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Wednesday, April 29, 2009

An Open Letter to Congressman Steve King (R - Iowa)

Oh boy...I'm sure this isn't going to gain me any fans, but here goes...

Dear Congressman King:

I was speechless when I opened up the enclosed letter with your name on the return envelope. As a registered Democrat, who regularly contributes to Planned Parenthood, I take offense to being asked to lobby my state’s representatives asking them to support the reversal of Roe v Wade. While I have never terminated a pregnancy, and hope and pray that I will never been in a position where I need to do so, I do not believe that I am able to dictate to another person what they can and cannot do with their body.

In addition, having never heard your name, I Googled you, and found what I read on your website with regard to your position on HB 1913 to be particularly offensive. Can you honestly tell me that Matthew Shepard was brutally tortured and murdered for any other reason than his sexual orientation? Protection of gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgendered citizens is no different from protection of Catholic, Jewish or Muslim citizens. To that end, I find your stated stance against this bill as it is a transgression against religious expression concerning. Did Jesus not preach love and tolerance? I do not believe that Jesus would condone or encourage the persecution of another person because of who they love. Frankly, I would hope that a religious leader who advocated violence against any person, be it for creed, race, gender or sexual orientation, be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

In addition, although I am heterosexual and have the right to marry whomever I choose, sadly my gay and lesbian friends to do not have that same right. While I respect your stance against same-sex marriage, I do not agree with it. Love is love, and it should be celebrated no matter what form it takes.

In closing, while I fully understand that you will most likely not read this letter, I feel the need to respond to your presumptuous mailing. I support a broad number of causes from the Humane Society to Catholic Charities to The American Red Cross, so I am sure that my name appeared on a mailing list that was sold to you and your organization. Please remove me from your mailing list, and please inform the group that sold you my address to refrain from doing so.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Dreams

I met up with (another) old friend last week. I hadn't seen her since I ran into her a pharmacy where she worked when I was picking up a prescription for my dad. Thanks to the "magic" of Facebook, we got back in touch and met up at Houlihans for a beer.

We did the usual catch up chit-chat: college, boys, jobs. Our drink came to an end, and as we were walking out to the parking lot she asked me if I had my dream car in light of the fact that I still lived with my parents. Sheepishly, I said no, and pointed to the injured, cursed, silver car in the parking lot.

Unless you've just crawled out from under a rock, you have probably heard me complain about my car. I purchased a used 2007 Dodge Caliber in October, 2008, convinced I had scored a deal. OK, I thought it was a bit loud, but that was cured by blasting my radio.

Five months after the purchase, I was driving to work when the car in front of screeched to a halt. I followed, and was immediately slammed from behind. Fortunately, only the cars were hurt, and the other party was a complete gentleman. My car was fixed, and I went merrily on my way. So what if my sister had to go that last 2 miles into Rehoboth with a box on her lap after stopping off for supplies on our way into town for our girls weekend...

Seven months later, still not one full year into ownership, I was broadsided leaving my street. Again, nobody was hurt, and strangely enough the events of that day set me on the path of self-discovery I still find myself on. A few weeks later, I got the car back, and headed down to Baltimore to adopt the newest member of the family, my beagle Candy.

I made it those 300 miles from home to Batimore and back without incident, if you don't count the carsick new addition to the family. Later that afternoon, I dashed out to drop off some clothes at the dry cleaners - less than a mile away. I could have walked. I should have walked.

Sitting at the corner of my street, turn signal on, I was rear-ended a second time. My first instinct was to laugh - for a moment I thought Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake were going to emerge from the car. I didn't get around to getting the repairs done - I had to hound the guy who hit me, and frankly once I had the cash, I didn't want to arrange schedules to be without my car.

Flash forward to last week and there I was, walking out of Houlihans, pointing to my car. Cracked bumper, essentially useless trunk. I mumbled an excuse about my "dream car" and we went our separate ways.

This past weekend, as I went about my Saturday errands, I noticed a grey piece of plastic on the floor mat of the car. A piece from the newly repaired door had fallen off. I went to roll the window up on the passenger side, and the button didn't respond. To add insult to injury, my car sputtered when I cut the ignition, as if to flip it's gasoline powered middle finger at me.

I know there are more important problems out there, but it grated on me. I got online and started checking out cars. The snowball was rolling down the mountain. After a few nervous hours, I got word that I had a car loan (no small feat these days), and took ownership of a brand-new 2009 Jeep Liberty - it had 4 miles on the odometer when I took it out for a test drive.

I had flirted with the Liberty when I bought the Caliber - I opted for the smaller, more fuel-efficient car. Now I have a shorter commute to work, and gas prices are lower. Not exactly green, but I don't have far to go these days.

Now I can answer "yes" to the question. Yes, I do have my dream car. Now, to get my dream life :)

Friday, April 24, 2009

Something Interesting...

