The Boy I Currently Like that I ran a family-friendly operation. He'd suggested I write something quite filthy and fairly revealing about our quality time. I thought maybe I could get him to believe me, as he was a little drunk. But he came back with "Family friendly? Really? Because (Friend X) said he was reading your blog and you were writing about blowjobs."

Why you gotta play me like that, (Friend X)? Damn.

But I digress. We were talking about getting fucked in the ass like a $2 whore. That's kinda how I'm feeling today. You may remember that I was going to get screwed out of a week of pay for the remainder of my time at my company. Not long after, I was accused of plagiarism. Needless to say, things have been going absolutely fucking swimmingly at work.

The corporate HQ has been planning this payroll switch for more than a month. They've had plenty of time to get their shit together, one would think. One would be very, very wrong to think such a thing. As it turns out, a very sizable number of people in the company didn't get their paychecks.

Guess who was one of those people? Fuck and yes. Me! Fucking awesome! It's been almost four weeks since I got paid. Allegedly, our pay was being wired to our banks this afternoon. However, I'll believe that when I see it. There was no response to my question of whether or not they will cover whatever fees I incur because they fucked up and didn't fucking pay me. At least a couple of my coworkers had their checks end up in savings accounts rather than checking. I don't know how exactly something like that happens if they don't have your savings account number as part of the direct deposit information.

I've gone from being totally fucking pissed to completely frustrated and defeated. I just can't fucking get ahead. Shit. I can't even get caught up. Getting yelled at by someone this morning for not being able to fulfill a ridiculous request -- that he knew was ridiculous -- in a ridiculously short period of time -- again he knew it -- really didn't help matters, either.

Sorry. There was more to this post, but I just can't fucking deal write any more right now.

08 August 2009

Reducing my carbon footprint.

Metro Transit has added a nifty little feature to their trip planner that I discovered yesterday. When you plan your trip online, there's a little note under your trip time and fare information that tells you how much your carbon footprint would be if you took that trip driving alone, and how much you'll use taking public transportation. I cut my carbon footprint in half with a single trip.

I'm busing this weekend to my friends' wedding festivities. I really wish I could stay home. Pretty much the last thing I want to do is to put on a dress and an ill-fitting strapless bra and head out into the heat and humidity to sit through fucking Mass. And that's only the start of a very long day ... reception, dinner, dance, trying to get back home on the bus ... all with the threat of thunderstorms all day and night. Wheeeeeeeeee!

However, I am glad that my driving for the weekend is likely done. Also, I don't believe I have to go through Uptown on foot or the bus, either the rest of the weekend. Trying to get home from Dinkytown last night was a fucking nightmare. The bus was 15 minutes late and once we got close to the heart of Hennepin and Lake, we slowed to a crawl. I ended up getting out and walking about a mile home in three-inch heels. Delightful! The trip took me well more than an hour.

Stupid fucking Art Fair. God, I hate it so much. At least I went to the gym early enough this morning to miss out on a lot of the stupid assholes driving through Uptown. Lucky me, there's an art fair in Loring Park, too, so I'm sure getting to the Basilica for the wedding is going to be a grand time, as well.

Bah. I'm going to try to get home as early as I can tonight. Here's to slipping out unnoticed and returning to the loving embrace of my couch.

06 August 2009

If this is the worst of my problems ...

Deciding whether or not to buy a different brand of foundation is not the worst of my problems right now. However, it gives me something on which to focus (okay, obsess over), that isn't so awful and depressing. Yet, I'm treating it as a HUGE DEAL. Because I am a freak.

Earlier this week, when I actually had a moment to breathe at work, I came across this nugget of awesomeness at the Strib: Go generic at the makeup counter too. I've been becoming more and more adventurous with store brands. I'm using Target brand body moisturizer and shower gel on the regular. I've tried their version of Cetaphil and the I'm also using their version of Cetaphil's moisturizer at night. It's all been just fine.

So, here I am, needing to buy some new foundation. I've been using Bare Minerals for a year? Two? Possibly even more than two years. I really can't remember. It works fine. It works as well as anything else I've tried over the years -- MAC, Clinique, Almay ...

