Growing up working class or poor isn't easy. The obvious hardships aside, being poor, even for a limited time in one's life, can make someone feel an obligation to their work, lifestyle, and finances throughout their entire life. Even when the money is there, your sensibilities remain that of a member of the poor folk.
In my life, my stock has seen some major ups and downs. This constant up and down hill path has left me to conclude there is no such thing as financial stability. You either have no money and do what you can, or you have money that is all spoken for to live your given lifestyle.
When my family was "remotely" stable, shall I say holding down a steady job at barely above minimum wage, we had hamburgers from McDonald's and Pizza Hut pizza. We finally got an Atari (used of course). We even did some mild "do-it-yourself" remodeling of different rooms of our house. But, throughout the various struggles, my parents were always very vocal. They were always reminding my brother and I how little money we had. There were fights every two weeks (payday) about the finances, the bills, the money or lack there of. They were often so loud and vicious you could be anywhere in the house or even out of it and still be within earshot.
I can't speak for my brother, but I felt a lot of guilt. I felt helpless as a young boy. I felt guilty for ever asking for things. I remember wanting a package of Dolly Madison chocolate covered donuts once and grabbing them from the shelf and going to the check-out counter to pay for them with my own money while my mom was still do her shopping. I didn't want to trouble her. I didn't want my two dollar box of goodness to play a part in the fight that would ensue between my father and her on the next pay day. I can even recall telling my little brother to stop asking for certain things. I was desperately trying to get his young mind to comprehend.
When my family was at it's poorest, we had government cheese and powdered milk delivered to our door by a man with sympathy in his eyes. People at the church would find out my Dad lost another job and would bring us casseroles or cakes. I remember my mother dropping only change into the offering plate when it was passed during service. Our allowances were carefully monitored at $3-$4 a week based on a very detailed rate per chore. 25 cents every time we took out the garbage. 50 cents to water the plants. 1 dollar to vacuum. It was left up to us how much money we would make. My mother waited tables at a musky, edge-of-town chicken inn. My father cleaned drains, shoveled snow and collected unemployment. We didn't have cable, or a pet. We bought all of our clothes (the ones that weren't handed down) at K-Mart. We kept our thermostat at a ridiculous 68 degrees in the dead of deadliest Iowa winters. Our vacations (if you can call them that) consisted of visiting relatives in Omaha, or going to the crappy little amusement park in Des Moines called ADVENTURELAND. The passes to ADVENTURELAND were discounted by my mother collecting enough points at our local grocery store. I even paid for groceries a few times with the discount I received by working as a bagger at HY-VEE. My first official "on the books" job. I had been mowing lawns, raking leaves, and delivering papers long before my job as a bagger. But, the law stated you had to wait until you were 14 to be an official employee of any company. I began training at HY-VEE before my 14th birthday. I remember my parents encouraging me to apply a few weeks ahead of time, so that I could be trained and ready for work the day after my 14th birthday. My birthday is September 29th. On September 30th, 1991, I attended my first day of work at HY-VEE and bagged groceries and stocked shelves for 6 hours. I have been working for a living ever since.
Later, as an adult, I would experience my own form of "government cheese poor." I would also experience a salary that out weighed any of my parent's salaries combined. During my ten years on my own in NYC, I still feel like I never have any money. Regardless of how much I make, I am constantly fighting the urge to spend. I am always second guessing my decisions with money. Maybe I should move to Jersey so I can start saving? Maybe I should start packing a lunch? Every Wednesday when my paycheck arrives on my desk, I hear the shrill voice of my mother, through her tears, defending some purchase at the grocery store. She thought the boys would love it. Dad thought it was a waste of money. I hear my Mom telling me to live a little. I hear my Dad reminding me to plan for the future.
Ultimately, what I end up doing is planning to save, plotting out all the appropriate steps to take, and falling short by throwing caution to the wind and swiping my debit card for the tab at Centrale. I have every intention of saving money, but just when I am about to go to the bank to open a mutual fund or a CD, I check my account balance and there is only enough to get by until the next payday. I don't know if it will ever change. I look at my parents and realize it hasn't changed for them why would it change for me.