Humans learn only by trial and error, and that includes you.

You've got to live life, not think about it. Step into the midst of things, try and fail and learn and stand up again. The question is not whether you will or will not make mistakes - you will. The question is do you want to learn and grow, or do you want to shrink back and be stuck? Take that step you've been avoiding. You can succeed, or you can get

I got this today via Facebook. I usually shy away from the zillion applications I get, especially the religious ones, but I opened this one. I wanted to save this for posterity because I can't forget this the next time I screw up.

Planning on running outside tomorrow instead of on the treadmill. Not sure how far I'll get, but the important part is getting out there an doing it. Have a great weekend all!

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Am I Thin Yet?

I've been on Weight Watchers for a little over seven weeks now. While it took me 2 years to gain 90 pounds, I'm getting impatient with my progress.

So far, I'm down 12 pounds, an average of 1.7 pounds a week. I have a spreadsheet to track my progress. Seriously - a spreadsheet. I'm 13% to goal, and I've lost 6% of my starting weight. I know - makes me want to cry too.

Rationally, I know this is respectable progress, but I'm not happy. The first number on the scale is still a 2. My Wii is still telling me I'm obese, and will continue to do so until I lose another 40 pounds.

I should be proud of what I've done. My suits are fitting a bit better, my jeans looser. I'm able to run for 15 minutes in a row. That's an improvement over the 5 minutes intervals I started out at.

I'm registered for a 5k that is taking place in a little over than a month and I'm freaking out a little. I lost a week of training time recovering from bronchitis and now have an arsenal of medications to control my asthma.

I'm trying to remember my original goal - finish the race. Just finish - run, walk, crawl - finish under my own power. I told my doctor about the race, and when I was leaving, she wished me luck on my journey.

That's what I'm focusing on - not how fast I lose the weight, not how fast I finish the race. My plan for race day is to enjoy the run - look at the sights, enjoy the music on my iPod and focus on what really matters, not how I get to the end, just that I get there eventually.

I need to apply that philosophy to my weight loss journey. Actually, I need to apply that to life - embracing the journey, not just the goals I set for myself.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Your Next American Idol?

I knocked two items off of my life list on Saturday night:

2. laugh at myself & mean it
8. do karaoke in public – this may include # 2 (above) for me & earplugs for everyone else

I went to Alley Gators at Limerick Bowl on Saturday night with my girls, and after several drinks, filled out a slip for karaoke. The song: Rehab by Amy Winehouse.

People who know me know that I can't sing to save my life. It's an inherited trait - my mother said that when she sang to me and my sister we would cover her mouth with our hands. My niece does the same thing to me, and I completely understand why.

I saw the song title pop up on the monitor before I heard Renee call my name, so I had a few moments to collect myself, and more importantly, chug down some more booze. When I heard my name being called, I gamely got up and attacked the song.

Thankfully, my buddy Renee stood up there with me helping me out. I think I did more laughing than singing. I am fully aware of how horrible I am, but I enjoyed myself. To my surprise, no garbage was thrown, and there was no booing. I actually had fun.

Now I'm planning on massacring another song - anyone up for a rendition of "Shoop"?

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

What Have I Done?

First in a continuing series…

When I last wrote I talked about how I had started running again, not for long periods and not very fast, but still definitely a running gait. One of my friends Heather (a/k/a Wonder Woman) asked if I was training for a race. At the time I wasn’t, the plan was to run a race at some point in the fall, when I had shed a considerable amount of weight, after I had done more training.

But it got me thinking why not train for a race? Who says I have to run the whole distance? Who says I need to run it in record time?

So I’ve signed up for a race on May 17, A Brother’s Love Memorial 5k in Collegeville. My goal is to finish. That’s it – just finish under my own power, whether that’s running, walking or even crawling, I want to cross that finish line.

I’m putting more concentration into running now. Was able to do 15 solid minutes at 4.3 – 4.4 on the treadmill tonight. Weather permitting I’m going to do some outside training this weekend.

I’m still wondering where my head was on Sunday night when I registered, but thanks Heather for the kick in the rear.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Overshare Much?

It's no secret that I'm trying to get back into shape, and Gosh-darn-it, it's going to happen or I'll die trying.

In my continuing denial in just how much weight I've gained, I've attempted to start running again.

Let me fill you in, back when I was "thin", I was running every day, even with a sprained ankle, for 3 + miles. I divided my time between the treadmill and outside, and had a constant blister on either one of my feet. In March 2007 things reached a boiling point. In all honesty, I was binging and purging almost every day, and was running despite the fact that my right ankle was extremely swollen. I was desperate to maintain my new figure, even though I still thought I was fat.

