When I was talking to my mom about how it just has not been my week, she agreed and suggested that I stay home today. I have a deadline today and needed to come in to work so I ignored her (sage) advice. The week has not improved: I got to work only for my computer to be so totally dead that it would not turn on. That does not help me meet my deadline. Add to that the weather (rainy and cool aka perfect staying in bed weather), and I really should have taken my mom's advice.
Moral: as always, Mama knows best.
P.S. Universe? The MegaMills tonight would be nice.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Hey, Universe?
It hasn't really been my week so far. On Monday, I got a flat tire on my bike and had to walk it over a mile home. On Tuesday, I woke up at 3 am for no reason with no sleep in sight. On Wednesday, work took a turn for you've-got-to-be-kidding-me. And, today, I got stuck in a bathroom stall at the gym. Nothing awful, mind you, but just not my week.
However, I have thought of a spectacular way to redeem the week: winning the $290 million jackpot of MegaMillions. Just putting it out there, Universe, in case you're listening.
However, I have thought of a spectacular way to redeem the week: winning the $290 million jackpot of MegaMillions. Just putting it out there, Universe, in case you're listening.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Don't Let The Terrorists Win.
Jerkfaces. Assholes.
Just a couple of the names I like to call my knees when they are misbehaving. A couple days ago, they were acting out for no obvious reason. KWW suggested that I place the blame on someone I hated. At a loss, I went for a category: terrorists.
Admittedly, it is a stretch of a metaphor but my rheumy knees do sometimes try lay siege and hold me hostage to their popping and pain. But, I like to remind myself that if I don't do anything, the terrorists win. When I was first diagnosed with RA years ago, I would check out the websites about the disease. I did not find them particularly helpful. Scary, yes. Depressing, for sure. A lot of the comments to various stories were just people complaining about their ailments. I do not intend to diminish their pain. Living with on-going pain can be exhausting and depressing. The constant ache that doesn't go away even when you're entirely still sucks. The sharp stabbing pains? Not fun. No doubt about it.
BUT.
And, this is an important but, the fact that you know you're going to be in pain means you can adjust your normal. A lot of life is mental. Once you adjust your perspective, accommodating the fact that you are going to have pain, it is up to you to accept it or wallow in it. I understand the impulse to wallow but it cannot be something you indulge in for long. The authors of the comments seem to think that they cannot do anything because doing something will hurt. Yes, but doing nothing will also hurt. Pain is a baseline. Yes, maybe your hands are gnarled and barely functional -- but there is nothing wrong with your legs, right? Go for a walk. Your knees hurt? Hop in the pool with a pull buoy and do some pull. You will feel better in that you did something and it will take your mind of your pain. In fact, by doing something, you will be doing more than the average healthy person does daily.
In short: We do not negotiate with terrorists -- take no prisoners and do not let them win.
Just a couple of the names I like to call my knees when they are misbehaving. A couple days ago, they were acting out for no obvious reason. KWW suggested that I place the blame on someone I hated. At a loss, I went for a category: terrorists.
Admittedly, it is a stretch of a metaphor but my rheumy knees do sometimes try lay siege and hold me hostage to their popping and pain. But, I like to remind myself that if I don't do anything, the terrorists win. When I was first diagnosed with RA years ago, I would check out the websites about the disease. I did not find them particularly helpful. Scary, yes. Depressing, for sure. A lot of the comments to various stories were just people complaining about their ailments. I do not intend to diminish their pain. Living with on-going pain can be exhausting and depressing. The constant ache that doesn't go away even when you're entirely still sucks. The sharp stabbing pains? Not fun. No doubt about it.
BUT.
And, this is an important but, the fact that you know you're going to be in pain means you can adjust your normal. A lot of life is mental. Once you adjust your perspective, accommodating the fact that you are going to have pain, it is up to you to accept it or wallow in it. I understand the impulse to wallow but it cannot be something you indulge in for long. The authors of the comments seem to think that they cannot do anything because doing something will hurt. Yes, but doing nothing will also hurt. Pain is a baseline. Yes, maybe your hands are gnarled and barely functional -- but there is nothing wrong with your legs, right? Go for a walk. Your knees hurt? Hop in the pool with a pull buoy and do some pull. You will feel better in that you did something and it will take your mind of your pain. In fact, by doing something, you will be doing more than the average healthy person does daily.
