So.  This week.  It is the overs and where the frack did it go? I’m serious–I kind of would really like it to be Monday again just so that I can, I dunno, manage my time better or something.  How the heck did it get to be a quarter to ten on a Friday night?

Today was a busy busy day.  There were some chores to be done in the morning (there are chores to be done every morning).  Then my Sister in Law arrived to get her car worked on (believe it or not, it actually was worth the three and a half hour drive to be able to get her car fixed at half the price it would have cost her in Seattle) and to spend the day hanging out.  This plan was hatched just a couple of days ago at the last minute so yesterday was spent in a blind crash panic of “omg, I have to get all this work done because my week is ending a day early” but that’s another story.  Where was I?

Oh yes.  Sister in Law arrived (Hi SIL!) and we spend the day hanging out and showing Beth some of the finer points (for me, anyway) of downtown PDX.  (Hi Beth!)

Beth is the very first person that I have met in a hang-out-and-get-to-know-each-other capacity from the internet.  See, she posted a comment over on Wil Wheaton’s blog (Hi Wil!) about how she had just moved to town this past week and in a moment of big sisterly, “I know what it’s like to move somewhere you’ve never been and where you know no one” compassion/whimsy, sent her a comment back offering to show her around a little and help her get to know the awesomeness that is PDX.

I? Have reeeeeeeally poor impulse control sometimes.  But! It worked out for the best!  Because Beth is very nice and we had a very good time doing all of my staple “I’m in downtown, let me share my love of it with you” things.  SIL and I met her in Pioneer Square and then I walked everyone ragged as we had Chinese Food for lunch allllll the way up at Panda Kitchen at PSU (NOM) and then walked alllllllllllllll the way back down to Voodoo Doughnuts (NOM) and then allllllllllllllllllll the way over to the Multnomah County Library (book NOM).  I’d have taken us to Powell’s too, but it was super crazy hot out and Beth had already been there. We also found the bathrooms in Pioneer Place Mall and walked past the food court of food carts on lower 3rd. It? Was a full afternoon.  But there was good conversation and good company to be had so I didn’t even mind that it was blazing hot out.

And then? SIL and I came home and crashed in front of the Bert (the Portable Air Conditioner for those who haven’t yet met him) and watched Season One Episodes of Leverage until Will came home from work.  There may or may not have been some napping in there as well.

So. Yes.  Oof.  But a good oof!

Tomorrow and Sunday Will and I are going to be helping some friends of ours move from an apartment on the Park Blocks to a house in North East Portland. I suspect that will be an oof of an entirely different variety.

Where has my day gone?  Have you seen it?  I’d really like at least a little bit of it back so I can get everything done.

Thanks!

I took this photo a couple of weeks ago, when I was shopping for pants at Target.  I thought about writing about this then, but then the Femme Write’s topic for July was announced and I decided to wait until today to finally spill my proverbial body issue beans.

Take a good look at that photo.  Pay no attention to the picture quality (it’s a camera phone pic from inside a Target dressing room for chrissakes).  Just look at me.  I am five feet tall.  According to Wii fit, as of this morning I weigh 100.5 lbs and have a BMI of 19.74.

How many of you looked at that picture, read my stats and automatically assumed I was bragging and sarcastically thought “well good for you, we should all be so lucky”?  Be honest.   How many thought “Jesus, don’t you ever eat anything?” or “oh great, some skinny bitch is going to complain about how fat she thinks she is” and wanted to click away?

Every day I read blog posts and articles from the point of view of women who are struggling with their sizes.  They worry about people judging them and thinking badly about them.  They write about all of the stereotypes they have to fight against and how they wish people would take the time to get to know them instead of just being judged on what number might be assigned to the size of their pants.  There are beautiful and poignant posts written by women who have kept their weight a secret from their readers because they were afraid of being judged.  They write about how irritated they get by all of the “skinny bitches” who can eat whatever they want.  They write about how they just want to shove food into the mouths of people who are smaller than they are because they have it “so easy.”  There is both a delicious and malevolent irony in these posts: these same women who cry over being judged because of their weight turn around and do the very same thing to someone else.