A large percentage of people spend their lives working to live. We get up in the morning and answer to our alarms and our bosses, all for the sake of some dough. Are we ultimately striving for money? Isn't that what we want? Money and lots of it. We want to be rich. That's why you can buy a lottery ticket just about anywhere. I am surprised Thai restaurant haven't started issuing powerball numbers. We want quick cash. The quick fix. Fix what? What will the money fix? I think one of the reasons I never have more than enough money to live on, is because I live. I spend the money I have while I have it. If I don't have it, I don't spend it. I can't spend it. Throughout my childhood, fear was instilled in me regarding money. I heard my parents cries of fear. They were cries of "where will the next dollar come from," "how can we ever afford this/that/the other," "don't spend it, we finally have it, let's just hold on to it." I could have grown up constantly afraid to spend in case I don't have any money the next day. Or, I can grow up the way I have and spend it as though there may not be a next day. I am sure neither way is the "right" way. But, I don't know if I need any more money. I was fine when I had even less than I do now. In fact, I might even say I did more with my time and worried less about money, because there was none to worry about.
We spend our lives angry at the rich, envious, jealous, pitiful, only to desire to be just like them. They spend their lives never understanding the value of an earned dollar, most anything at their fingertips, and a strange aversion to discussing and/or owning up to their true financial freedom. When the reality of it is-that the poor, the rich, and the in between just want to be recognized, respected, and revered for who they truly are.
If the poor stop using their experiences and struggles as a crutch, and the rich stop using their circumstances as a high-speed, automatic wheel-chair through life, maybe one day we can all get along and never again let money ruin/run our lives.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Paddy's ain't...
Shit.
St. Patrick's Day.
A day that, for anyone who works in the service industry, is dreaded. It is also a day that is referred to as "amateur Night." People who work in a bar call it that, because the drinkers you see on the streets and in the bars aren't bar regulars who know how to handle their shit. They are amateurs. They don't know how to drink for 10 hours, like many of us in this biz do. They, inevitably pass out early, throw up, piss themselves, get carried home, get kicked out, etc, etc, all before 10p.m. Which is why it is safer to go out on St. Patrick's day after midnight.
Tonight, while on the job, I saw the worst of it. Now, believe me, I have seen puke, piss, drugs, guys and girls with their pants down. You name it. I probably saw it. But, tonight, this one takes the cake.
This is not for the weak of stomach.
Somebody took a shit in the bathroom. But they took it into a pint glass.
Top a' the mornin' to ya!
St. Patrick's Day.
A day that, for anyone who works in the service industry, is dreaded. It is also a day that is referred to as "amateur Night." People who work in a bar call it that, because the drinkers you see on the streets and in the bars aren't bar regulars who know how to handle their shit. They are amateurs. They don't know how to drink for 10 hours, like many of us in this biz do. They, inevitably pass out early, throw up, piss themselves, get carried home, get kicked out, etc, etc, all before 10p.m. Which is why it is safer to go out on St. Patrick's day after midnight.
Tonight, while on the job, I saw the worst of it. Now, believe me, I have seen puke, piss, drugs, guys and girls with their pants down. You name it. I probably saw it. But, tonight, this one takes the cake.
This is not for the weak of stomach.
Somebody took a shit in the bathroom. But they took it into a pint glass.
Top a' the mornin' to ya!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Time
Is there a second in time in a day in my life where I can step away and say... "this is it."
Nothing wasted.
Nothing wanted.
Just this.
In that second, will I know that this IT is IT?
Is there time remaining in that second to also feel that this IT is IT?
And, if it's not too much to ask, if there is still any time left in that second, can I remember the second in time in a day in my life?
Where I stepped away and said..."this is it."
A memory. Please.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing wanted.
Just this.
In that second, will I know that this IT is IT?
Is there time remaining in that second to also feel that this IT is IT?
And, if it's not too much to ask, if there is still any time left in that second, can I remember the second in time in a day in my life?
Where I stepped away and said..."this is it."
A memory. Please.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Perfect Strangers
Today is his Birthday!
The obligatory call must be made.
I called while he was at work. I hoped to get the answering machine. She (the other woman) picked up the phone. She always picks up the phone. Does she work? Does she have a life outside of him? She tells me he is at work and after work they will be going out for supper.