In short: We do not negotiate with terrorists -- take no prisoners and do not let them win.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Decisive.
It is rare for me to know with certainty about the correctness of my decision. Usually, it takes sometime and perspective with a view of the totality of the circumstances.
Not today.
I knew within 10 minutes that I had made the absolutely wrong decision. When I woke up this morning, I had some not insignificant leg pains going on so I had an internal debate as to whether I should ride my bike or drive this morning. On the one hand, riding usually makes my legs work better and the weather is still so nice. On the other hand, ouch. Since I had given myself a Day of Rest yesterday (aka been a bum and skipped almost any kind of physical activity in favor of laying around), I decided to ignore the other hand and ride my bike.
I was about half way to the gym when I heard "POP. . . hssssss." Well, shit. My first ever flat tire. And, I, of course, (1) still haven't learned to change a flat and (2) do not carry a spare tube or the tools to do so.
So, I turned around and walked (limped, as my legs still aren't working quite right) my bike back home, got my keys, dumped my bike in my car and raced to the gym to try to make my spin class (because, again, riding usually helps my legs). Of course, I got there in time to learn that the instructor stood us up. This particular part of the story has a silver lining though -- even though I didn't get to try to fix my legs with a class, I did get a $50 "we're sorry" gift certificate that I plan on putting toward a massage.
Also, I like to think that the week can only go up from here. I will hate to be decisively wrong about that too. Fingers crossed, I'm not.
Not today.
I knew within 10 minutes that I had made the absolutely wrong decision. When I woke up this morning, I had some not insignificant leg pains going on so I had an internal debate as to whether I should ride my bike or drive this morning. On the one hand, riding usually makes my legs work better and the weather is still so nice. On the other hand, ouch. Since I had given myself a Day of Rest yesterday (aka been a bum and skipped almost any kind of physical activity in favor of laying around), I decided to ignore the other hand and ride my bike.
I was about half way to the gym when I heard "POP. . . hssssss." Well, shit. My first ever flat tire. And, I, of course, (1) still haven't learned to change a flat and (2) do not carry a spare tube or the tools to do so.
So, I turned around and walked (limped, as my legs still aren't working quite right) my bike back home, got my keys, dumped my bike in my car and raced to the gym to try to make my spin class (because, again, riding usually helps my legs). Of course, I got there in time to learn that the instructor stood us up. This particular part of the story has a silver lining though -- even though I didn't get to try to fix my legs with a class, I did get a $50 "we're sorry" gift certificate that I plan on putting toward a massage.
Also, I like to think that the week can only go up from here. I will hate to be decisively wrong about that too. Fingers crossed, I'm not.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Spring Forward.
Today (March 11) is the beginning of Daylight Saving Time. It will last until we fall back on November 4th. As much as I dislike losing an hour of sleep, Mother Nature totally seems on board with the Spring part of the spring forward phrase that goes with this day. Today's high is 67. The whole week ahead is supposed to be in the 60s or low 70s. Today was the first day that I rode my bike down to the gym.
I don't want to jinx it and I know it is WAY too early for winter to be over in Chicago BUT I would really love it if today also marked the beginning of my regular bike commute to work. If my bike commuting was defined by Daylight Saving Time that would not be in a bad thing in my book.
I don't want to jinx it and I know it is WAY too early for winter to be over in Chicago BUT I would really love it if today also marked the beginning of my regular bike commute to work. If my bike commuting was defined by Daylight Saving Time that would not be in a bad thing in my book.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
CAbi Show.
Last night was the return of the CAbi party. Even though I have been to two of these parties previously, I never am quite prepared for the reality of stripping, and trying on clothes in front of your colleagues. On the plus side, at least I was more prepared that evening than I had been that morning. Note to new CAbi girls: (1) Wear a bra and underwear you don't mind strangers seeing a lot of; and, (2) The longer the shirt, the better. As M demonstrated, the CAbi tank is actually the perfect CAbi party base item since it can be pulled down long enough to be almost a dress. Almost. It has a Julia Roberts "I've got a run in my pantyhose . . . I'm not wearing any pantyhose" type vibe to it when you wear it for something other than its intended purpose.