But that’s okay.  It’s okay to hate people who are smaller than you simply because they are smaller.  It’s okay to think angry thoughts about and judge someone like me. And it isn’t okay for me to be angry about the very same things that make these other women angry.  I am not allowed to be annoyed because, according to some height/weight chart somewhere, I am “normal” or “thin.”

I’m not allowed to complain about not being able to find clothing that fits me properly because all of the designers have vanity sized me right out of my own clothing department. I’m not allowed to complain about feeling gross after eating too much. I’m not even really allowed to talk about how I want to be healthier and eat better. I’m not allowed to complain when my pants feel too tight. I’m not allowed to hate the way I look or the way I feel inside of my own body sometimes. I’m not allowed to be annoyed by all of the snap judgments that get volleyed in my direction every time I leave the house. I?  Am only allowed to be perfectly happy and content with myself because, according to the status quo, I’m “skinny.”

I’m not allowed to talk about the shame I feel when I try on pair after pair after pair of pants and not a single one of them fits right.  I’m not allowed to talk about what it’s like to stand in a dressing room and have to fight against tears as yet again, something that I should be able to fit into–something that is made for someone who is my age and who has my curves does not fit because I am either too short for the legs or have the wrong sized waist.  I’m not allowed to talk about how humiliating it is to have to buy my clothing (all of it) in the children’s section.  I’m not supposed to talk about the way my self esteem plummets when I have to buy bras that have tags featuring pictures of pre-pubescent girls squealing “growing up is sooooo comfortable!” on them.

Do I even have to tell you how hard it is to carry my “choices” to a register and then be asked “is your Mom around? Does she have a store card you can use?”

This photo was taken a few months ago (and, honestly, is proof that I probably need some kind of supervision to keep me from goofing off when I’m supposed to be working, but whatever).  Three weeks ago, at my friend’s wedding, one of the servers  gave me a kid meal instead of the meal I had requested.  They didn’t even check to see what kind of meal I had listed next to my place setting–they just set down the basket of chicken fingers and fries and walked away. It all got sorted out (we just put that basket at an empty place setting at the table and then asked our server for the right meal), but things like that happen all the time. I regularly have to show my ID at R and sometimes at PG-13 movies.  I have to show my ID when I’m with someone who is buying alcohol–when I go with Will to the liquor store (he’s not a beer drinker, he’s a Jack and soda guy) they won’t even let me in past the counter.  I’ve been asked if I need the class supply lists when I shop for office supplies near the end of the summer.  Not so very long ago I was looking through a rack of clothing and heard “Mom, she doesn’t have to have a parent with her when she shops, why do I?” and when I looked over, sure enough some kid was pointing at me.  I didn’t stick around to hear the mother’s response.

And, again, I hear over and over again how lucky I am.  How I should be grateful to be so young looking.  How someday I’ll wish I still looked so young.  I’ve had people look at me and say “you should just be happy.  I wish I looked that young.”

And you know–I don’t understand it.  No. No you don’t wish you looked this young.  Do you know why?  Because when you look this young, it doesn’t matter how old you actually are, people talk to you like you are an idiot.  Normally perfectly conversant adults switch to a sing songy voice when they talk to me and dumb down their language.  I get told “oh you probably don’t know what that means.” I have had to fight like hell just to be “allowed” to grow up (which, really, is its own post). And you know–okay.  I look young.  We all make snap decisions about people we don’t know–I’ve talked about that already.  But! When these same adults who just tried to give me a vocabulary lesson on some word (that they don’t actually understand) find out how old I really am, they! freak! out!  And then it’s “Oh my God! No you’re not! HELEN! COME OVER HERE AND LOOK AT THIS GIRL AND GUESS HOW OLD SHE IS! OH MY GOD!”  And the pointing! And the staring!  And the huge deal making!

Hello world, I am my own carnie side show act and all I have to do is sit here and breathe.

I won’t lie to you Marge, it’s rough.  We all feel like freaks.  No matter who we are, how old we are or how we’re built, we all have times when we hate the shells we’re stuck in.  I know that part of the point of this theme is to be all “rah! Sister Power! We rule! Yeaaahhhh!”  And I’d like to tell you that for the most part I’m okay with who I am.  And I am: for who I am on the inside I am better than okay.  For who I am on the inside, I’m kind of a badass…even if not too many other people realize it yet.