Supper? I haven't used that word since 1996.
I tell her to pass on my birthday wishes. She informs me that he will be home after supper and I should try to call if I am not too busy.
"He would really love to hear from you," She says.
Would he? Would I? Why do I hate these calls so much?
I don't hate him. I love him. I am grateful for him. I just feel distant. The farther and farther away we are from each other, the more comfortable in the distance I become. Can't I just love him unconditionally and be there for him in times of need but remain strangers?
Never knowing each other. Never understanding each other. Never needing these things. Yet still loving one another. Isn't that what would make a perfect stranger?
The obligatory call must be made.
I called while he was at work. I hoped to get the answering machine. She (the other woman) picked up the phone. She always picks up the phone. Does she work? Does she have a life outside of him? She tells me he is at work and after work they will be going out for supper.
Supper? I haven't used that word since 1996.
I tell her to pass on my birthday wishes. She informs me that he will be home after supper and I should try to call if I am not too busy.
"He would really love to hear from you," She says.
Would he? Would I? Why do I hate these calls so much?
I don't hate him. I love him. I am grateful for him. I just feel distant. The farther and farther away we are from each other, the more comfortable in the distance I become. Can't I just love him unconditionally and be there for him in times of need but remain strangers?
Never knowing each other. Never understanding each other. Never needing these things. Yet still loving one another. Isn't that what would make a perfect stranger?
Monday, March 13, 2006
If I could write a song...
i am not sure what the melody would be, but it might say something like this....
i'm spinning and shaking.
i'm overjoyed but aching.
my mind does the feeling.
my heart does the thinking.
what does it all mean?
where is it all from?
how will i know what is to come?
i'm learning and stumbling.
i'm excited but crumbling.
my body does the searching.
my soul does the fumbling.
when will we know?
who will play dumb?
how will i know what is to come?
Punch Drunk Hate
He beat the two women he was engaged to. I wonder why the marriage never came to fruition?
His parents had knock down drag-out fist fights.
He and his buddies have all punched eachother.
He even knows a gay male couple that have been together for five years. They are "always" at each other with the fists.
He believes it is in a man's hormones.
He believes it is innate.
He believes he can do it.
He is short, bald, and insecure about these things.
He is threatened by her beauty.
He is threatened by her height.
He is threatened by my wit.
He is threatened by my sexuality.
He is threatened by life itself.
He throws a left-hook, a right-hook, a jab to the stomach. He throws my balance off. My masculinity is challenged. I feel like I am a sophomore in high school and I have been thrown up against my locker. He gets my adrenaline pumping. My heart is racing.
He stands.
I stay seated. I feel small but not powerless.
He never literally hits me. I never hit him.
But, he did hit home.
His parents had knock down drag-out fist fights.
He and his buddies have all punched eachother.
He even knows a gay male couple that have been together for five years. They are "always" at each other with the fists.
He believes it is in a man's hormones.
He believes it is innate.
He believes he can do it.
He is short, bald, and insecure about these things.
He is threatened by her beauty.
He is threatened by her height.
He is threatened by my wit.
He is threatened by my sexuality.
He is threatened by life itself.
He throws a left-hook, a right-hook, a jab to the stomach. He throws my balance off. My masculinity is challenged. I feel like I am a sophomore in high school and I have been thrown up against my locker. He gets my adrenaline pumping. My heart is racing.
He stands.
I stay seated. I feel small but not powerless.
He never literally hits me. I never hit him.
But, he did hit home.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Running Up That Mountain....
With all the commentary floating around on the web, publications, and podcasts about the Oscars and their outcome, what is one more....really?
Before I tout my opinions and comments, let me begin by saying that the selection of movies nominated this year were superb. It has been at least 5 years or more, in my opinion, that the movies being represented at the Oscars tackled such an array of topics and did so with such intelligence, intellect and style. Everything, from Memoirs of a Geisha to Brokeback Mountain, Transamerica to Munich and Crash to King Kong, had elements of a well made film. I couldn't have been more proud or pleased with the year in cinema at 7:59 p.m. on Oscar Night. By 11:37 p.m., however, I was humming a different tune.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon darling, Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling, Let's exchange the experience, oh..."
