Here I am again attempting to take a stab at a weekly feature on this blog. This inspiration stems from an online photo album I started on Facebook that is entitled “Hell to the Yeah!” Some of the quotes will be heart felt. Others will be cheeky and snarky in their delivery. Here and there (a lot, really) are empowering to women. Men will still be able to appreciate the sentiment, though. I mean, it’s not like I am forcing you to watch a chick flick or read my chick lit. If you have daughters, guys, you’re surely wishing for them to embody independent spirits, right?
Oopsies! I went off on a tangent. Here is week one of
Speaking Words of Wisdom
Javier Bardem played the character Felipe. Yeah, it makes it all much more sexy now, doesn’t it?
It is December 26. For most of you, you’re probably lamenting it being the end of your four day weekend. After all, the day after Christmas is an unofficial holiday that many employers recognize. Lucky you if you’re one of those associates who gets to hang at home with the load of gifts you received on Christmas. As for me, I’m headed back to work as if a holiday hadn’t even occurred. One day off and back at it! However, I do have friends who didn’t even have Christmas day off. For some it happens because of their career of choice, or for others they took whatever job could get the bills paid and it just so happens that workplace never closes.
Ahhhhh what the hell is the point of this blog post? I have no freakin’ idea. It seemed necessary for words to occupy the web page. GoDaddy keeps sending notifications that I need to pay up to keep my domain and web hosting. Seriously, do I care anymore? I mean, when I wasn’t paying jack sh*t on Blogger this blog saw a lot more action. Since I’m not making a dime off my blathering, isn’t it a waste of my hard earned cash to keep it up? Yeah, I think so. With the economy beating me up a little more each day, it has been necessary to evaluate smart expenditures over foolish ones. When $14.95 can be better spent on say, putting a couple of gallons in the car to transport me to work or buy 3.5 gallons of milk for my teen age son, it would be wise not to spend it on a membership for something that serves no purpose to my life.
I need to vent, obviously. There it is. The purpose
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2011 wasn’t what I had hyped it up to be in my mind. Sure, it’s my own mentality that made it what it was, for sure. A lot of us are in the same boat. It’s been 365 days of ebbs and flows. Oh, wait. That’s just how life is? You mean I can’t always be some cheerleader ‘my life is better than your life and your life can be like my life if you just sip on this Kool-aid?’ Sure, if that’s your bag, feel free to carry it. I, on the other hand, have to sip on my own cup of brew and be who I is! Again, some revelation that should’ve always been my philosophy. Hey, I’m a late bloomer haha. In hindsight, which is always 20/20, it has dawned on me that I did too much listening to others and not enough hearing my own voice. Tons of do this not that from well intentioned people.
2012 is already set to start out with me sucking it up and moving forward. Oh! Yet another brilliant epiphany. With all the self-help ‘be a better you’ advice books out there, I think one of the things people forget (me anyway) is to thine own self be true.
What can you expect from me in the coming weeks? Well, I’ll let you know when it happens.
OKAY, you know me and I am a snarky, sarcastic chick. I find a little pleasure in playing devil’s advocate from time to time. However, on the whole I am happy. Content, if you will. While i do have dreams of building a better life by way of higher income that affords me my own house and vacations to destinations that aren’t family members addresses, on the whole I am HAPPY.
You might ask how that is possible when there are so many things happening in the world that are dreadful. Darkness is spreading. Hate is more and more evident. Sure. It is. But in my world, where I have control, I find reasons to negate all the horrendous events that are not in my control. Do you dig? I’m controlling my personal state of mind.
Gratitude is Attitude.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. For Americans it begins the holiday season. Our hearts are more open; pockets more empty. It also makes people make deliberate attempts to find things in their lives to be grateful for. My suggestion is not to let it just be a seasonal duty or chore. Do it daily. No need to write about it but if it helps you to do so, then do it. There is a bounty of social networking sights for you to share it on. The first one is your own family. Write a note on a Post-It to your husband or child for why you’re grateful. Share the positive. Make use of the front of your refrigerator. Dry erase boards are for more than grocery lists. Make your gratitude list.
