Exercise? Perhaps I Could Exercise Restraint

I got out of work at noon today, and my idea was that I’d get right on that treadmill as soon as I got home.

But of course I was STARVING when I got home, having eaten a banana and a piece of string cheese all day. Really, I need to try harder at the bringing-enough-snacks-to-work thing.

So I made a sandwich with seven thousand vegetables on it (does anyone else use hummus in place of mustard? Because I do and it’s really good) and had some vanilla yogurt and a bottle of water. So then I was ready to go on the treadmill.

But what do you know, Marvin Gardensalad came home early, because he had a dentist appointment. So then I ended up chatting with him (he has no cavities. Go, Marvin), and do you know right after that there was a huge dramatic car accident right outside our house?

Long story agonizingly longer? It’s 5:34 p.m. and I have not gotten on that dingity-dangity-gol-darn treadmill yet. Soon I will say it’s too close to bedtime to go, so as SOON as I write this, off I go. Now I have told on myself so I will be too humiliated not to go on it.

But I do have to tell you about one stupid thing I just did. Really, it’s one of those things you should never, ever do.

To begin this story, let’s look at my hair. If you are new here, you should know that no human, in the history of time, has ever had larger, coarser hair than I do. It’s unnatural. One time in biology in college we had to measure our hair under a microscope, and mine was the fattest piece in the room.

My name is June, and I have big hair. Hi, June.

Confetti_3

Okay, yes, this was taken in the ’80s, but still. I have a lot of hair. Look how my cat and I were sort of the same color and hairiness.

Now that we have established the big hair problem, here’s what I did.

I have a male, married friend who really lusts for his coworker. He and I were joking around about it today in an email. Now here’s the part you should never, ever do.

Marvin, who so wishes he wasn’t home today due to that dental appointment, who SO wishes they’d have re-extracted all four of his wisdom teeth instead of coming home early, was haplessly sitting there when I turned from the computer and said, "You can be honest, I won’t care. Is it normal for married men to lust for their coworkers?"

Marvin, who is so, so silly, said, "Yeah, of course."

"Have YOU ever lusted for anyone at work?"

"I don’t know."

I don’t know. If there was ever a ridiculous answer to give.

I don’t know. 

Of COURSE this means there was someone at work he lusted for! Of COURSE there are seven thousand questions I had to ask!

After tormenting him for twenty minutes, I have found out there was an attractive saleswoman at his old job. After sticking pins in him and cutting off his airways for just a few minutes, I also found out…

SHE HAS SILKY, STRAIGHT HAIR.

This was the worst blow possible. I wouldn’t have cared had she had a smokin’ body. Or if she was 20 years younger than me. I mean, of course she had these things. But silky hair? Oh, the deceitfulness.

So now I am pouting, following Marvin around, who is just trying to go on with his life and hoping to find a way to turn back tiiiioome, as Cher would say, so that we had never had this conversation.

I am just saying. You should never, ever ask this question. When I said I wouldn’t care, I actually thought I wouldn’t. It was the silky hair that got me.

Can you exercise your way to thinner hair?

A Girly Day

I was just sitting here, trying to sign on to ding-dang TypePad, when I heard this high-pitched noise coming from the heating vent. Naturally I assumed I was going to be blown up at any second, because I can never be casual.

My enormous cat, Francis, is sitting on the vent, with his paws stretched out over the remainder of said vent, and I think air is trying to squeak out around him, which is making our house not at all icy. Our other cat, Winston, who is normal-sized, is sitting a few inches away watching the whole thing. I think Francis is trying to say, "This is MY heat. MINE."

There is a lot of sibling rivalry with cats. Even over heating vents.

Odd cat behavior aside, I had the most lovely day yesterday. I told Marvin I wanted my alone time, and I drove to Monroe. I guess Monroe is something I discussed in last year’s blog, so I’ll recap.

Back in the heady days when I lived in LA, Monroe would be a tiny little town I’d visit for the novelty. Now that I live in a walnut shell in North Carolina, Monroe is a booming metropolis, with things like book stores and coffee shops. So I have to go there for any big-city activities.

I went to the Monroe and I shopped for makeup. I didn’t buy any; turns out going a whole year without shopping kind of sticks with you. But I look look looked, and sprayed on perfume and everything.

Then I went to the card store and got Christmas cards for 60% off. They have holly on them, because I always pick cards with holly on them.