Before I tout my opinions and comments, let me begin by saying that the selection of movies nominated this year were superb. It has been at least 5 years or more, in my opinion, that the movies being represented at the Oscars tackled such an array of topics and did so with such intelligence, intellect and style. Everything, from Memoirs of a Geisha to Brokeback Mountain, Transamerica to Munich and Crash to King Kong, had elements of a well made film. I couldn't have been more proud or pleased with the year in cinema at 7:59 p.m. on Oscar Night. By 11:37 p.m., however, I was humming a different tune.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon darling, Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling, Let's exchange the experience, oh..."
"And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems."
One of my favorite songs from the 80's, is Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill." I loved it then. I love it now. I am not quite sure if I liked Kate's song when it was popular or if I liked it when my parents began to allow me to go to the skating rink. Henry's Skateland was my local rink, and Henry was always a few years behind the trends in music. In fact, I remember going back there just for shits and giggles in 1997 when I was 20 and they were still doing couple skate to "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," by Starship. The first time I was allowed to go to the skating rink without an adult chaperone, was in the third grade. I was nine years old.
Henry's Skateland was where a lot of my "firsts" happened. I was first introduced to popular music (even if it was two years late). I was in my first fist fight. Henry's was where I first kissed a girl. I sent her a note on a napkin, which was passed through a mutual girlfriend, that asked if I could kiss her on the lips behind the bushes 10 minutes before our parents picked us up. She wrote back yes with a bubble-letter exclamation point ending with a heart. Henry's was also were I experienced my first break up.
Some of the music that still haunts me to this day, from that time in my life, includes "Wild Boys" by Duran Duran, "Owner of a Lonely Heart by YES, and "Running Up That Hill by the chilling Kate Bush. (come to think of it, I still have a thing for voices like Kate's. maybe this is where it all started?)
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems."
One of my favorite songs from the 80's, is Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill." I loved it then. I love it now. I am not quite sure if I liked Kate's song when it was popular or if I liked it when my parents began to allow me to go to the skating rink. Henry's Skateland was my local rink, and Henry was always a few years behind the trends in music. In fact, I remember going back there just for shits and giggles in 1997 when I was 20 and they were still doing couple skate to "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," by Starship. The first time I was allowed to go to the skating rink without an adult chaperone, was in the third grade. I was nine years old.
Henry's Skateland was where a lot of my "firsts" happened. I was first introduced to popular music (even if it was two years late). I was in my first fist fight. Henry's was where I first kissed a girl. I sent her a note on a napkin, which was passed through a mutual girlfriend, that asked if I could kiss her on the lips behind the bushes 10 minutes before our parents picked us up. She wrote back yes with a bubble-letter exclamation point ending with a heart. Henry's was also were I experienced my first break up.
Some of the music that still haunts me to this day, from that time in my life, includes "Wild Boys" by Duran Duran, "Owner of a Lonely Heart by YES, and "Running Up That Hill by the chilling Kate Bush. (come to think of it, I still have a thing for voices like Kate's. maybe this is where it all started?)
I used to love that song. I even recall taking the sheets from my bed and twirling around like Stevie Nicks. In fact, I think for little while, I probably thought it was Stevie Nicks. At nine years old, I did not know why I wanted to make a deal with God. But, that was my favorite part of the song. If I only could make a deal with God and swap places. Maybe it was the word "swap"? A word that a nine/ten year old can understand. I didn't know myself well enough. I just knew that I wanted to make a deal with God.
I grew up fairly religious. When I say fairly, I mean faux-religious. My family wasn't devout.
But, they knew the basics of Christianity and followed the structure of religion.
Lie=go to hell
Masturbate=go to hell
Sex before marriage=go to hell
Breaking a commandment=go to hell
Being a big homo=go to hell
You know the basics that I'm talking about.
So, my point is, I believed in God. Wholeheartedly. But, even at nine, ten, and eleven years old, I felt my life was an uphill battle. I felt that if God was a forgiving and kind soul, that even she would swap places with me. Even with all the running I could muster, it wouldn't get me over the hill unless I made a deal with God. I am not sure why I felt my life was so hard in fourth or fifth grade. It wasn't until fifth grade that my faggot first happened. At such a young age, I needed to blame somebody. So, I blamed my father. He was abusive, mean and distant. He was the source of my uphill battle. Or so I thought? It's frightening to think that my sexuality might have been the source of my painful connection to Kate Bush's song. I have always said that I never had a clue in the world until I was twelve or thirteen. And even then I did not exactly identify the clues as "gay." But, maybe I did have all the clues in the world. I was just oblivious to them.