Start a movement and make it begin under your own roof. A doctor I once worked with, Dr. William Grant, was notorious for handing a person a piece of paper with the alphabet written vertically in the margin whenever he’d hear someone complaining incessantly. He’d instruct them to start with A and work down to Z listing things that person is grateful for. Sure, X and Z often stump folks, but you get the general idea of the task. Some days we have to stop and smell the roses and appreciate that we can see and smell their aroma.
Mancub and I have traveled to Springfield for a wedding. The bride is my niece; one of my brothers daughters. This excursion marks the third wedding we’ve attended in 2011. Third, but not last. The fourth will be in October when a friend weds. Truly the year of commitment.
Here’s a little known fact to people outside of my family circle: I have been the official wedding crier since my first flower girl experience in my sister Karen’s wedding a billion years ago. All of 6 years old, I sobbed uncontrollably at the altar. Talk about a pathetic sight. To fully grasp what it is about weddings that makes me cry so much is fodder for the psychiatrists couch. At that age my estimation is fear that my sister was being taken away from me forever! Of course, that theory doesn’t make sense when you consider the fact that I can cry at the nuptials of someone who is a relative stranger.
After several years of seeing myself in wedding photos with smudged eye make up, shining bright red nose and generally looking as if someone beat me up, I had to do something. With FOUR weddings to attend in a year, I didn’t want ugly memories of myself for the loving couples.
It is bizarre.
As I have matured, it has become a smidgen easier to stop the tsunami of tears. That is not to say I do not cry at all. Even though I got teary eyed at my own wedding in 1990, I didn’t sob. I should have RUN, but that’s for another day. So many things went wrong on my wedding day and the days leading up to it I think I was just relieved it was finally commencing. Another instance where I didn’t lose control was recently at my sister’s civil union. Taking deliberate steps to maintain control during the ceremony was executed. I followed these three simple steps:
When music plays or someone sings (before or during the wedding), start running through a mental to-do list for work. A grocery shopping list or a tally sheet of all the people you believe to be morons are options, too. Just keep your mind preoccupied.
Scan the other guests and find someone who is crying and laugh at them (mentally) for being an ugly crier. If no one else is crying, seek out the worst dressed woman and pick apart her ensemble as if you’re Stacy and Clinton from What Not To Wear. Yes, it seems cruel but you’re trying to save yourself from hideous wedding photo ops.
Hum the theme song from The Family Guy anytime you feel the burning sensation in your eyes, nose or throat indicating you are about to lose it.
The last one is the hum-dinger of no-fail techniques for me. Sharing this information may make me appear to be a lunatic or I’ll be given high praise. Oh, this is just for the ceremony. Ask me to make a toast and all bets are off. Have you ever tried to mentally sing something while reading a heartfelt dedication to the happy couple? Niagra Falls, baby.
As I sit here eating my breakfast it came to me that I should share some things I am grateful for having in my life. All too often in my quest to be funny I lean towards the sarcastic and cynical. In an attempt to show you that I can be a smidge deeper than a puddle in the desert, here are 10 items that popped into my head in no particular order of importance.
Fage Greek Yogurt. It’s what’s for breakfast this morning along with strawberries and flax seed granola. Packed with protein and low fat, my friends. It made for a pretty parfait, too. See photo below.
My job. Yeah, it’s kind of a standard mode to complain about bosses and work conditions, but thanks to employment I’m able to exist in comfort.
Smartphones. Sure, they have their issues with apps that permit hackers etc, but having a Droid makes me wonder how I functioned before such possession.
Coffee. All things in moderation. Coffee black; hot from brewing; sting to my upper lip as I take the first sip. That is when my day can truly begin.
Funny co-workers. Yes, I work with some people who make me laugh until my belly hurts. I’ll focus on that facet of the job rather than the goofballs who can’t seem to retain information.