And if THAT weren’t enough, I got — are you sittin’ down? — a MANICURE. Which I did not get all of 2007. And an EYEBROW WAX, which was good because Yosemite Sam kept calling wanting his look back. I did return his hat to him.

Finally, I went to see P.S., I Love You, which could not possibly be a girl movie any more unless it had been written by Nora Ephron. There was one boy in the theater, one. He was a big strapping man, too. When the movie first started, they accidentally showed Walk Hard, but we complained and they switched it. The one man, who had been dragged there by his girlfriend, said, "Oh, man!" He was hoping he’d get away with seeing stupid Walk Hard.

Anyway, it was a perfect day, except there was no Barry Gibb gives away free baby kittens part. And I want you to know I ordered a small, plain popcorn and water at the movie, and only ate half the bag. I think that’s fairly reasonable. And I’m not in too much pain from Saturday’s big run, either! Which is surprising.

It is 14 minutes till work and I am in wet hair and a robe. I had better get there so I can sit at my desk and admire my nails.

Down and Out on my Treadmill

Call 911! Call 911!

Did you ever see Down and Out in Beverly Hills, when Richard Dreyfus is yelling that while the phone is in his hand? I would giggle about that if I weren't near death.

I just spent 43 minutes and nine seconds going three miles on the treadmill as fast as I could. I think I'm gonna barf. Which, in case you didn't know, I haven't done since October of 1982 when I drank two bottles of pink champagne, and I do not wish to pick back up with the barfing just yet.

So, my pace is 14 minutes and 36 seconds. Kenya called. They never want me to use the word "marathon" again. A Kenyan can run about four miles for every one of mine. Dang Kenyans.

Perhaps you have noticed that I said I'd do my three miles on the treadmill last night. Turns out, all that grocery shopping? Made me hungry for the groceries I bought. So I came home and ate rice cakes instead.

Then today, as per usual, I thought, "Oh, I'll just do this proofreading and get it out of the way. It'll take an hour or two." Why do I always do that? I finished at SIX.

P.M.!

The reason is because there was a new girl proofreading. Here's the thing. Part of my job is that I look at the corrections all of the proofreaders made, including me, and I look at the new clean copy to make sure all the changes were incorporated. Well, one of the proofers is new, and she did new-proofer thing.

If you are ever thinking of becoming a proofreader (and why? Do you want to be blind? And persnickety? And have people be afraid to email you?), and you get hired somewhere, do not do the thing where you correct every single little thing that could POSSibly be wrong just to show that you have a good eye. We KNOW you have a good eye, or we wouldn't have hired you.

Find out what the client WANTS corrected. Find out what STYLE GUIDE they use. Do not be annoying and use up one red pen per page. Okay?

So, in a nutshell, I hate new girl. If I had any strength left, I'd beat her. I'd poke out her retinas with my White-Out pen. New girl is an evil beast.

She's probably Kenyan.

Life in the Express Lane

It's Friday night. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Wooo! Partayyy! Back that ass up!

I'm going to get groceries.

You know, in the old days, back when I was still trolling for men, this would be an hour or two before I'd start getting ready to go out. I'd get me some shower wine (that first glass you drink while you're showering. Was that just me?), some music going, my black tights ready cause it was the '80s. And man. You would not see me again until the wee hours of the next day.

Sometimes I miss trolling for men. I don't actually miss any of the men. I'm glad I'm married. I'm glad I'm married to Marvin Gardensalad. Things could have turned out much worse. But I miss the anticipation. Maybe this would be the night I'd meet a prince. At the Hamilton Street Pub in Saginaw, Michigan. Mmm-hmmm.

I miss all the drama. Maybe Cindy would see her old boyfriend and cry in the parking lot all night. Maybe I would make out with Cindy's old boyfriend. Life was full of mystery and sleaze.

Anyway, I have made a list of healthy grocery items that I am going to buy. They include things like yogurt and tomatoes and cheese sticks and water. Somebody hold me back.

Also tonight, after my big night out at the grocery store (what should I wear? Should I put on Obsession or Giorgio?), I am coming home and running three miles to see what my sad pace is. This will give me a starting point for training for this half-marathon. I predict the fastest I can run is 14 minutes a mile. I am not even kidding. I understand that most people could go that fast if they were asleep. Sue me. You've gotta start somewhere.