But on the outside– it would be nice to just blend in–in any way that is normal for a 32 year old woman (blending in when a bunch of middle school kids get on the bus does not count).

Always standing out no matter where I stand is wearing on the soul.

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of July, we’ve chosen to write about Body Image. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read previous installments, click here.

So I was going to write a whole post about how yesterday Will and I spent most of the day fighting with each other over text messages about our bills and how we manage money and whether or not you can pay the Target card on the day that the bill is due and not get charged a late fee (short answer: yes, by 5PM Central Time).  I’ve been reading the different posts that Jennie has been writing in her Real Marriage series and was inspired to do scenes from my own very real and, if we’re being honest, a lot harder than either of us thought it would be first year of marriage.  After all, who can’t identify with having money arguments with a spouse or significant other?  But! On Monday, I will be writing a post for this month’s Femme Writes series.  The topic is body image and the post I have in mind  is something that I have been meaning to write about for YEARS–almost since I started writing a blog (lots of reasons have made me keep it to myself, but what better excuse to put it all out there?).

I figure that two kind of serious posts bookending a holiday weekend would be a little too much downer sauce so! You get this post instead!  In which I tell you about how today Will accidentally forgot to hang up after a he called me from work (about something totally not that important).  And I got to hear him order milkshakes for his coworkers and then take those milk shakes to his coworkers and hand them out and I got to hear him talk with one of his male coworkers about his ideal mate and boobs and doing certain activities in certain lady special areas and certain experiences there.  The whole time I am yelling into my phone “YOU FORGOT TO HANG UP YOUR PHONE!”  and “HELLOOOO WIFE IS LISTENING TO YOU!!!”  but he couldn’t hear me.  I know I could have just hung up on my own, but what would be the fun of that?  Finally, a few minutes later it got a little quiet on his end of the line (or signal, since we were on cell phones) and I yelled into the microphone at the top of my lungs “YOOOOOOUUUUUR PHOOOOOOONE IS STILL OOOONNNNNNNNNN!”

There was some fumbling sounds and then an incredulous “are you still there??? I thought I hung up the phone a long time ago!”  and I got to reply…

“So.  How many really tall, 105 pound, big boobed, pale skinned, green eyed brunettes have you been motor boating lately?”

(To be clear: am not mad at all and I know he hasn’t actually been doing nefarious things behind my back but still…would you pass up a moment like that one?)

Earlier today, I put a little tweet out into the universe:

“Dear Sky, if you could start raining money I’d be really grateful.”

Well.  It’s sprinkling right now but it’s all water.  Not a single penny or dollar bill has floated down.  Dang.

I am glad that it is raining though.  I know that it is the right time of the year for fun in the sun and shorts and tank tops and whatever, but I much prefer it if the days I have to spend content writing until my eyeballs fall out are gloomy so I won’t feel bad about not being outside and enjoying the weather. Because, obviously, the weather should cater solely to me.

Honestly though: I like the cool breeze wafting through my apartment right now.  It’s nice and refreshing and it makes things in here kind of cozy.  I have a furball snuggled up next to me on the couch snoring away and I’m watching the first season of Leverage (again) via Netflix and working like a busy worker bee. It’s nice.

But, honestly, I really wouldn’t complain if some money were to suddenly drop into my lap.  Not a lot!  Just enough for, you know: rent.  And groceries.  And our electric bill.  And maybe a movie or two. And some cute clothes. And a nice vacation.  And maybe a new house.  And a couple of years more of tuition for Will for when he starts grad school (news about that coming soon!). But, you know, I’m not trying to be greedy or anything.

Also! Another nice thing!  Look at my pretty theme!  It’s naaaiiiice, isn’t it?  The very nice and very patient and very faboo Carissa of And So She Blogs put this together for me this week after I was complaining about my other theme being too light too see.  I? Seriously like this.  It’s pink! And cute! Thanks Carissa!

Also: Outside Cat’s person finally called and came and picked her up this weekend.  There will be a post about that soon too.  After I finish paying the rent and the bills.

Too much work = not enough time to proofread this post before hitting publish!

