Body shaming is when you shame another person (or yourself for that matter) for being overweight or large or just not the kind of body that you have been conditioned to view as normal/beautiful/worthy/etc. I have been grappling with this issue for awhile. How do I feel about it? Do I think this is a real thing worthy of my attention? What message am I sending to my children by calling another person fat? By calling myself fat? Short and fat of it, no less. What do I want to contribute on this subject, if anything?
Friday, February 7, 2014
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Hump Day Brain Dump
Hump Day: The peak of the week where everything should go downhill thereafter, but we all know poop can manage to float to the top anyway.
Brain Dump: An attempt to organize my jumbled thoughts and internet discoveries so that my mind can have some room to endure the remainder of the week.
Brain Dump: An attempt to organize my jumbled thoughts and internet discoveries so that my mind can have some room to endure the remainder of the week.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Ch-ch-ch-chaaaanges
Every time I sit down to write something, it ends up sounding really morose and negative. Since many people tell me that I already write like I talk, I'm concerned that I'm becoming a huge downer. I think it has a lot do with job dissatisfaction and some injuries that are plaguing my runs, but there are times where I find myself in a deep, dark, uncool funk that is so unlike me.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
A Magical Disney Vacation
Anyone who has been within five feet of me has already heard about our Walt Disney World vacation, but those snippets that you catch at the office door or in passing as you try to avoid eye contact with me just do not encompass how great of a time we had. You might be rolling your eyes so far into the back of your head that you're basically taking inventory of your own skull, but please, bear with me and my superfluity.
Monday, December 9, 2013
My Year in Running
2013 was the year I decided to start running more seriously after a decently long hiatus (something close to five years). Instead of running a few miles maybe once a week to make sure that I still remembered how to put one foot in front of the other (In case you are wondering, I never forgot how.) I just started...increasing my mileage, little by little, just as many running experts would advise you to do.
To be clear, by "increasing my mileage," I mean "running longer than one mile and doing it without stopping" because running one mile WITH stopping was basically my M.O. this time last year. Yes, ONE YEAR AGO, I could not run one mile without stopping and hating my life.
To be clear, by "increasing my mileage," I mean "running longer than one mile and doing it without stopping" because running one mile WITH stopping was basically my M.O. this time last year. Yes, ONE YEAR AGO, I could not run one mile without stopping and hating my life.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Movies of My Life
It's easy to look at your life like it's some kind of yearbook. If you keep a journal or blog, you might find yourself cringing at your past attempts to express yourself. If you're a scrapbooker or a devout photo album maker (bless you), then you might also find yourself cringing at your past haircuts. I decided to take a look at my life through movies.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Treadmill Troubles
So, one time I deployed for six months. I know, that is kind of a big deal and I should have mentioned it sooner, but I was too busy eating Oreos. For the most part, it was a great experience. I really had a lot of fun in a war torn country that is full of people who shit in the same water they drink regularly. I worked with amazing people and learned a lot about myself. I realized I'm not nearly as tough as expected, but that that's an OK thing and I can still tolerate a lot of bull crap when it matters.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
This is NOT a DIY Blog
I might not come across this away on the internet or even real life, but I'm actually a nice person.
Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.
I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.
When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd ratherrun walk (who am I kidding?) to the other side and use my indoor voice.
That is, until I painted my living room.
OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.
And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!
I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.
Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.
I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.
I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.
When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.
During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.
Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?
While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.
At all.
Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.
Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.
And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.
That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.
Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.
I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.
When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd rather
That is, until I painted my living room.
OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.
And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!
I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.
Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.
I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.
I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.
When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.
During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.
Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?
While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.
At all.
Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.
Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.
And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.
That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.
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