Deemed totally not worth the money (that someone else) spent on it. Of course it was an actor and not a random audience member.
I may start my own murder mystery dinner where there are no actors, only diners who act like actors. Something like that.
What it comes down to isi totally could have had a more enjoyable night (with better food!) watching Law & Order episodes at home. At least that doesn’t have a dress code.
“Wedding dress. Wedding dress. Wedding dress.” That’s what I have running through my mind as I run. I am meeting my bridesmaids in San Francisco next month and I want to feel good when I try on dresses. I don’t want to be wooried about back fat or jiggly arms.
So I’m running. And doing ridiculous workouts that I got from an iPhone app and that truly kick my ass. I’m cutting my portions and counting (albeit a little lazily) calories. And also swimming. And making grand plans for all these workouts that get my ass (among other body parts) in shape by December.
October was a rough month, full of weekends out of state and parties with deliciously unhealthy food. And while I didn’t over-indulge, I did partake. And I learned that sometimes it’s beeter to spend time friends and family then to stick to exercise! exercise! exercise!
It’s usually around this time – Thursdsay, 3:30 pm – that I start cursing the day that I decided a 4/10 schedule would work for me. Another hour-and-a-half until the end of the day for me, when I could be leaving right now. I have to remind myself that to have a Friday off, though, is totally worth it.
This weekend is the first one in two weeks that I’ve been in town. And I’m looking forward to two days of sleeping in like you would not believe. The cleaning of the apartment that I am willing myself to do, though, is not something I’m looking forward to. Unfortunately, after more weekends in guest beds than in our own, this is something that badly needs to be done.
I wish I was one of those people who could keep everything in its place and clean all the time, but I am not. Things get cluttered and the counter gets dirty and I say to myself, I’ll clean that up this weekend but of course, that hardly ever happens because of the nine million other things that steal my attention (like food, and tv, or a bike ride) and I justify it by saying that those other things are better for my mental health.
But this weekend, I am determined to Clean the apartment.
Well, this week, anyway, while Wes is out of town.
Also this weekend is the Murder Mystery Dinner Party. Ever since Clue I have wanted to attend a Murder Mystery Dinner Party – well, after I got over being freaked the fuck out by said movie (hey, I was only 9 when I saw it). Perhaps it’s all the Sue Grafton novels I’ve read, or all the Murder, She Wrote episodes I’ve seen, but I’m confident in my detecting abilities.
See Three here.
This past weekend in Seattle, on the last day of our trip, Whitney brought up how crazy I had gotten right before Wes and I got engaged. And yes, I did get crazy. Crazy about waiting for something to happen that I knew was going to happen but just didn’t know when. Crazy with wondering whether it would happen before his next transfer or if there was going to be a whole big deal of Will I Move Without a Ring? Whitney, being able to gchat more than anybody I know, bore the brunt of my frustration and crazy. She did a good job of talking me off a ledge most days, but I still got Crazy.
All I can say is: I can’t wait until the table is reversed and she’s the Crazy one. Then she will understand what’s it’s like. Until then, I’ll just cop to the crazy. The fucking nuts. The constant wonder. The thinly-veiled anger when it just kept not happening.
And then it happened. And all was well with the world.
Today, November 4th, might be our last dating anniversary. Or we could have one more, depending on how the transfer pans out.
It’s weird to think that for four years I have probably only had a handful of weekends without Wes. More during the months of long-distance, but still not many. It’s weird to think back on that first meeting, when neither of us knew that any of it would end this way. To wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t relented and given Wes my number. Or if he would have been too put-off by my awkward comments about oral fixations and having to leave Santa Barbara (jokes! All of them!) and never called.
But that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Boy meets girl. Boy begs girl for her number all night. Girl finally relents and enters her number in his phone. The next day boy sneakily asks for number again because he was too drunk the night before to remember that he already had it. Girl says, “Look in your phone, you fuckin’ drunk. Four years later Boy and Girl are engaged. It’s strange how life works out.
But I couldn’t be happier about it. The fights we have are never worth ending things, and we can find our way back to each other pretty quickly. Wes’ mom, after hearing one too many jokes about divorce, reminded me that relationships are work; that it doesn’t matter how many years you’re together or married – there is no end to the work. Which I know. After living with someone in 650 sq. ft., boy do I know: it’s all work.
Sure we can’t keep the flowers outside our apartment alive (it’s the sun, I swear!), but we are tending to our relationship nicely. It will always be work. And I’m sure there will be (have been?) times where one of us wants to just slam the door and walk out and never look back. But that’s not going to happen (save for some pretty serious transgressions). No matter what happens, we’ll find (fight?) our way back to each other. We didn’t cultivate this relationship for the past four years just to let it die once it’s official.
We’re looking forward to finally planning this wedding. To celebrate with our friends and family. To dance the night away. To be a husband and a wife (seriously, I’m sick of saying fiance – I sort of want to punch myself in the face every time I do).
This is the size of a small baby. Wes has been talking about Gordito’s for practically as long as we’ve been dating (4 years tomorrow). This past weekend was the first time we went there. And yes, it was yummy. Good thing it’s a three hour plane ride away.