The article mentioned Sephora's Mattifying Compact Foundation. It's $5 cheaper and based on the reviews, seems to be fairly similar to MAC's Studio Fix. I've used that and it worked just fine for me. I moved on to Studio Tech, because it covered better. Or something. I really can't remember. I think I even used the Moistureblend, despite my super oily skin. Mostly, I just needed to blot a bit more often with that.

After reading several pages of reviews, I figured I could give the Sephora powder foundation a shot. Oh, but wait! Ulta sent me a catalog -- they have a buy-one-get-one offer on Pur Minerals. It is a bit more difficult to find reviews on that, but I did stumble upon a site devoted entirely to reviewing mineral makeup. Of course there would be such a thing on the Interwebs.

So, again, it seems like Pur Minerals would be just as good as Bare Minerals and the Sephora foundation. Shit. I could even go back to MAC for essentially the same amount of money. Why does this have to be so difficult? Sephora seems to be the best bet for getting a color match to my notoriously hard-to-match skin tone. Pur Minerals would be cheapest in the long run. Maybe I should check the return policies for each place and let that be my guide.

What say you, dear readers? Reviews are tough for me, as I have really very oily skin and I need pretty good coverage for my god-awful skin. It's helpful, though, that some of the reviewers can compare to brands I've used before. I know I'm never going to find THE MIRACLE FOUNDATION that so many people seem to find in Bare Minerals or whatever other brand. I just want to not scare people. Is that so much to ask?

05 August 2009

Now with more meeting of friends.

Since it's been many months since the first of my friends met The Boy I Currently Like, it seemed like it was time for another little meet-n-greet.

I hate that it seems like this has to be such a big deal. I hate that I make it up in my mind to be such a big deal. Because at the end of the day, it really isn't. The Boy isn't going to show up at some big shindig and meet all my friends. I've tried to impress this upon them, and they sometimes get it. I know this and it is fine by me. Having to constantly explain it to people who know the reasons isn't so cool.

So, he's not going to come to a party and meet everyone. We've got to work around that. And working around that means working around the schedules of several people. I'm probably the biggest problem, as it turns out. I'm oddly rigid about my schedule, which makes working around others' schedules difficult. I'm very selfish about my time with The Boy, too. Tonight had been scheduled for a while and the closer it got, the more annoyed I got that I would have to be sharing him with the World's Worst Wing Woman and Macho Man.

We got some quality time in before they arrived. My shitty day at work was erased and I was actually looking forward to the night. Yay! Everyone got along fine. The Boy was delightful, the World's Worst Wing Woman and Macho Man were highly entertaining, as always. I made a pretty good dinner. The World's Worst Wing Woman really liked it, anyway. I even got two really nice bottles of booze out of the deal. It's nice having rich friends.

I love my friends, and I'm very glad the ones who have met The Boy think he's quite great. Who doesn't like having their taste validated? I'm pretty sure they're not just saying they like him, either. KayGee had me calling him to see if he would come over while we were deck drinking. Macho Man wants to be invited over to play Rock Band some weekend, because he didn't think they got a chance to bond properly.

And at the rate we're going, The Boy should have met my very good friends by the time we're 40. Sweet!

04 August 2009

Things I've been wondering, mostly at the gym.

Not all from tonight or anything (save for the first), but it just makes sense to have them all in one place. Don't you think?

How does one tactfully call the gym to find out if the smelly hippy lady is subbing for yoga? If I'd known she was teaching tonight, I would have just walked around Lake Calhoun instead of watching stupid E:60 at the gym. Your teaser needs some work, Worldwide Leader. I knew that kid had Asperger's before you finished the intro. Oooooh, riveting!

Have bonnets made a comeback? Not ruffled, flowery, long-ribboned Little House-style bonnets. These are updated. I saw a couple of women running on 38th Street one morning on my way to work. One was wearing a bonnet. It was black, fairly sleek and ... modern? But definitely a bonnet. It looked like it fit with her running clothes ... as much as a bonnet could. I mentioned it to The Boy I Currently Like, but that was about it. Until I saw a woman wearing one at the gym. I'm so confused.