Talk at you later. After I've busted a move. To the grocery store.

Foggy Non-London Town

A fog has rolled in to my little town, so tonight my view from the treadmill was of my wooded area in the back yard covered in fog and backlit by streetlights. It was very London and dramatic, and I kept looking for Ichabod Crane to come throw a head at me.

Here's a little tip: just get on the treadmill in what you had on that day. I have done it before, and if you are just going to walk briskly and not run at a breakneck pace, you'll be fine. I mean, I put on my running shoes. But sometimes your excuse is that you don't want to change clothes. You really don't have to. That's why there's Maytag appliances.

So my friend Sleeping Beauty and I are officially going to train together for a half-marathon, which is 13.1 miles of running, in case you didn't know. When I ran that marathon, so many people asked me, "So is that one of those 26-mile marathons?" Fortunately I was in very good shape and not at all able to get tense or I would have punched about 70 people. ALL MARATHONS are 26.2 miles. Yes, there are ultra-marathons which are like 100 miles or some nonsense, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, Sleeping Beauty lives on the East Coast and I live in the South, so we're running in Virginia Beach at the end of August.

Perhaps you're wondering why I have decided to name her Sleeping Beauty. That is her real name. Her parents were the Brothers Grimm.

No, no. It is actually a stupid story.

Okay, I'll tell it. We worked together at a museum circa 1989-1991 and technically I was her boss. At said job, we had a really. REALLY. weird secretary. Something was wrong with her. So my friend comes in to work one day really tired, and curls on the Papasan chair in our office to take a nap. The secretary said, "Whatcha doin'? Takin' a nap?"

The secretary had an annoying habit of asking really obvious questions.

So my friend tries to ignore her, but the secretary just said, "Sleeping Beauty Sleeping Beauty Sleeping Beauty Sleeping Beauty" ad nauseum.

I reminded old Sleeping Beauty of this story today, because I am the kind of person who remembers crap like that from 19 years ago, and she said, "What about the part where I was sleeping at work? Why did we tell this story over and over to make fun of the secretary when no one was concerned that I was taking a nap DURING WORK?"

Good bossing on my part.

Also, tonight I had a turkey sandwich from Subway, so I am totally being Jerrod right now.

That's all I have to say about that. Good night. Sleeping Beauty, Sleeping Beauty, Sleeping…

Good night, Detroit!

I am back from Funeral Tour 2008. Did you miss me? We flew out of Charlotte on Monday, only to land in Detroit and learn of ANOTHER death as soon as we got there, so we went to two funerals in a 24-hour period.

Marvin Gardensalad's grandmother's funeral was really very nice. They captured her perfectly in her eulogy, and it was good to see everyone. One of my nieces is a genius, and I do not say that in a she-is-my-relative-and-I-have-an-inflated-view-of-her way. Seriously, she is scary smart.

The grownups, which frighteningly includes me, were talking one night and every time we couldn't think of something we'd call her in. She is nine, and we kept looking to her for the answers to life. She is like human Google.

"Emma? What's the difference between alligators and crocodiles?" She totally knew. "Emma, where are the Galapagos Islands?" She not only knew, she knew about the Galapagos Islands being famous turtle islands. (Don't even act like you knew that.)

Anyway, the thing about funerals? And all the funeral activity after? Eating. People eat eat eat. Why is that, do you think? And Marvin's family have all these traditional Jewish-y things that they eat, which includes red meat and MANY ding-dang sweets.

But I want you to know I did pretty well. I did have two bites of seven-layer cake, which would make it 14-layer cake, and I had lamb chops, which I have no idea if they are fattening or not. But I really ate a lot of the vegetables, one single slice of cheese, and decaf coffee or water instead of soda most of the time.

We didn't do a lot of exercising, unless you include the 46 times I walked from Marvin's parents' house to his aunt's, which are a block apart. So I have to catch up on the exercising.

Which brings me to another point. One of my commentors, who shall remain nameless but whose initials are Nancy Donnelly, suggested I train for the Iron Man triathlon or something so I can be more inspirational. First of all, Nan, I've got two words for you and they ain't "let's dance." I think I have to know how to ride a bike before I can train for a triathlon. However, I was reading Oprah Magazine again on the plane ride home (because I continue to be not cool at all), and there was an ad for one of those breast cancer walks, so I am thinking of training for that.