Here I sit, at nearly 29 years old, still loving that same Kate Bush song, stilling hoping for that deal with God, and in no need of clues. I am fully aware of who I am. If there are any clues to pay attention to, they are clues of my happiness or un-.... Not of whether or not I am gay.
So, I think...What does it mean that Brokeback Mountain did not win the Best Picture Award? It means everything and nothing to me. It means nothing, because it is just an award. It means nothing because I don't need one singular movie to take one giant step for gaykind. It means nothing to me because it is only one year in the lifetime of cinema that lies before me. It means nothing because Crash is a terrific movie.
However, it means everything to me because if this movie had been released when I was eleven, or for any eleven year old now, then the eleven year old me would have sat in front of that television on Oscar Night completely star struck. The eleven year old me would have begged my parents to allow me to stay up later than ten o'clock just to see the famous people. The eleven year old me would have never seen one movie nominated and would not have cared. The eleven year old me would have thought Jon Stewart was smart, funny, and sexy. The eleven year old me would have thought that the montage of cowboy movies made to look gay was weird. The eleven year old me would have never known that Brokeback Mountain was about anything remotely gay. The eleven year old me would have never known that there was a performance out there by an actor that told it like it is. A character that shows how painful it is to give in to your truth, your desire. The eleven year old me would have gone to sleep never knowing that a movie like Brokeback Mountain existed. The eleven year old me would have went to bed thinking, yet again, that gay is funny. Just like Uncle Arthur from Bewitched and Meshach Taylor from Designing Women. The eleven year old me would think that gay can only be made fun of, not taken seriously. That even though the word gay was never mentioned, there is something about these people they poke fun of, that is just like me. The eleven year old me would never know that gay is not about high heels or make up. That gay is not about fashion or musical theatre. The eleven year old me would never know that Brokeback Mountain was about the painful struggle to cope with what was going on inside you. That Brokeback Mountain was about giving into that battle. That Brokeback Mountain was about being a man. Men torn between what they think and what they feel.
The eleven year old me would be scared to death to be himself for another ten years.
At the same time, the eleven year old me would see heterosexuality in every movie. The montage of love stories wouldn't include one of two men. The eleven year old me would never see heterosexuality or race made into a ridiculous montage of "fun." The eleven year old me would see it celebrated. The eleven year old me would eventually know to put his penis in a vagina when the time came. The eleven year old me would know to fondle her breasts when the time came to go down on her. The eleven year old me would know that a woman doesn't come the same way a man does. The eleven year old me would know what my life was supposed to have in store for me.
The eleven year old me would never know what Heath Ledger portrayed as Enis when he disgustingly and reluctantly gave into that kiss. The eleven year old me would not be prepared to experience a similar kiss 9 years later with some boy I barely remember in the elevator of my college dorm. The eleven year old me would never know it would become a struggle. The eleven year old me would touch a man the way he saw men touch women. The eleven year old me would never know that gay is more than flamboyance and tragic deaths. The eleven year old me would never know that other people like me would get married and have children but painfully repress who they really are, or at least who they really desire.
The eleven year old me or any other eleven year old, would never know this or anything else remotely familiar, because...Did the Oscars do their part in the year 2006 to educate, motivate, elevate, or eradicate? No. No. NO! Considering the beautiful material that was delivered to them, the Academy and the media were oblivious to how human they could have made me* look. Brokeback was not about a cross dresser. Brokeback was not about gay rights. Brokeback was not about femininity. Brokeback was not about coming out. Brokeback was not about AIDS. Then why in the hell do we leave the Oscars not knowing the slightest thing about what Brokeback Mountain is about. Oh, that's right!
