Monday, June 16, 2014

Outrageous Outrage!!!

One of my least favorite things about social media is the OUTRAGE!!!!! about the most trivial of things.  Everyone  is OMG I'M SO UPSET THAT SOMEONE I'LL NEVER KNOW DID THIS THING THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME AND IT IS RUINING MY LIFE.

Maybe other people are better about taking their B vitamins.  Maybe it's because I don't drink energy drinks.  Maybe it's because I have a life, a full time job, a couple of side hustles and I just don't have the emotional capacity for outrage.  Let's say I wake up with 100 energy parts every day.  I'm guessing that OUTRAGE is at least 35 energy parts.  No one has that kind of energy to spend on silly stuff.  Well, obviously some people do.

I'm convinced that much of the outrage isn't even outrage.  It's fauxrage.  Oh, someone else is outraged.  Let me get outraged too.  That is dumb. Go read a book.

This week's things you're supposed to be upset about:

Blue Ivy's Hair - Apparently Blue Ivy's parents have allowed their child to run feral and be raised by wolves.  In fact, they only allow her to eat on Tuesdays and every third Friday.  Sometimes, she's just given a loincloth and told to kill her own meat.  Obviously the people need to be called.  Oh wait.  That's not the case at all.  I promise no matter what Blue's hair looks life your life will be the same.  If she has a head full of twists tomorrow your credit score will not miraculously change to 850.  Elves will not clean your house while you sleep if her hair is braided.  Your boss will not suddenly stop giving you the side eye if she has on a baby lace front.   It's hair.  It's not even your hair.  Calm down.

Zendaya as Aaliyah - It was announced today that Zendaya will play the late Aaliyah in a Lifetime movie about her life.  I could stop here and talk about how being outraged about a Lifetime movie is everything that is wrong with America.  None of the fauxrage is about Zendaya's dancing or singing ability.  Nope.  It's because she's "not black".  I could do a series of posts about this very topic.  Zendaya is mixed, her father is African, her mother is white.   According to the internet today this means she's not black.  However, Barack Obama, he's still black, don't get that twisted.   Never mind that Zendaya can trace her roots directly to Africa, and most "black" people can not.   Also, she's too light.    Here's the thing wise people of the interwebs...  Aaliyah - also "mixed", her grandmother was native american.  And she was light too! GASP!!!! OH THE HORROR!!!! OHHHHHHH.   Really? Truth is unless your parents are immigrants, YOU ARE MIXED TOO!  I promise after watching the Lifetime movie gas will still be too high and bacon will still cost too much.  Simmer down.

If you did a series of posts full of fauxrage about the above you should probably reevaluate your life.  The whole thing.  And get a hobby.  Or a pet.  Or a job.  Something.  Get something.

The Domino Effect

I am, by nature, a worrier.  I'm sure I've posted about this before.  I worry about everything all the time.  I may, just may, absolutely do have control issues. One way of dealing with those issues is planning.  I have fully earned the "Planner McPlannington" nickname bestowed upon by my best friends. My plan b has a plan b.  And likely a plan c.  I obsess over things.  When my money doesn't feel right, I will plot my income and expenses in a spreadsheet.  And then the next day, I will plot my income and expenses in a spreadsheet.  I will go through several "what if" scenarios.  And then I will plot my income and expenses in a spreadsheet.  Yes, the numbers look the same every time, but the exercise helps quell the

that goes on in my head. Unfortunately, sometimes something goes awry and I have one errant thought that somehow gets tied to an emotion.  (the worst possible thing that could ever happen).  And that thought/feeling generates another, which generates another, which generates another. And then this happens:

  The emotions domino and cause another emotion until one breaks off and attacks me and knocks me down then stabs me in the leg.

I wish I could blame this on hormones. Ordinarily, this type of event would be the perfect segue to EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT! But I'm dealing.  Mostly.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Happy Father's Day To My Daddy

This morning on Father’s Day, a lot of people will post about how their dad is the best and most awesome and all of that.  And they will be wrong.  You see, I have the best daddy in the whole wide world.  Yes, I am 34 and still call my daddy daddy.  So?!?!