So right around the time of my birthday I promised myself that I would give myself one hour for blogging and writing here every day (at least during the week).  I figured that blogging would be a good way to start my day and it would put me in a good mood and, most importantly, it would keep my blog up to date and (hopefully) entertaining for all of you!

Yeah.  Whoops.

This always happens.  I get caught up in “must get work done before play” and “must find work so I can pay the rent” and “work! Get! work! done! Naaaoooooowww!”  and suddenly there are cobwebs all over the place and tumbleweeks a-rollin’ right through here.  I don’t mean to neglect this space.  It is my most favorite space to pay attention to and nurture on the internet (though Twitter is an awesome second) but here it is Friday and this only my third post of the week and the other two were decidedly lacking in the story telling/entertaining department.

Blame Battlestar! ZOMG.

Speaking of which, can I just say that Captain Ty (sp? too lazy to look it up)’s wife is eleven shades of annoying and I kind of hope she gets her face eaten off.  And every time I see the leader of the resistance I think “that’s the guy that tries to steal Castle’s AND Leonard’s women!”  which has nothing to do with BSG but everything to do with other television loyalties…which could mean that I need professional help.

Yeah.  This post is all over the place!  But there you go.  It’s Friday evening.  I’ve been buried in work and seem to have misplaced my coherent and followable thought communicatory abilities.

Have a great weekend!

I bought this theme a few months ago thinking “if I spend money on it, I will keep it forever and ever and it can help brand me!”  The fonts are a little light and the header graphic isn’t quite the right color so I changed those in my own little theme editor (aka Theme Editor in WordPress) and guess what happened:  I can see my changes just fine.  On the computer that I used to make those changes.  The theme still looks the same everywhere else.  Weird.

I would really like people to be able to read my headlines and so I’m shopping for another super cute theme that is the same basic layout as this one.  Three columns with main content in the middle, an awesome header and a nav bar.  Suggestions?  Anyone?  Who is your favorite (affordable) blog designer?  I ask because it’s the end of the month and I really don’t have the time to spend hours searching through all of the free portals that are out there–especially when none of them seem to cater to the “I want something super cute but not so cute I’ll vomit” crowd.

So? Anyone?

This weekend we finally started to watch Battlestar Galactica. If you don’t hear from me for a while it is because BSG has sucked me in and won’t let go until I finish the series.

Holy crap.  I should have listened to all of you sooner!

I put this on Twitter this weekend as well, but I think it is worth repeating here (plus here lets me use more than 140 characters):

I had just gotten out of the shower and was putting on clean clothes so that we could go buy BSG at Frys (you try waiting for three days for the next 3 discs to be delivered after starting that series) when…

Will:  You know?  You smell kind of like a bicycle tire.

Me: [FLABBERGASTED AND APPALLED LOOK]

Will: What? What’s wrong with smelling like a bicycle tire? ……What? ……it’s not.. it’s not a bad smell.  It’s just…. what’s wrong with smelling like a bicycle tire?  …..are you mad? It’s probably a very pretty bicycle tire.

This is NOT my cat.

This is SUPPOSED to be my neighbor’s cat.  She (or neutered he?) is an indoor/outdoor cat.

About three weeks ago my neighbor moved out.  I guess that when it came time to gather up this cat he forgot to make sure that all of the doors and windows to his apartment were closed because when he tried to put her into her carrier she clawed over his shoulder and went straight through the (open) sliding glass door, over the side of the balcony and hid in the crawl space under our building.  I discovered this when I saw him wandering back and forth in our courtyard calling “kitty! kitty!” and making kissy noises. I’m a sucker for a lost pet so I gave him some of the kitty treats that always bring Poppy running from whatever hiding space she’s crawled into in our apartment and offered to help get her out.  I’m something of a pet whisperer, at least with cats and little critters, but my neighbor said no.

Ten minutes later he knocked on our door to tell me that he had to give up for the day because he had somewhere to be but that he’d be back the next day.  I asked if he wanted to leave his phone number so that, if she (neutered he?) came out I could call him so he could come pick her up.  He said no thanks and left.

I haven’t seen him since.