I called my sister one night and tearfully confided. I went to the doctor the next day at her urging, I didn't have time to think about it. My doctor's message was clear - you're getting help, and you are telling you family, or I'm going to tell them. She painted a grim picture of what my future would look like if I continued down this path - rotting nails, rotting teeth, heart attack, esophageal cancer. I wanted to run away, but it was too late. Pandora's Box was opened when I uttered the words - I think I have a problem.

I started seeing a therapist, at first twice a week. I told her my routine, and to this day I can't forget the look on her face. I told her about the running, and the race I had entered despite my sprained ankle. I told her about the strictly regimented meals. All of it was normal for me. She asked me what I did for myself, and what would happen if I had a scone, and just digested it. I told her that I didn't know. I couldn't answer either question - being nice to myself? eating something "bad"? My idea of a splurge was a Tootsie Roll Pop, or an extra piece of diet bread with butter spray. A "cheat" day was unheard of to me. I made excuses not to see friends - and to little surprise they slipped away. I was most comfortable with my food scale, treadmill and computer. Joy told me that she thought I was angry. I didn't know what to say.

It's been two years since that first session, and I hope a lot has changed. I've gained all of the weight back, true. The treadmill and I took an extended break, while scones and I have had a frenaissance. I've also started opening up - telling someone when I'm mad or hurt. I started venturing out of the house for reasons other than work and shopping - I reconnected with old friends. I admitted to Joy that I was angry with trying to maintain a facade of perfection.

I'm back on the weight loss wagon again, and I'm trying to keep the old demons at bay. About a week ago I tried to start running again, and when I did I pushed it too far. I sheepishly admitted this to my therapist - running to the point of sickness more than once - she wasn't thrilled. I'm taking it slow now, and I was surprised tonight when I found myself running for 10 minutes and not feeling sick. I almost enjoyed it - and I stopped before it got to be painful. I'm enjoying a day off once a week from watching every morsel that crosses my lips. I'm making time to meet up with friends.

I'm not going to lie, it's difficult for me. A part of me wants to go full throttle even though I know it will hurt me. I'm also asking for help, something that's not in my nature. I'm so grateful for the support that I've found now that I've opened myself up.

I hope I can continue and find that happy medium. Maybe I don't need to be a size 6. Perhaps a 10 is perfectly OK. Maybe being me is perfectly OK.

I certainly hope so.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Barbie and Me

When I was a kid, one of my favorite toys was my Barbie. If there was a new version and I happened to see it, I wanted it. The Barbie Penthouse, Winnebago, Skipper, Hispanic Barbie (she looked Italian Grandmom - really!) - you name it, if I didn't have it, I wanted it.

My sister had (and still has) a sci-fi obsession, so there were times that her Han Solo action figure hitched a ride in the Barbie Corvette if we played together. Kelly had an antagonistic relationship with my favorite doll, later admitting to pulling the heads off to try to rid me of my obsession.

As I got into grammar school, the fascination didn't fade away. I vividly remember the handmade dress my grandfather bought for one of my dolls - it cost $14 - a fortune for 1982. But I treasured that piece of clothing, and can still see it in my mind's eye.

In later years, Kelly intimated that she thought my body-image issues were rooted in my early play thing. I scoffed at the the time, but looking back, I wonder. I was, and still am, a short hazel-eyed overweight brunette -what could be more glamorous than a buxom blond-haired blue-eyed doll with the perfect figure? So her boyfriend was androgynous, we all have our crosses to bear. Did I develop my idea of how I should look from a doll? I honestly don't know.

When Kelly's daughter was born, she told me that under no circumstances could I buy her a Barbie. Good Luck, I told her. We negotiated a one doll a year agreement. I immediately bought my then 5 lb 3 month old niece her very first Barbie as a coming home present when she came home from the NICU. How can she have only one when she was ready to play?

Since then, the one a year rule has fallen to the wayside, especially in light of Tara's love of all things pink and most things Barbie. What makes me happy is that she also loves playing outside and desperately wants to be able to hit a baseball as well as her neighbor Nicky. She loves playing with her dolls, although I suspect that this has more to do with riling up her mother than anything else. She has a stubborn streak, and I hope that carries her through to her adult years.

On many levels I know that my body image is something I developed as a result of many things - not just my dolls - and it's something I struggle with daily. From playing with Barbie, I developed a sense of imagination, a knowledge that I could do anything - be a veterinarian, astronaut, teacher or physician, as well as be a sister, friend and girlfriend - all while having a rocken' rack and flawless hair, but I digress. I'd hate to take that away from Tara because Barbie's proportions are unrealistic.

I hope Mattel catches on - maybe Barbie can have an off-shoot - Bad Hair Day Barbie, Holiday Weight Barbie - or better yet, Realistic Barbie - with a bit of cellulite, some roots and some slightly smeared eyeliner.

After all, we girls can do anything, right Barbie?