As long as we're on the subject of gym/running attire ... I do not understand the running skirt. I suppose it makes more sense than a skort. Though, I'm not sure it makes much more sense. And I really fail to understand the point of the running skirt when you've filled it out so much that the skirt portion no longer covers the shorts part. I know, I know. I'm a horrible, horrible, judge-y bitch. I have a fat ass, too. But I do try to shield the general public from it.

What kind of industrial-strength facial grease do you have if I scrub your nose and mouth/chin print off the bench of the hamstring curl machine with cleaner, and the print is still there after I've finished my three sets? Damn. I thought I was a greasy bitch. Why do you need to smash your face into the bench anyway? Why can't you fucking wipe off the damn thing after you pressed your sweaty, greasy mug all over it?

Boy, I'm a complainy one, aren't I? I suck.

Want some free shit?

It's a free "lavishly sized" sample (what the hell does that even mean?) of Aveda Hand Relief.

Sweet! I needed a new lotion for my purse. Now I don't have to buy one.

03 August 2009

Well, that's a nice surprise.

For whatever reason, at the gym tonight, I was struck by a realization: I no longer hate my body. Hey, sweet! Don't get me wrong -- I still strongly dislike many (if not most) parts of my body. That will always be the case. I'm no longer disgusted, though. In fact, there are parts of my body I actually quite like.

While the overall realization has been sudden, there've been plenty of little things here and there that have been pointing to a change in my attitude toward myself.

There is the muscle tone I've noticed in my upper arms. I saw pictures from the wedding in Portland, where I was wearing a strapless dress with a sheer sleeveless fake wrap top. I had a little sweater, but I was hot and I just didn't fucking care, so I took it off. When I saw pictures, I was like, "Hey, I don't look terrible. I am okay if people see this picture."

(Of course, I wanted to wear that same dress for a wedding on Saturday, but my strapless bra is entirely too big now. Do I buy a $60 bra or a $60 dress? Can I even find a strapless bra in my size in a store?)

My upper back and shoulders are displaying a bit more definition. I'm really quite pleased with my ass. The definition in my calves (when fully flexed ... can't win 'em all) is fairly bad-ass. The rest? Well ... I'm a work in progress.

It's not just the way I look, though. I feel stronger and more flexible and healthier and all of those things. I'm okay with taking a day off from working out, suddenly, or maybe leaving a bit early because the equipment I like to use was taken. I know I'll be back the next day. This is my life, now.

The Boy I Currently Like pointed out to me a good three months ago that he thought I looked good naked and was looking better and better naked. It was nice of him to say, but how much stock can you put into it? He liked me 25 pounds ago, for one thing. He's also sticking it to me on a regular basis. I'm actually glad, though, that it took me a while to agree with him. My self-image shouldn't be based on what others think of me, right?

Besides, there's plenty to still dislike. My terrible skin, often-weird hair, the increasing veins in my hands ... Let's never be happy with ourselves!

02 August 2009

That's just sad.

Friday, when I sat down in the chair to get my hair done, The Stylist and I chatted for a bit about what we were going to do and she started running a pik through my hair, as she usually does before she colors it. Then, she handed me the pik and said I could finish while she went to mix up my color.

I took the pik and started to get the snarls and tangles out and ... I kinda forgot how to do it. I couldn't get the angle right. It just felt horribly awkward.

Holy shit. I forgot how to comb my damn hair. How does that happen? I mean, aside from some sort of brain damage that leaves you needing to relearn how to walk and feed yourself.

In my defense, I can't remember the last time I took any sort of combing implement to my hair. The last time I regularly used a comb on my hair was at least five years ago, probably longer. See, I figured out I get better curl formation when using just my fingers to detangle my hair in the shower. Too much touching and fucking with your hair destroys your curls.

For years before I went combless, the only time I ever used a (big, fat-toothed) comb on my hair was in the shower, when my hair was nicely coated with conditioner. The only time a comb or pik touches my hair is when I'm sitting in a stylist's chair. My friends know not to bother asking for a brush when they're at my place.

So, maybe it's not that sad. Well, yes it is. But at least I have an explanation?