My daddy is a goon.  A goon.  What does that mean?  You know Daddy Pope from Scandal?  Mr. “I am the hell and the high water”?  When that line was said, I sat a little straighter.  Daddy?  When I was little, my daddy was Command.  Have you walking in fear Command.  I think you can read my thoughts Command. A 94% on a test isn’t your best command.  People in the neighborhood thought he was the police.  Nope.  He just walked like he ran everything.  The undertaker.  Literally.  When I was 9 or so a little boy pushed me down in the alley and I cut my ear.  My personal goon walked to the boy’s house and told him in front of his mama “I bury little *bleeps* like you every day” and told him to stay away from me.  Goon!!!!!

He taught me to play poker, sat me down for scary movies, challenged me to do the best I could and not to rest on what I was given naturally.  He treated me like a girl despite my tomboy tendencies.  My brother who is 4 years younger could be gone forever.  No big deal. I swear I had to check in every twelve and a half minutes.   He got that “gaht damn Chrysler” I just had to have fixed whenever I needed help, which was often because I drove that car into the ground. 

My personal superhero, he has always been there to support me.  One of the reasons why I’ve been able to step out on faith, I know I have a safety net beneath me.  He’s one of the most doting grandfathers I know.  I didn’t expect him to be there at the hospital, we’d never talked about it.  But he called me while I was in labor and asked if he should come then, I told him no, nothing was happening yet.  It really didn’t matter what I said, dude was sitting in the parking lot.

He’s not the best at feelings (not that I know anyone else with that issue *ahem*) but he texts me every morning and says he loves me.  He’s the reason we were able to still get our house 7 years ago when the builder pulled an okey doke on us and he slid me cash on the sly when things got rough.  He tells me to relax, gives me perspective, reminds me that as long as you’ve got food and your bills are paid things are ok.

My parents divorced when I was 11.  My dad moved 8 blocks away and was and is an ever present force in my life.  He didn’t do it alone (my mom is also the awesomest) but he did his part and so much more. 

In conclusion (LOL), my dad is the awesomest, most awesome, memorized the dictionary and therefore should never be played in Scrabble, can solve the Wheel of Fortune puzzle with 2 letters, best spaghetti and chili making, has a black belt and announces the kicks while watching karate movies, daddy in the whole wide world.  

My daddy and Ladybug. 

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Swimming Lesson

Last year, I really wanted to enroll Ladybug in swimming lessons.  I was kind of obsessive about it actually.  The spots seemed to fill up instantaneously at our park district, but I wasn't deterred.  I checked parks in the surrounding area, nothing.  Well nothing if you have a job.  If  I wanted to take lessons at 10 am on a Wednesday I had all the opportunity in the world.  

I ended up finding classes at the Y, but after adding in the fees it didn't make financial sense.

This year I was prepared.  I stalked the park district's website.  I knew I had to reaffirm my residency card (helloooooo discount) and knew exactly what paperwork I'd need to do so.  I unearthed one of Ladybug's birth certificates.  I was ready.  Registration started on a Sunday.  Ladybug and I were at the park bright and early!!! I explained that we were registering for classes.  She stared at the pool.  She wanted to get in the pool.  She wanted to look at the people swimming at the pool.  She wanted to never leave the pool's side.  The pool was her soul mate.

I drug her out crying "noooooooo I want to get in the pooooooooooolllllllll" Drama, thy name is Ladybug.

She got a new swimsuit.  I got a new swimsuit.  We were ready!!!!  Mostly.

You see Ladybug, although she is fabulous and awesome and smart and beautiful and funny, she has a problem with water.  Baths are fun.  But.  Shampoos?  Shampoos are obviously evil and are a tool of the man designed to keep her down.  She rages against the machine when it comes to shampoos.  I got hit with my first "I'm not your friend anymore" on Saturday.  You know why?  A shampoo.

We got to the park and took full advantage of the family changing rooms.  We were super early, so we had about 15 minutes to burn while we watched all the other kids come in.  Both the baby class (us) and the preschool class (next year?) are held at the same time.  Ladybug was all excited.  "Is it our turn yet?"

It was finally our turn.  The parents were instructed to sit on the edge of the pool and get the kids feet wet.  Ladybug was calm, but kind of hesitant.  Then we got in the pool.  I must mention here that she was in my arms, attached to my hip, one with my flesh the whole time.