My favorite part of the CAbi party is watching our rep, Meggan, put on the show. The woman manages to talk through probably 50 items of clothes (trying on about a quarter of them in the process) in less than an hour. I'm pretty sure that she never ends a show in any of the same clothes she started in other than her own cami. Every time, there is an item that I see on the rack and think it is ridiculous until she tries it on. Last year, it was the skirt-dress (long tube that could be worn as a maxi skirt or short dress). This year, it was a vaguely 40's-inspired multi-colored top whose straps could be removed, worn as a halter or crossed or worn as a basic tank.
I find the CAbi party reassuring in one strange way: it is always a good reminder to know that women you would assume have no body issues whatsoever are just as self-conscious and weird about certain things as you are. And, as a result, it was one of those special environments where strange women are totally complimentary and encouraging to each other. Good thing we have Meggan -- while she is the biggest CAbi cheerleader, she is not going to get so caught up in the fun and good feelings to let you buy a shirt in the wrong color or pants that makes your butt look bad.
M and I have been to enough CAbi parties now that we know the general script and like to participate in the show (for me, that means making jokes, for M that means serving as a model and stylist), although I'm sure that what we jokingly refer to as the two-drink minimum doesn't hurt. And, once again, we have been sucked in enough that we are going to host one in the fall. At least then we will be stripping in front of friends in the privacy of our own homes.
My favorite part of the CAbi party is watching our rep, Meggan, put on the show. The woman manages to talk through probably 50 items of clothes (trying on about a quarter of them in the process) in less than an hour. I'm pretty sure that she never ends a show in any of the same clothes she started in other than her own cami. Every time, there is an item that I see on the rack and think it is ridiculous until she tries it on. Last year, it was the skirt-dress (long tube that could be worn as a maxi skirt or short dress). This year, it was a vaguely 40's-inspired multi-colored top whose straps could be removed, worn as a halter or crossed or worn as a basic tank.
I find the CAbi party reassuring in one strange way: it is always a good reminder to know that women you would assume have no body issues whatsoever are just as self-conscious and weird about certain things as you are. And, as a result, it was one of those special environments where strange women are totally complimentary and encouraging to each other. Good thing we have Meggan -- while she is the biggest CAbi cheerleader, she is not going to get so caught up in the fun and good feelings to let you buy a shirt in the wrong color or pants that makes your butt look bad.
M and I have been to enough CAbi parties now that we know the general script and like to participate in the show (for me, that means making jokes, for M that means serving as a model and stylist), although I'm sure that what we jokingly refer to as the two-drink minimum doesn't hurt. And, once again, we have been sucked in enough that we are going to host one in the fall. At least then we will be stripping in front of friends in the privacy of our own homes.
Filler.
Earlier this week, I attended a dinner that was honoring one of our clients. Normally, I pass on these types of events but I am working on one of this client's cases so when I was invited a few weeks ago, I was delighted to fill a seat at our firm's table. However, as it got closer, more facts became known about the dinner.
First, the institution's website described the dinner as a gala. To me, that is code for black tie. But, on a Tuesday? Surely not. As it turns out, it was business attire. Suits are not my favorite thing to wear but they are infinitely better than bringing a gown to work.
Next, the day before the dinner, we received an email informing us that in addition to our firm employees, we will have four Holocaust survivors sitting with us (the institution was the Illinois Holocaust Museum). Well, that sounds . . . sad. I talked to some people who said it would not be sad, so much as like having dinner with your grandparents and to be prepared to speak loudly.
Finally, the only non-Holocaust survivor and non-partner other than me would be a guy named Ravi Shankar. Not THE Ravi Shankar, which would have been cool, but just some kid that I had not met.
On the afternoon of the dinner, I was talking to my mom about the dinner ahead. I told her my current plan was to open with "can we see the tattoo" and follow that with "hey, did you bring your sitar" and close with, "I'm out!" successfully offending everyone and avoiding eating what was surely going to be rubbery chicken.
As it turned out, the dinner was not bad. The beauty of low expectations, I suppose. Even though I had googled it, I did not realize what a big deal the dinner was. The Mayor was there along with other local politicians. Funny enough, while our client is a billionaire, it turned out that he was not even the richest man in the room. (I haven't been able to decide if that must have been super-annoying to him or if it happens more often than I'd think given that rich people tend to stick together . . . and there are over 600 people per Forbes who are richer than him.) There were only two Holocaust survivors. The lady who sat nearest to me had written 12 books on genocide but was so old now that she did not speak much and when she did it was to complain to her grandson about the food (who helpfully reminded her, "I told you it wasn't going to be good. You can't make food for 1600 people and it be good"). The keynote speaker was former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates. I think probably 1600 people were surprised to learn that he is really quite funny (until he turned really quite scary when discussing the options with Iran).