Sharpies. I love them! Even my highlighters are made my Sharpie. I avoid office supply stores due to the fact that I cannot resist purchasing the multi-color packs or new fangled variety of Sharpie click pens.
Facebook. Some people say it is the work of the devil. I, however, have found a lot of support and hilarity. It’s also been the venue of reunions both familial and school related.
My Landlady. She’s old school kind and thoughtful. They look out for me and Mancub. Our home is very old and lived in, but I wouldn’t trade it for modern and convenient if it meant dealing with a heartless land manager. Yes, I’d love to own (with the bank) a home that is mine in name, but that day may not come for quite awhile.
Witty and quirky sit-coms. If you haven’t seen RAISINGHOPE or COMMUNITY, then you are missing out. My son and I watch those shows and laugh so hard!
John Hays. Yep, a real person with a name. He’s my Beachbody Coach, but beyond that he’s a true friend who, in spite of me being downright bitchy at times, has proven that he’s not giving up on helping me see Marissa as others do.
You Are What You Eat has been long used as a method to get people to eat better. I was a wee girl the first time I heard it. It clearly had little effect as our country faces alarming rates of OBESITY not only in adults but children.
There are many causes — sedentary lifestyles and ‘gotta get it now’ means of feeding ourselves are two obvious ones.
For many of us we try to cut back on the junk food, portion sizes, exercise regularly with little results. Well, take a look at not only how much you’re eating but the kinds of foods you’re consuming. Yes, this requires a little forethought and planning.
Look at it this way: Do you take care of your car, yard or pets better than you do yourself?
After viewing that video, I invite you to check out Darin Olien’s blog (co-creator of Shakeology). He gives more insights and lists of foods ranging from alkaline to extremely acidic.
My personal take on the American diet is that what we consumed once in a while or ‘in moderation’ is now typical, daily, with regularity.
In her husky accent Greta Garbo declared, “I want to be alone.” After extensive (Wikipedia) research because I had always heard she was misquoted, I found this quote which best sums up how I feel when it comes to my time away from work.
“I never said, ‘I want to be alone.’ I only said, ‘I want to be let alone.’ There is all the difference.
“You cannot have a vacation without peace and you cannot have peace unless left alone.“
I put in my time 100% at ye olde grind. My pay comes hourly and not salary. Even if I was paid salary that doesn’t take away from the fact that time at home with my son or whomever else I choose to dally is my own. It’s not as if my role is so vital that my decisions will make or break a multi-billion dollar deal. I don’t need to be needed 24/7 to be assured that I’m appreciated in the work place. I trust that those who are on the clock will make decisions in the moment to get through the day. In the moment choices have to be made whether or not they are what I would have done in the same circumstance. Hundreds of skilled people are just a phone call away. People who are, at that point in time, being paid for their consult.
I’m venting. Yes, that is what it is and now I can move on with my day off. What people don’t understand about me is that it takes tremendous effort for me to relax. Emptying my mind requires just as much effort mentally as rock climbing requires physically.
When I awaken in the middle of the night because I had 24 ounces of water forty five minutes before bedtime, going back to sleep is arduous. My mind clicks on to what I need to accomplish in the day; what conversations need to be had.
It is irritating to an infinite degree.
With that in mind, yesterday’s glorious sunshine and silly girl literature helped take me away like the Calgon bath of the ‘70s.
After a spell outdoors, I came back in to get my ear buds so I could further tune out the world. My son, who apparently knows me and my situation very well, asked, “are you able to relax? Is work leaving you alone now?” He’d heard me on the phone earlier. He knew by my expression that I had not escaped duty. It wasn’t anything imperative. Surely with a little patience the question would have answered itself.
I enjoy company. On my terms. Do I want to be alone?
No, just leave me alone … unless you’re bringing a cheeky movie and margaritas.
A friend emailed me yesterday inquiring about my son. He’d noticed a lot of updates regarding my fitness and health journey but very little about my son. Shame on me!