Two weeks ago Will was out on our balcony when he heard a cat crying.  He looked down and saw the neighbor’s cat looking back up at him.  She (let’s just go with she) looked scared but she cried to him anyway, so he dropped down some of our cat food for her to eat and then left me to deal with things because he had to go to work. I spent the next three hours crouched down in the grass next to our balcony trying to coax her out.  This poor cat was absolutely terrified.  She was shaking really badly and crying at me and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was one of those “get awaaayyyy” cries or more of a “I don’t know you so I’m scared but I’m hungry and need some attention” cries. I tried to keep my distance but would creep closer every once in a while as she got used to me.

Side note:  We also have quite a few of these guys that hang out in that space:

The whole time I was out there, I was fighting the urge to get down on all fours to try to reach under the crawl space because look at all the ducks!  Think of all of the duck poo that I was probably crouched in right at that moment!  My brain was fighting overwhelming spasms of “don’t touch the grass! Duck poo! Don’t touch the grass! Duck poo!” I ended up doing a lot of squatty walking–if that makes any sense at all.  Anyway! Side note over!

After a REALLY long time the cat came out to let me pet her and to eat some more food and drink some water.  And this is where I failed.  After petting her for a few minutesI got all brave and “in charge” and I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and tried to put her into our cat carrier. I wanted to be able to hand her off to our landlord so that she could call the neighbor to come pick the cat up and take her home. I felt bad but I really wanted the situation to not be my problem anymore.  The cat and I had quite a wrestling match for a few minutes but eventually she got free and went sprinting back under the balcony and refused to come out.  I was really irritated, both at my neighbor for leaving the cat behind in the first place (who DOES THAT?) and at me for not being able to really capture her.  Later Will told me “it’s okay, you’re just not mean enough to do stuff like that” which…thanks? I guess?  I gave up and called the landlord to tell her that the cat was still around and to ask her to pass my number along to my neighbor so that he could call me himself and get an update and to maybe make arrangements to come back out to get his cat.

Fast forward early this week.  I haven’t heard a single word from my neighbor–no phone call, nothing (he might be mad at me for accidentally “outing” his cat ownership to our landlord who had no idea that he was with pet. Oops).  I’m opening our windows and I see the cat out in the tall grass by the creek looking quite a bit like she is about to try to get one of the ducks.  I’m not about to let her go after any of the ducks (I’ve known most of them since they were duckling babies! Most of them recognize my voice and will come running when I call to them!  This is not actually a good thing but, um, it is still kind of neat) so I go out to the balcony and call for her and drop some food on the ground in front of our balcony.  She comes running but won’t come up onto the balcony because she is still really skittish.  I repeat this same scenario for a few days and then! On Wednesday! I opened our blinds and guess who is nosing around on our balcony!  She ran away when she saw me but it didn’t take long for me to coax her back up onto our balcony with a dish of food.  After only a few minutes (during which she inhaled that whole bowl of food, poor thing) she was crying to be pet and rubbing her face all over me.

Apparently the need for food and affection won out over the fear and it turns out?  This cat is really sweet. Of course my own cat, the famous Poppy, wants nothing to do with her.  And was so ticked off at me for petting this other cat that she wouldn’t come near me until I took a shower to wash off the other cat smell (and then put on fresh, non cat petty, clothes).

Now the cat cries at our balcony door when she’s hungry or needs attention.  She’s made a bed out of our grill cover (that we keep forgetting to put back on our grill and leave lying on balcony floor).  She is trying to make friends with Poppy (through the door of course).  Poppy is not interested.

People.  I am not adopting this cat.  I know that I’m a softie and yes, if I had my way, I would adopt ALL of the animals that need a good home but I cannot adopt this cat.  We don’t have the money for a second pet deposit.  We aren’t sure if she’s litter box trained (probably not the best selling point I know but there you go).  Our current cat is not interested in sharing her people.  I also don’t want her to get used to being loved on and petted on our balcony because there is no way to guarantee that whoever lives here after us will be as nice to her.

So.  Do you want a cat?  Do you live close enough to come pick her up?  She really is very sweet once she gets over her skittishness.  She is also quite the talker.  And look how cute she is! Please?  Every kitty needs a person.

This morning I was just stumbling out of bed and toward the kitchen when I heard “ALL A’S BITCHES!” roared from my living room.