We know it's the "GAY COWBOY MOVIE!!!" (insert echo)
They had their chance to speak to the eleven year old boy in IOWA. They had their chance to treat a gay man, or even a straight actor playing a struggling man, with dignity and respect. They had their chance to focus on the subject matter of Brokeback Mountain with intelligence and modernism. They had their opportunity to introduce their nominees with courage and pride. Possibly describing Heath Ledger's performance as groundbreaking, raw, and the genuine capture of a human experience. Acknowledging that this role was not only the role of a gay man. But the role of a MAN. A MAN. A MAN so torn between society's definition of right and wrong.
Did they? No. No. NO!
Instead they made quick jokes. Crazy puns. They made montages of old westerns that meant something to our ancestors and made a mockery of it. Our ancestors that couldn't give a rat's shit about a movie like Brokeback Mountain. Our ancestors who treat those western films as some of the best movies ever made. Therefore, not only discrediting the meaning and importance of those movies to our elders, but discrediting the Oscar nominated movie Brokeback as well. A montage that is solid proof of many's choice to remain blind to the realities around them. A montage that sends us years back. A montage that is an excuse for a middle american man of 50 something to say..."I can't go see that movie. I can't stand to watch two men kiss or whatever it is they end up doin'."
I don't blame him. If I were 29 years old in 1976, and the media world treated topics of sexuality the same thirty years later, I wouldn't grow much in my thinking either.
Imagine if you will, I am eleven years old when this year's Oscars is airing. All that I know of "gay" is flamboyance, drag, limp wrists, and the tragedy of AIDS. I go upstairs to my bedroom, having no concept of the movie Brokeback Mountain and very little concept of myself. I go to my shelf of cassette tapes. I pull down Kate Bush's Hounds of Love. I think, briefly, about the clips they chose to show of Brokeback Mountain. The clip where Enis says, "...if this thing takes hold of us in the wrong place, at the wrong time..." The clip where Alma says, "...Jack Twist? Jack Nasty!"
I hum along with Kate.
"And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems."
And, with no clear, conscious understanding of the uphill (upmountain) battle I would face for years to come.
*me -- a gay male.
also see this past post
Saturday, March 04, 2006
9, 8, 7....
I stole this from Glamorama, who is oh so funny and worth the wait between blog updates.
Oh Numbers
9 Lasts.
Last dollar spent: At Zen Palate for the sesame medallions
Last cigarette: Probably two weeks ago. ( I hardly smoked it)
Last beverage: Bottled water with an emergen'c packet in it.
Last movie: Munich
Last phone call: Nick explaining the crazy "macro-biotic lady" I unfortunately stood behind in line at Zen.
Last song played: Jump by Madonna
Last Bubble bath: Sometime last summer
Last time you cried: While watching Munick last Tuesday
Last thing you ate: Spring Roll
8 have you evers.
Have you ever dated a best friend: No, but most of the time they become my best friend.
Have you ever skinny dipped: No. I am too insecure
Have you ever kissed somebody and regretted it: Of Course
Have you ever lost someone you loved: Yes
Have you ever been dumped: Yes
Have you ever been drunk and threw up: Yep!
Have you ever run away: I think I tried. I certainly dreamt about it.
7 states you've been to.
1. California. Too many times.
2. Iowa. I am from there.
3. Pennsylvania. I visited Philly with my BF.
5. Hawaii. My family's biggest vacation ever because we had an aunt who lived there and put us up for free
6. Texas. While on tour with Anne Frank
7. Arizona. I moved there for a summer to attend a theatre program.
6 things you've done today (in no particular order).
1. Made a list
2. Blogged
3. Ate lunch
4. Worked
5. Worked out
6. Called Joely
5 of your favorite things in no order.
1. Oprah
2. Edameme
3. Popcorn
4. Music
5. Beer
4 people you can tell [almost] anything to in no order.
1. Carrie
2. Mom
3. Brian
4. Nicky
3 Things that make you smile.
1. Ellen
2. Compliments
3. Snow
2 Things you want to do before you die.
1. Live in California
2. Be on Broadway
1 thing you cannot live without
1. Laughter
Oh Numbers
9 Lasts.
Last dollar spent: At Zen Palate for the sesame medallions
Last cigarette: Probably two weeks ago. ( I hardly smoked it)
Last beverage: Bottled water with an emergen'c packet in it.
Last movie: Munich
Last phone call: Nick explaining the crazy "macro-biotic lady" I unfortunately stood behind in line at Zen.