Sometimes I almost feel guilty for having an absolutely astoundingly great kid. He’s smart, behaves, does his homework without being prodded. He puts toilet paper on the roll when it runs out. He puts dishes away and cares for the cats. Even the litter box gets scooped without me hinting that it needs to be done.
If he didn’t look so much like his dad and I, I might swear we took the wrong baby home from the hospital. His grades are shocking in comparison to that of mine or his father’s. I did what I had to in order to graduate. Even then it was minimal effort. Mancub flies through Geometry and Biology as if it’s basket weaving 101. No offense to professional basket weavers. You get the point. On top of great grades he is ridiculously organized. He could give me a few tips. That is not to claim he doesn’t periodically forget to hand in an assignment. While most teachers take off points for them being handed in late, he always has it done and scores high enough that a couple points lost doesn’t reflect his grade.
Am I in for a big wake up call or do truly wonderful children still exist? If there’s something to complain about it would be that he’s an under roll rather than an over roll as I prefer. I’m talking about toilet paper replacement. Teen rebellion Mancub style.
P90X Yoga X is not your mother’s yoga. Oh heck no! When you’re not accustomed to doing much more than the requisite stretching prior to and after a workout, this disc is a workout in itself. NINETY minutes of stretching, balancing — OK, most of my time was spent trying not to topple over. It’s tough if you’ve never done a lick of yoga before. Oh sure, I’ve done a couple downward dogs, mountain poses, sun salutations and warrior pose one and two. But not all at once and one right after the other.
I confess to stopping half way through because yoga requires a lot more than flexibility, stamina and balance. It requires a clear head. Hence, my biggest obstacle. Crawl inside my brain for a minute and you’ll know that it never shuts down. True relaxation is difficult for me. Next week I will get another chance to challenge myself with this workout. In the meantime, I’ll continue with each workout on P90X according to the classic program AND I’m going to practice switching off the remote control in my brain.
Yesterday I managed enough spare time to watch a recent episode of “The Biggest Loser.” If you’re following this season, then you’re aware that Jillian Michaels and Bob Harper aren’t the only trainers. The teams of weight loss students competed to get a spot to train with Jillian and Bob or choose two unknown trainers and, thusly, be granted four weeks of immunity. That is a huge opportunity to know that for a month they are safe from being sent packing. So far we’ve only seen the backsides of the unknown trainers — but Team Beachbody Coaches were let in on the secret early on that one of our own trainers, RevAbs creator and celebrity trainer Brett Hoebel, is whipping the ‘unknown’ team members into shape! The first week they kicked butt against Jillian and Bob’s couples. Woo! And ladies, I’d be remiss to fail to mention that Brett is smokin’ hot!!! Me-to-the-yow!!
Okay, I’m getting off track (and overheated) from where this post was intended to go.
Whilst viewing and getting revved up for the next phase of my own weight loss journey, something struck me at the heart of the matter. The producers were putting some focus on the ‘unknown’ team members. One guy in particular from the brown team who was training with he unknown female trainer. He’s shown boxing with her and the voice over is that of him talking about how she told him to stand in front of the mirror without a shirt on and truly look at himself. As a result, he had an epiphany. That’s when the show truly started to speak to me. I said, “Me, too! Me, too!!” Weight loss isn’t just about an aesthetic or health change. It is about digging deeply to discover why we’re prone to over consuming. What is it that makes over weight people loathe themselves? I’m only speaking from a personal stance and I do not assume all of you reading who are overweight hate yourself. Bob Harper told one of his contestants who was, at his top weight, over 600 pounds that he is slowly committing suicide.
BAM! It is like getting hit in the face with a shovel.
Being morbidly overweight is equivalent to committing suicide. Think about that. Is the overindulgence of food and lack of movement/exercise more important to you than the love you have for your children, family, friends … YOURSELF? I’ve had that conversation with myself. For a flash of gratification am I willing to lose another minute, hour, day, year of my life?
Chew on that for a little while. Then, go look in the mirror and say that out loud. I challenge you to say, “Is living to eat more important to me than being alive?“
With 