The only thing I was not entirely wrong about was the food: it was not rubbery chicken. It was rubbery fillet.
First, the institution's website described the dinner as a gala. To me, that is code for black tie. But, on a Tuesday? Surely not. As it turns out, it was business attire. Suits are not my favorite thing to wear but they are infinitely better than bringing a gown to work.
Next, the day before the dinner, we received an email informing us that in addition to our firm employees, we will have four Holocaust survivors sitting with us (the institution was the Illinois Holocaust Museum). Well, that sounds . . . sad. I talked to some people who said it would not be sad, so much as like having dinner with your grandparents and to be prepared to speak loudly.
Finally, the only non-Holocaust survivor and non-partner other than me would be a guy named Ravi Shankar. Not THE Ravi Shankar, which would have been cool, but just some kid that I had not met.
On the afternoon of the dinner, I was talking to my mom about the dinner ahead. I told her my current plan was to open with "can we see the tattoo" and follow that with "hey, did you bring your sitar" and close with, "I'm out!" successfully offending everyone and avoiding eating what was surely going to be rubbery chicken.
As it turned out, the dinner was not bad. The beauty of low expectations, I suppose. Even though I had googled it, I did not realize what a big deal the dinner was. The Mayor was there along with other local politicians. Funny enough, while our client is a billionaire, it turned out that he was not even the richest man in the room. (I haven't been able to decide if that must have been super-annoying to him or if it happens more often than I'd think given that rich people tend to stick together . . . and there are over 600 people per Forbes who are richer than him.) There were only two Holocaust survivors. The lady who sat nearest to me had written 12 books on genocide but was so old now that she did not speak much and when she did it was to complain to her grandson about the food (who helpfully reminded her, "I told you it wasn't going to be good. You can't make food for 1600 people and it be good"). The keynote speaker was former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates. I think probably 1600 people were surprised to learn that he is really quite funny (until he turned really quite scary when discussing the options with Iran).
The only thing I was not entirely wrong about was the food: it was not rubbery chicken. It was rubbery fillet.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Mishaps.
I get ready for the day at the gym. Which means that I pack my clothing for the next day, the night before. Occasionally, this leads to wardrobe mishaps. I have been known to forget minor parts of my outfit: a belt, tights, bra, or underwear. Usually, this can be worked around (go bare-legged, wear a sports bra instead, etc).
Of all the days to forget to pack underwear, today was perhaps one of the worst. Why? Because tonight I am attending a CAbi party, or in other words, I will be trying on clothes in front of colleagues. All the opaque tights in the world are not sufficient. Thankfully, Nordstrom is mere blocks away and came to my rescue so that I will be properly underclothed to try on clothes.
Of all the days to forget to pack underwear, today was perhaps one of the worst. Why? Because tonight I am attending a CAbi party, or in other words, I will be trying on clothes in front of colleagues. All the opaque tights in the world are not sufficient. Thankfully, Nordstrom is mere blocks away and came to my rescue so that I will be properly underclothed to try on clothes.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Riddler.
M is in Cancun this weekend. At the request of one of her friends, she got an international phone plan for this month so that she could send as many "Mexts" as necessary. This morning, she sent me this:
Kind mean considering my view this morning, a very grey day with a winter storm watch ahead of us today:
But, her trip and picture reminded me of my favorite Spanish riddle: What English word spells a Spanish phrase? Socks. S-O-C-K-S, or in Spanish, "eso si que es," which happens to translate to one of my more favorite ways to end a disagreeable discussion, "it is what it is."
Fun fact about me: I have a degree in Spanish but prior to going to Spain last summer, had never been to a Spanish-speaking country, including Mexico even though I lived in Texas for three years. Sad but true.
Kind mean considering my view this morning, a very grey day with a winter storm watch ahead of us today:
But, her trip and picture reminded me of my favorite Spanish riddle: What English word spells a Spanish phrase? Socks. S-O-C-K-S, or in Spanish, "eso si que es," which happens to translate to one of my more favorite ways to end a disagreeable discussion, "it is what it is."
Fun fact about me: I have a degree in Spanish but prior to going to Spain last summer, had never been to a Spanish-speaking country, including Mexico even though I lived in Texas for three years. Sad but true.
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