Lately I’ve become excited about the possibility of a move to Hawaii. Talking myself into the awesomeness of it all. And though I’m sure it would be all sorts of amazing, there’s something about the Northwest that just feels right for us. It feels like home and every time Wes and I go up there we want so badly to move there. Only time will tell what will happen with the next move – hopefully we’ll find out soon because I am getting cabin fever and am ready for something new.
Seattle this weekend was fun. A lot of fun. We went up there for a wedding and then stayed through the weekend for Halloween. The less fun thing about it was how much alcohol I drank and how little exercise I did while there. There’s something about going out of town that makes me think that it’s okay to just go crazy with excess. I’ll get back to it when I’m home and I do – for the most part – but it’s much harder to get back into it when you’re not seeing results. And the reason that I’m not seeing awesome results? Because I keep backsliding. I’m trying to have some wiggle room – there really isn’t a lot of time on these whirlwind trips to get any exercise in. We have so many people to see that we’re barley keeping up.
But I’m back and I have three glorious weekends without travel in front of me. Which means three Fridays off in which to get in a long bike ride or run. It means that I don’t have any friends we hardly ever see talking me into just one more drink or jello shots. It means cooking in my own kitchen (however awful it is) and being in charge of what foods I put in my mouth. On the flip side: it also means I’m in charge of what foods I put in my mouth. There’s no blaming bad food choices on the traveling. The Taco Bell I just had to have today? All my choice. And a bad one at that.
But (there’s always a but, a justification, for the bad things we do), the bad decisions I make usually force me back on track. They are usually the slap in the face that I need to remind myself that Taco Bell is pretty sick – no matter how good it sounds. So here I am, just three-ish hours after consuming it and thinking about how better my lunch would have been spent running. Or my sandwich at my desk and reading, but also knowing that I’ve gotten that craving out of my head and replaced it with the completely opposite feeling: I want to vomit. Newly renewed in my Get Healthy endeavor and ready to go home and fit a run in.
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In other news, I am trying NaBloPoMo again. It was close, but I failed in January on the last day of the month. I’m determined to get through this month. Mostly because I need to write. I read Moose’s post today and that’s completely what I’m going through: what the hell is my life purpose? I have no idea. I’m awash in a sea of What Should I Do With My Life? No one seems to know, especially me. I like to write but half the time I have no idea what to write about because I feel like if I’m putting something out there then it needs to be Good (not that you’d know it from this blog, but whatever). Instead of just sitting down and writing and realizing that that’s half the battle. Seriously, get it out and you’ll get better. Or something like that. So that’s what I’m doing: getting it out and hoping it will get better.
I’m doing it again. And this will have to count as Post One because I’m exhausted from a weekend in Seattle.
What is so difficult about working out lately is the amount of time I have in a day. Working a 4/10 schedule is awesome when you have 3 days to recuperate, but when you’re go-go-going it’s rough. By Monday I’m exhausted and working out slips to the bottom of the list, right behind eating and sleeping. I’m still getting in workouts 4 times a week, but I usually crunch them in at the last minute because of all the other things that are going on.
Last night I went with Wes to try on dresses (for a wedding this weekend, not my wedding) and felt awful about how I looked in about 95% of them. It wasn’t just that stupid belly fat that I’ve been focusing on; it was the whole picture. My arms and legs, even my ankles looked fat (to me). And then I got all Woe is me! because there are just not enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do. An hour lunch to work out equates to a 30-ish minute workout, which is hardly anything. And after work I feel like there’s just enough time to make dinner, spend some quality time with Wes and then off to bed. Sure there are morning workouts, but that means getting up at 3:30 am, which would cut out quality time with Wes at night because then there’s really only room for eating and sleeping.
I’m still doing well with food in that I’m listening to what my body has to say and not finishing even a 1/3 of my meals because I’m just not hungry any more. I’m adding more fruits and vegetables to my snack list – apples! carrots! – and staying away from the high-sugar high-calorie snacks (except for that Reese’s I had yesterday).
I’m trying to incorporate a healthy lifestyle into my life, which is proving difficult at this point. We only have a couple of months left in Orange County and I’m determined to look at what has been working for me and what hasn’t and make some significant changes in our next location: work closer to home so I can ride my bike; work less hours/day and workout before work; make healthier dinners with fresh ingredients and lots of vegetables.
Exercise has still been sporadic. I find myself saying, “I’ll take today off and just work out tomorrow instead.” But when tomorrow comes I find it that much harder to get off the couch or out of bed and pull on that stupid sports bra to actually exercise. I’m still getting in 4 days a week, but it’s a tug-of-war in my mind on whether or not today can be one of my days off. I have to mentally go through the rest of the days of the week to see what’s what.
It’s sort of like my sick days (which are wrapped up in my PTO) – is today really worth skipping out on? What if something better happens later in the week and I can’t do it because I have to go to the gym?
But I’m making progress. After my weekend in Portland I was probably back to my beginning weight. Yesterday I was down 1 1/2 pounds. Nothing great, but a start. Not only that, but I like the way I look a lot better than when this started. It’s nowhere near where I want to be, but it’s a start.