And this happened to Ladybug

Get in the water - cry
Jump up and down - cry
Water hokey pokey - cry
Float on your back - cry
Float on your belly - cry
Blow bubbles - cry
Splash!!!! - *does 1 tiny little fetus splash*
Play with water toys - cry
Time to get out the pool - cry
Leave the pool area - cry
Leave the building - cry

So swimming was "fun".  Luckily for me she wasn't the other crier.  Then she told me she wanted to go back to the pool so she could cry.  Smh.

We practiced blowing bubbles and getting her face wet in the bathtub.  I've been telling her that she doesn't have to be afraid because mommy is right there.  We're working on it.  Because we're totally going back next week.

We may be the living embodiment of both the watermelon and fried chicken stereotypes, but the water one isn't happening.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Month One Update

It's been (roughly) a month since I started "trying" to lose weight.  I'd be a dirty lying liarpants if I said I was 100% in, 100% focused, 100% of the time.  I have done better.  I have exercised.  I have been more conscious of what I'm doing.

However.  A VERY BIG HOWEVER!!!! I'm still stress eating.  Still.  In fact, this morning I had a stream of thoughts along these lines:

- I'm going to do right today
- I'm going to drink all my water
- I'm not going to go downstairs and eat a bacon sandwich
- I'm going to lose this weight
- I'd really like some hot wings.  Some good ones.  Not too salty, just good and delicious.

And that's how it happens.  I caught the thought as it turned through my brain.  I didn't have hot wings for lunch.  Score!  I did, however, have free pizza and salad.  And the whipped cream off a cupcake.  Don't judge me, all I wanted was the whipped cream.

I'm down another 1.6, for a total of 2.8 pounds.  Yes, it's a start.  But it's not a great start.

One of my side hustle clients is a luxury drug rehab center.  One of their main focuses is equipping their clients to deal with stress without using their substance of choice.  My substance of choice is calories.  A lot of calories.  To numb things.  To block out others.  To pretend things are okay.  To quiet the doubt, quell the fear, avoid my thoughts.  I have to stop this.  I'm hurting me.  I've got to do better.

I'm totally Elsa.  I'm all "conceal, don't feel, don't let it show" and instead of turning my country into Siberia I'm turning myself into SumoBekonce.

I can do better.  I must do better.  I will do better.


Weeks 2-4 Lost 1.6 pounds, Total loss 2.8 pounds, current weight 248.0
Week 1 - Lost 1.2 pounds, Total loss 1.2 pounds, current weight 249.6
Starting Weight 250.8

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Nature! - Bleh!

Everyone that knows me knows that I don't like outside.  Outside is extra horrible.  There are bugs out there.  I can't control the wind or the humidity.  Oh, and don't get me started on the pollen.  Ugh.  I only like it outside when I can have a nice lunch at about 75 degrees with just enough wind to move the air without making my hair sad.

Of course, this means I have a child who thinks outside is the best thing ever.  Ever in the history of ever.  Luckily, we have a pretty large yard and she's able to be freeeeeeee.... until too many bugs touch us.  Then it's time to go.

We have two small evergreen trees in the back.  One is doing okay, one is looking a bit dry since the slope of the yard helps the other one.  We've had birds' nests in both in years' past.  So Ladybug and I started checking them out.  The non dry tree has an awesome nest.  But no birds.  The dry tree... four beautiful robin eggs!!!

Ladybug was so excited, she had to tell Zahra aka "Dog dog".  Z wanted no part.  None.

A couple of weeks later we had babies!  I should name them.  Let's name them Logan, Xavier, Jean and Ororo.
It's all good right?  Nature and the circle of life and all of that?  Well.  You see.  There's a downside to our front seat to birdapalooza.  The robins are pretty sure they own the place.   Last time I checked, the robins hadn't contributed anything to the mortgage so they need to go have a seat.  A nice quiet poop free seat.

One would think my ferocious attack dog would be all over that.  Patrolling the yard, showing those birds who is boss.

Zahra is the least possible help.  At least I have back up.

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I'm a 30-something wife, mom and pet parent. I've been blogging since 2004, at first solely on a blog for my friends and family. I love to write about everything. I can't say that A Bacon Flavored Life is about any one thing. If it occurs to me, it'll get posted. I write about life, love, infertility and a lot of "random".

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