Last song played: Jump by Madonna
Last Bubble bath: Sometime last summer
Last time you cried: While watching Munick last Tuesday
Last thing you ate: Spring Roll
8 have you evers.
Have you ever dated a best friend: No, but most of the time they become my best friend.
Have you ever skinny dipped: No. I am too insecure
Have you ever kissed somebody and regretted it: Of Course
Have you ever lost someone you loved: Yes
Have you ever been dumped: Yes
Have you ever been drunk and threw up: Yep!
Have you ever run away: I think I tried. I certainly dreamt about it.
7 states you've been to.
1. California. Too many times.
2. Iowa. I am from there.
3. Pennsylvania. I visited Philly with my BF.
5. Hawaii. My family's biggest vacation ever because we had an aunt who lived there and put us up for free
6. Texas. While on tour with Anne Frank
7. Arizona. I moved there for a summer to attend a theatre program.
6 things you've done today (in no particular order).
1. Made a list
2. Blogged
3. Ate lunch
4. Worked
5. Worked out
6. Called Joely
5 of your favorite things in no order.
1. Oprah
2. Edameme
3. Popcorn
4. Music
5. Beer
4 people you can tell [almost] anything to in no order.
1. Carrie
2. Mom
3. Brian
4. Nicky
3 Things that make you smile.
1. Ellen
2. Compliments
3. Snow
2 Things you want to do before you die.
1. Live in California
2. Be on Broadway
1 thing you cannot live without
1. Laughter
B-O-L-O-G-N-A
This 30/30 Challenge is bologney! I failed again. My two chances to miss are up. I can't fall off the challenge again. I missed yesterday (Fri. Mar 3rd). This was day #8. The saddest part about missing yesterday, is that Fridays are my regularly scheduled work-out day with my training buddy. It happens every Friday. We have only missed one since we began our weekly sessions in January. I just didn't want to go. I didn't feel good. I was tired. I was lazy. I was unmotivated. I also wanted to start preparing for my little OSCAR party I'm throwing on Sunday. When I say 'prepare' I mean clean. This is what I get by challenging myself and having no one to answer to, or keep tabs on me.
I know that I have been working a lot the past ten days. (Not a day off since last Wed. Feb 22) But, I am tired of using that as an excuse. I am also tired of being tired. If I would have just picked my ass up and made it to the gym yesterday, I probably wouldn't be as tired today. If I would stop procrastinating by writing this blog, I could be at the gym right NOW!!
The long and the short of it is this: Last night, after a long day during a long week of work, I was walking home at 4:40 a.m. when I had a sudden craving. I was craving comfort food of the rarest kind. Despite missing two workouts during this stupid 30/30 challenge I placed on myself, I have been fairly healthy in my eating. Not too many carbs. Not too many late night eating. Lots of greens. But, I was tired, cranky, stressed, and a little upset with myself. I needed comforting. I wasn't craving BEN & JERRY's or chocolate. I wasn't craving a LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKE or DOLLY MADISON donuts. I was craving an old-fashioned BOLOGNA sandwich. I wanted bologna with iceberg lettuce and mayo on white wonderbread. The kind of bread that sticks to the backs and fronts of your four front teeth when you bite into it. I also wanted a small, cheap bag of wavy potato chips. Later, while eating my sandwich at home, I would take the top piece of bread off and place a few wavy chips on the sandwich, place the top back on the sandwich, and crunch-crunch may way through my "when I was 10 years old favorite sandwhich."
That is exactly what I did. It took till the third deli to find the classic bologna and the soft white bread. But, when I found it, I ran home with my 50 cent bag of wavys and my comfort sandwich, turned on my DVR-ed episodes of OPRAH, flipped the top off my sammy and crunched myself to sleep.
Now, I will leave you as I need to retreat to the gym for my 30 minutes minimum work-out. Not only does that white bread stick to your teeth, but it sticks to the ribs, and I am having trouble bending at the waist today.
I know that I have been working a lot the past ten days. (Not a day off since last Wed. Feb 22) But, I am tired of using that as an excuse. I am also tired of being tired. If I would have just picked my ass up and made it to the gym yesterday, I probably wouldn't be as tired today. If I would stop procrastinating by writing this blog, I could be at the gym right NOW!!