The most important part of this discovery is that I don’t want to eat everything on my plate just because it’s delicious. I’m eating slower and realizing that I’m full a lot sooner than I would be if I just shoved it in my mouth and hoped for the best. The best part about this is that it’s flowing over to alcohol as well. Usually I’m the person to suggest that second (or third or fourth) glass (or bottle), but lately I’m finding that I don’t want it. And yes, this is a huge discovery. Because even though I’ve always known that I don’t need food and drink in excess, I’ve always wanted it. And I usually give into those wants by justifying it with a run the next day, which never fully makes up for it, of course, but I say it anyway.
I’ve been counting my calories lately. Not in a very strict way at all because the point is not to starve myself at all. The point is to get control over my body and my health. So I’m tracking them in a very inaccurate manner to use as a guideline of what foods I’m eating. To see where my strengths and weaknesses are. It’s nice being able to look at a log of food and realizing that, Oh, hey, that’s where my belly fat is coming from. It’s nice to be able to see a bad habit as it’s happening, or at least pretty soon afterward.
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I just talked to Jessica this morning and we’re both frustrated by the lack of pounds we’re losing. So far I’m only down 1 1/2 (as of Sunday). She’s down five but has reached a plateau in just three weeks. What we both agreed on though, is that we feel better. Our clothes fit better and our energy is higher and we’re making better choices about food. And that’s what I’m focusing on. I know that neither of us (though Jess would like to convince herself otherwise) has enough weight to lose to make for dramatic Biggest Loser-style losses. We just aren’t going to lose 7 pounds in one week. But I know that if we keep this going then we’ll get to the point where we don’t cringe when looking at our thighs or stomachs. And that’s what keeps me going on this.
The apartment furniture is still pushed to one side of our apartment while we wait (and wait. and then wait some more) for property management to get someone – anyone – from pest control in to look at the termites that may still be chewing their way through the wood that holds up our living quarters. The are dragging their feet, I suppose, is the most polite way to put it. How I put it, however is: they fucking suck and I can’t believe it’s taking them so goddamn long to have someone look at this – to take a fucking course of action other than sitting in their offices and hoping that we’ll just let it go.
So far I have stayed out of it because I inherited my mother’s anger issues (which made it easy for me to back into a tow hitch). When I get mad I don’t see things rationally or calmly . I can’t take the catch-more-bees-with-honey route. I like stern talkings-to that may or may not end in yelling, depending how the conversation is going. Wes likes to say that it’s my Latino heritage – the only thing other than a like of spicy foods that could be considered Latin in me. I think it’s because I grew up with a mother who would routinely berate clerks at clothing stores for not being able to return items, per their return policy. I try and temper it as much as I can, and it usually only comes out when I’m very mad at something that deserves my anger (like our property management).
What it all means though is that I usually take a back seat when issues like this arise because, really, no one likes how I act – least of all me. I try to step back and take a breath when I’m mad at something/someone because I know that in a day’s time I won’t be as upset and it’s not the end of the world. I have also enlisted Wes to tell me when I’m acting like a huge bitch. I don’t want to grow up getting mad over tiny things and taking it out on the people closest to me. I don’t want to be a person who takes offense at little insignificant things, ruining my day and whoever happens to be around me. I don’t want to be pouting at a party when I should be having fun. Basically, I want to enjoy my life and stop worrying about all the little things that are going wrong because there’s always something that goes wrong and if I do that I’m going to grow old alone because no one wants to be around that person (seriously, look at my grandma).
Wow, so this started out as a rant on the state of our apartment and went in a completely different direction. Let’s go with it.
I read an e-mail exchange a couple of weeks ago and I was appalled at how rude and insensitive I was acting. But mostly I was amazed at how angry I was. I shouldn’t be, of course. I should know by now that I do have the capacity to get angry and to write people out of my life for not living up to whatever standards I have arbitrarily put out there. But I feel like I have come a long way in the past four or five years to not make mountains out of mole hills. I’ve become a lot more comfortable in who I am and who my friends are. And I understand that life isn’t always about me and how I feel and what I want (no matter how awesome that would be).
I think Wes has been a big part of what has changed me. Sharing your life with someone makes it impossible to be the center of attention. My college friends and I were all so selfish. We didn’t really care about each other as anything other than a prop in our lives. Having someone who think you’re just as important as you think they are is something completely different. It sounds disgusting, but Wes makes me a better person. Suddenly I see myself through his eyes and my anger and despair over the small stuff is just not attractive. Watching him do so many selfless things prompts me to be a nicer person for no other reason than it’s the right thing to do.
Yes, I still sometimes yell when I get angry. And I still get angry about stupid things that aren’t worth my energy. But I snap out of it a bit more quickly because there’s someone standing next to me telling me that it’s not the end of the world that I punched a hole in his bumper with a tow hitch; that termites in the couch are shitty, but they’re not the end of the world. I’m quicker to bounce back now that I have someone to show me that everything will be okay.