Years ago, when I trained for a marathon, I got in the best shape of my life simply because I was too horrified not to. Run 26.2 miles? Yeesch! I'd better go practice. It was the perfect incentive, or incenative, as my grandmother would have said.

And finally, in closing, I do have to tell you that today was not what you'd call a healthy eating day. We left Detroit early and headed to a small town called Essexville, where a good friend's father's funeral was today. I am so glad we got to go to this other funeral, as my friend spoke eloquently about his dad and it made me wish I had known the guy better, and also? Essexville? Either I have changed dramatically since I moved out of Michigan 15 years ago, or that town got really cute while I was out of the office.  Heart Essexville! Am I crazy? Michiganders? Your thoughts?

Anyway, we left in the a.m. without eating, went straight to the funeral, and then had to dash back to Detroit for the airport. So I am sorry to tell you that I had Taco Bell somewhere in there. And then? When we landed in Charlotte? We went to Barbecue King, which was absolutely delish.

But have I mentioned that I was going to let myself have one day a month to eat badly, just so I wouldn't lose my mind? My IDEA was that I was going to let myself eat badly the third Sunday of every month. I have no idea why. But I thought it'd be better to schedule it, or else I'd start off every day thinking, "Today will be my screwup day!" So I didn't plan today, but there is no way to deny it was screwup day for sure.

Okay, getting out of these black clothes, finally. Been doing my Johnny Cash impression all week.  Hello. I'm June GonnaEatThat.

Walking through town in down

Yesterday I took a long walk. No, not off a short pier, but you are funny for thinking that.

I wore my mother's white puffy down jacket that she ended up giving me. I was with her when she bought it the day after Thanksgiving, and she looked cute in it (you should have seen the first one she tried on. It was criss-crossy in the front, and it totally looked like a straight jacket. I kept calling her Frances Farmer until she took it off), and I have no idea why she gave it to me. But I'm not complaining, since I have no real winter coats due to the whole living in Los Angeles for the last 10 years thing.

Anyway, so I wore the white coat, and my magenta gloves I got for Christmas, and my iPod, which is white, and my new iPod headphones, which are magenta.

Who was cute as a button in her white and hot pink getup? Naturally, I saw absolutely no one because we live in the country now. But maybe someone was staring out their window and briefly thought, "Wow, she looks cute."

Once I had to give a speech and unbeknownst to me, Anthony Keidis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers was in the crowd. I have always hoped that for just half a second, he thought, man, is she ever hot. It would make up for the hundreds of hours I have thought it about him.

I am going to take another long walk today, this time up my dreadful hill in my neighborhood, to go to the church where I work. I am going to get some stuff done before I get on a plane to Marvin Gardensalad's grandmother's funeral. I figured this was a good way to get in my exercise for the day: walk to and from work. It is less than a mile, so it is something of a travesty that I don't walk there every day.

I don't know if I will be able to post from Detroit. Seems kind of inappropriate to ask if I can use the computer at the funeral home. But when I return, I will tell you if I ate unhealthy food or not.

Sad news

Today is a sad day over at the Gardensalad/GonnaEatThat household.  Marvin Gardensalad's grandmother died.

She was approximately 797 years old. Seriously, girlfriend was old, and if her pictures from her youth are any indication, it seems like she had a full, fun life. But no one wanted to see her go.

Grandma Sophie was about five feet tall, with a flaming head of red hair. Every time she saw me, she'd say, "Did you get taller? Why are you so tall?" I never told her she was a Shrinky-Dink and that was why I seemed like such a giant.

She had one of those "I'm old and I'll say what I want" kinds of attitudes that I admire and can't wait to have. There was little politeness filter going on with her, and every single time I saw her, she had me in stitches. She was hysterically funny, and oh-so-blunt.

Once we were at a funeral, Grandma Sophie and me, and the funeral director asked her how she was. She said, "I'm standing. In this place, that means I'm doing pretty good."

So, goodbye, Grandma Sophie. You were one of my favorite people on earth. You told me over and over that you had the soul of a cat. I think you lived your nine lives, and then some, with humor, grace and vivid red hair.

FedEx, tacos and Britney’s gurney

My doctor's office called today. Before I started this blog, I went to the doctor and had him check all my levels of everything to see if I was dying or turning into a man or anything, and to see if any of my numbers improve as I eat better, McDonald's yesterday notwithstanding.