The long and the short of it is this: Last night, after a long day during a long week of work, I was walking home at 4:40 a.m. when I had a sudden craving. I was craving comfort food of the rarest kind. Despite missing two workouts during this stupid 30/30 challenge I placed on myself, I have been fairly healthy in my eating. Not too many carbs. Not too many late night eating. Lots of greens. But, I was tired, cranky, stressed, and a little upset with myself. I needed comforting. I wasn't craving BEN & JERRY's or chocolate. I wasn't craving a LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKE or DOLLY MADISON donuts. I was craving an old-fashioned BOLOGNA sandwich. I wanted bologna with iceberg lettuce and mayo on white wonderbread. The kind of bread that sticks to the backs and fronts of your four front teeth when you bite into it. I also wanted a small, cheap bag of wavy potato chips. Later, while eating my sandwich at home, I would take the top piece of bread off and place a few wavy chips on the sandwich, place the top back on the sandwich, and crunch-crunch may way through my "when I was 10 years old favorite sandwhich."
That is exactly what I did. It took till the third deli to find the classic bologna and the soft white bread. But, when I found it, I ran home with my 50 cent bag of wavys and my comfort sandwich, turned on my DVR-ed episodes of OPRAH, flipped the top off my sammy and crunched myself to sleep.
Now, I will leave you as I need to retreat to the gym for my 30 minutes minimum work-out. Not only does that white bread stick to your teeth, but it sticks to the ribs, and I am having trouble bending at the waist today.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
You make me wanna SCREAM!!!
Day 4 of my 30/30 Challenge....nada! My work got the best of me and I failed.
That hasn't stopped me. I finished day 5 with flying colors in a 90 minute Bikram class. Day 6 I have actually resorted to working out in my office in the basement of therapy. I told the staff I would be in my office on an important phone call that would take about 30 mins. So, I just completed biceps, triceps, shoulders with a bottle of Absolut Citron in each hand (15 mins); pull-ups from a water pipe (5 mins); calf raises on the basement stairs while on a work related call (about 6-7 mins); and belive it or not I ran up and down two flights of stairs a few times until I had completed my remaining 3 mins. Don't believe me? Ask the barback who caught me during two different exercises and stared at me with a "what the fuck?" look on his face.
I refuse to fall off this challenge again. But, I have set some guidelines for myself. These guidelines are based in another challenge I took on last year with my yoga studio. I am allowing myself two misses. Meaning, I can miss two days of working out, but that means I have to do two different sets of exercise on another day within the 30 days. This does not mean that a 90 minute yoga class counts for two days. It means I have to take two separte chunks of time out of my day and two different forms of exercise to make up for the missed day. I am allowing myself only one more missed day.
We shall see....but, I have to tell you, committing to anything for 30 Days is damn hard work! It frustrates the shit out of me, and the "real life" things that are getting in the way make me wanna SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That hasn't stopped me. I finished day 5 with flying colors in a 90 minute Bikram class. Day 6 I have actually resorted to working out in my office in the basement of therapy. I told the staff I would be in my office on an important phone call that would take about 30 mins. So, I just completed biceps, triceps, shoulders with a bottle of Absolut Citron in each hand (15 mins); pull-ups from a water pipe (5 mins); calf raises on the basement stairs while on a work related call (about 6-7 mins); and belive it or not I ran up and down two flights of stairs a few times until I had completed my remaining 3 mins. Don't believe me? Ask the barback who caught me during two different exercises and stared at me with a "what the fuck?" look on his face.
I refuse to fall off this challenge again. But, I have set some guidelines for myself. These guidelines are based in another challenge I took on last year with my yoga studio. I am allowing myself two misses. Meaning, I can miss two days of working out, but that means I have to do two different sets of exercise on another day within the 30 days. This does not mean that a 90 minute yoga class counts for two days. It means I have to take two separte chunks of time out of my day and two different forms of exercise to make up for the missed day. I am allowing myself only one more missed day.
We shall see....but, I have to tell you, committing to anything for 30 Days is damn hard work! It frustrates the shit out of me, and the "real life" things that are getting in the way make me wanna SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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