Will’s grades came out today and he got a 4.0 for this term!  Every day I’m given another reason to be proud of that guy.  I didn’t even laugh much as he trotted through our apartment, pumping his fists and chanting “ALL A’S BITCHES!” over and over again. Honestly, it was a pretty good way to start our morning.

Another good way to start the morning is with blog work.  I’ve given myself an hour or so to work on this site, get caught up with e-mails and twitter messages and just generally keep up momentum.  I discovered yesterday that there is a big quote from my w00tstock post on the w00tstock site (I knew the link was there but didn’t know about the pulled quote) so that has me super jazzed.  Thanks Powers-That-Be at the w00tstock site!

Now let’s get on with the post!

If you were playing around on Twitter at all last night (and let’s face it, you probably were) you probably saw the #booksthatchangedmyworld trending topic.  I watched it for a while and noticed, at least with the people I follow, that the books fell into one of two categories.  There were the traditional “smart” books–stuff by Hemmingway, Steinbeck. Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens, Dostoyevsky, people we all studied in lit classes.   There were also the “lemme prove my geek/hipster cred” listings: Douglas Adams, Orson Scott Card, Chuck Palahniuk and Hunter S Thompson were all well represented.

I’m not saying that any of these people were being poseurs.  It is likely that all of these books and authors really did change the readers’ worlds in some way.  I remember reading Ender’s Game for the first time and being blown away by it.  I remember what it was like to fall in love with Shakespeare and the language of Austen and Dickens.  I remember appreciating Virginia Woolf (oh! There is a doggie daycare chain here in PDX called Virginia Woof and every time I see one of their locations I launch into a diatribe about how totally and completely horrible and inappropriate the name is.  Seriously: do these people not know Virginia Woolf’s story? Gah! Oh look–I’m doing it again).  So all of these claims are more than likely totally legitimate.  After all, Twitter is a diverse universe.

At the same time I kept thinking “what about all of the regular stuff?”  So I listed a few of the books that changed my world: On Writing, Bright Lights Big Ass, We Thought You’d Be Prettier and The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles.

I know that Jen Lancaster and Laurie Notaro are, by most, considered to be “light and fluffy” but you know what?  They were the first real humor-for-humor’s sake books I read.  Sure I’ve skimmed some Dave Barry in my time but until I read We Thought You’d Be Prettier by Laurie Notaro I had no idea that publishers would publish funny essays as they were.  Until then, I’d thought that all books–even funny memoirs–had to follow a theme or tell a story.  We Thought You’d Be Prettier blew my mind because it is exactly the kind of book I’d like to put together myself someday but hadn’t known was possible.  Bright Lights Big Ass gets a nod because it never fails to make me laugh.  I’d never had a book that I could pick up, open to any page and find something to laugh or smile about before.  I’ve now read that book so many times it is very nearly falling apart.

The other two books I listed, Stephen King’s On Writing and The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles by Julie Edwards (you might know her as Julie Andrews) got listed simply because they changed the way I think about things.

On Writing is the only Stephen King book that I have read all the way through.  I learned more about writing and being a writer from this book than I learned in all of my schooling put together.  I read that book for the first time in 2004 and I still get twitchy when I use an adverb (which means I twitch a lot–those adverbs can be very handy).

The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles changed the way I look at things–it taught me how to literally see the forest for the trees (or whatever the cliche is).  The book is all about learning how to look deeper at things, to examine them and see them for what they actually are.  It taught me about paying attention to even the little things that seem unimportant.  And it’s a super good story.

Today I took a look at the topic on twitter and saw that more kids’ books are making the cut.  I saw some Bernstein Bears, some Lois Lowry and a couple of Baby-Sitter’s Club mentions. Have I mentioned my love of the Baby-Sitter’s Club here before?  I have? Okay good.  Because those books helped me grow up and but for the limit of 140 characters and not wanting to spam the thread, I would have listed them last night too.

So what about you:  What are the books that really changed your world?  And why?

FTC Annoying Stuff:  NONE of those links are affiliate links.  I linked them because they are sites and products that I whole heartedly endorse.  Nobody paid me for any of that stuff.

Other note: This would be longer but I used up all of my scheduled “blogging for fun” time. Now I have to get to work!