My charming cholesterol is 217! Am I a longshoreman?! I eat like one. My bad cholesterol is 117. He said he thinks if I really eat better, it will go down. I go back in six months anyway, so I guess I'll find out then.

In case you are not a medical professional or hypochondriac, cholesterol over 200 is bad. And your LDL should be less than 100, I think it is. So it's not like they're gonna take me out on a gurney like Britney (seriously, what is WITH that girl?) anytime soon, but I am not at a healthy level.

Today I was work work worky pants. In case you are new, I will give you the scintillating information that I am a freelance proofreader, and then Monday through Thursday mornings, I am secretary at the local Episcopal church, which is funny because I never went to church, but I live in the Bible Belt now and everybody goes to church and besides they are nice there and have women ministers and are accepting of gay people, so I can hang with it. The end.

Anyway, it was my day off from my glamorous church secretary job, and I woke up thinking, "I just have an hour or two of proofreading to finish up, then I'll call FedEx and have them take that work to Los Angeles, and I can go on with my day."

Who opened her door to the FedEx guy at 4 p.m., unshowered, wearing what she'd slept in, completely zombie-like in her exhaustion, telling him, "It's not ready yet. Can you come back?" (And by the way, that'd be "no.")

Turns out what I thought would be easy took ALL. DING. DANG. DAY. Now, I know two proofreaders who read this blog, and that is the only type of person this will be interesting to, so please skip over this following bracketed part if you are a normal person:

[There was a glossary at the end of the book. Last pass, I asked the author, did you want me to go through the book and make sure the glossary terms are always in bold? Cause I am seeing some instances where they aren't, always. And the author said, oh yes yes, please do that. Well, it's eight chapters and seven appendices. I didn't think it'd be any big deal. Was I wrong. And each chapter and appendix was its own Word file. So I'd have to open Chapter 1, type in each glossary term to make sure they always appeared bold, then open chapter 2 etc. Oh, it was a proofreader's nightmare. Four other proofers read the book, and THEY never thought to ask such a cloying thing. What a maroon. What an embezzle.]

The point of my story is that I ate pretty well anyway, even though every second of this day was spent at this very desk, hunched over the computer and a red pen. I had oatmeal, then tuna with fat-free mayonnaise on whole-wheat crackers, and a sandwich for dinner. I will have an apple tonight and any baby carrots left lying around, because I know I had no vegetables today.

I had to scream scream scream down to Monroe to the FedEx Kinkos with this stupid work, and I made it with six minutes to spare. I would make a terrible emergency room physician. On the drive back, Marvin Gardensalad (who inexplicably came with me. Sometimes he wants to come along on the dumbest errands) kept wanting to stop at every Chili's and deli and Taco Bell we saw, but we did not. Now we are home and he is having a Lean Cuisine. Okay, not so great. But better than a Burrito Supreme.

The Hamburglar Stole My Soul

So, I went to McDonald's today. I blame it on my genes. You see, here's the problem. I was born skinny. Waterkaren_2 

I was a teeny tiny kid no matter what I ate or drank.

Dogkaren_3 

As I got older, I never got that chubby preteen thing. I did get a big neckerchief fetish, though.

Castkaren_2   

I was a rail-thin, if clumsy, teenager. And you should have SEEN my skinny arse at college!

Nice_hair

I know. We need to discuss this hair. And those socks. And I think I actually have on two watches. So I can see when I'm looking this stupid in various time zones.

Loungekaren

I ate anything I wanted all through my twenties.

Drinkkaren_2

Drank whatever I wanted, as well. Nice.

So that is why I did not grow up learning to eat well. There were no CONsequences until, like, now. When all of a sudden I am chubby.

And you know what? The chubby thing isn't bugging me that much, probably because in my mind, I have always been a rail, so I often forget I am no longer one. The reason I am being healthier this year is because I feel like crap. I wake up in the middle of the night. I grind my teeth something fierce. I have nine migraines a month. I am anxious and get rashes and feel allergic to everything. It is not pretty.

So, it is sort of ironic that today, three days into eating well, I felt just awful. I felt dizzy, tired, and shaky. I think I just wasn't eating enough, but the answer was not to head to McDonald's. But that is what I did.

Fortunately, tomorrow is another day. I am going to make a dress out of curtains and carry on.