Happy New Year/Resolutions!

This is a bit of a departure...I typically type my year end blog, drunk as a lord (never really understood that phrase) while watching the Food Network. But, I have a better offer this year, so I'm sipping a glass of red, reasonably sober, watching a DVR'd episode of Law & Order: UK (which BTW, good show - highly recommend it).

So, Happy New Year all! 2010 is almost behind us (fortunately). Not the worst year, but certainly not the best. There are some things I could have done without. But, going to focus on the positive and wish you all a happy, healthy and prosperous 2011.

On to my resolutions.

In 2011, I will be, at the very least, this weight or skinner by this time next year. I'm going to be realistic. While I'd like to be a size 6, I don't want to go crazy. I want to reach my goal weight to be "Lifetime In Good Standing" at Weight Watchers, which means that I need to lose another 30 pounds or so, but if I stay this weight, I think I can deal.

I'm going to try to not let certain people get under my skin in 2011. I really wish Facebook had a "penalty box" where you could allocate people who are annoying you for the moment (and let them know, gently), but given that doesn't exist, and I think I've set a record for unfriending people, I'm just going to use the "Hide From Feed" option more often, and reserve unfriending for really onerous people.

I'd like to move on from miserably marinating in my single status. I hide behind it, use it as an excuse to be miserable. I'm single, that's the way it is, and may be the way it will be. I'm going to try (read: try) to embrace the freedom that entails. And wear warm socks to keep my feet warm at night.

I need to love or leave my job. I like it, there are things that I'd change, but I need to decide if this is going to be my career, or if there is something else I'm meant for. Not sure if that means committing to going back to school, or becoming, oh, I don't know, a Butterfly Keeper, but I'm 36. Pretty sure that means I'm a Grown Up, and Grown Ups have careers.

Run a 10k. I've done 2 5ks in 2010, and finished them vertically. I need another challenge. I think a 10k, or perhaps a half marathon is the next adventure.

So that's it. My 2010 closing message and 2011 resolutions. Wishing you a safe, happy and healthy New Year, wherever you are!

Ramblings...and a Letter to Santa

I'm not sure about the "I'm Sorry" ban to be honest. I think apologizing is so ingrained into my speech I've stopped noticing it. That said, when I'm aware, I've tried to refrain.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that I was wrong, not that I'm sorry, but that I was wrong. This kind of admission is rare, so take this moment for what it's worth. I've been on the new Weight Watchers plan for two weeks and I've lost 7.4pounds, bringing my total weight loss to 59.4 pounds, and my BMI to 29.97. For those of you who don't monitor BMI stats, this number means that I've gone from being Obese (such an ugly word) to merely being Overweight.

If you may recall, I kicked, screamed and tried to rebel against the new program that Weight Watchers has implemented. I'm still not thrilled with it, having to cut back, drastically, on carbs, but 7.4 lbs in two weeks isn't to be sneezed at. I also took a leap today about bought size 12P jeans. When I started back in June, I was squeezing myself into 22WP, so I'm pretty happy.

So, I admit it Weight Watchers, the new program does work. I'll give you your due. But I'm not sorry for doubting.

So, onto my next point. It may be a bit late, but here is my letter to Santa...

Dear Santa,

Hi, it's Beth again. I know, I was too old last year, and I'm definitely too old this year, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I know it may be too late for this year, since according to NORAD you're somewhere over Argentina as I write this at 9:15 on Christmas Eve. But, since you're magic, maybe you can pull something off.

As before, you should know I've been a very good girl. I even attempted to curtail my cursing. I've lost weight, and I haven't killed anyone in the midst of it, so that should put me on your "Nice" list.

Due to circumstances which I am sure were beyond your control, you weren't able to come through with some of the stuff I asked for last year, see , so I'd like to incorporate that by reference, particularly the salary and boyfriend points.

I'd like to ask you for a few more things...jobs for people who need them, and for homes and food for people who don't have them. I'd also like for you to bring the troops home from places of hostility, like Iraq and Afghanistan. Also, please keep our firefighters and police officers safe. Please find homes for the dogs and cats who are waiting to find their forever homes, and help the rescues find funds to keep their services running.

Oh, and being totally selfish, I would still like to have Gisele Bundchen's body, but I'd be happy with my own, a bit toner and muscular. Some willpower would be nice. Bogey, Candy and Ted would always like toys (and more treats), and gift certificates for mom and dad are always good.

Safe flying tonight Santa. If you get patted down by a cute, single, TSA agent, send him my way. There's some Scotch, Pinot and cookies by the fire place for you.

Love,

Beth

No Regrets

I've found myself saying "I'm sorry" way too much recently, particularly for things that I probably shouldn't be sorry for.

For example, "Sorry, I can't go out tonight, I'm tired" "Sorry, I can't go out to eat, I'm watching my weight" "Sorry, I'm not able to watch your child, I have other plans"

Why am I sorry for putting myself first? It's not like I'm refusing to help a dying person or I've run over a kitten.

I've worked really hard over the past few months to work on myself. Eating right, working out, but apparently that has taken the place of taking care of myself in other ways. I've shed pounds of physical weight (55 pounds to be exact) but I think I've added a corresponding amount in guilt.

To be fair, I am Irish and Italian. And Catholic. All known for their guilt issues.

Well, I'm going to try to put a stop to it. In April I attempted the "Great Swear Experiment", where I tried to give up cursing. Did it work? 'F no, but I tried. I at least was more aware of my foul mouth. So now, I'm going to try to give up saying "I'm sorry" when I really shouldn't be.

No apologies for going to the gym.

No apologies for eating right.

No apologies for putting myself first.

I'll say I'm sorry if I've stepped on your foot, done something to offend you, cursed in front of your four year old or stepped on your dog's tail. But if I don't want to do something, then so be it. If I need to do something for me, deal with it.

P.S. For the record, trying fighting the urge to say "sorry if I offend you" so I'll replace that with "Deal with it. Holla atcha girl."

P.P.S. Merry Christmas & Happy New Year. Also, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy Belated Hanukkah!

Change Is Good.....Right?

I've been having a temper tantrum for the past two weeks.

Yes, you read that right. This 36 year old woman has been having a good old fashioned temper tantrum.

Why, you might ask? Weight Watchers changed its plan. And not just a few tweaks, but a major overhaul.

I've heard buzzing for a few weeks, but nothing concrete. "You'll love it" said my leader. So last Monday, after having had a long food centric weekend (give me a break, I was on program on Thanksgiving. No pumpkin pie for me. I had weigh in on Black Friday, and lost over 2 pounds), I booted up my computer, logged onto eTools on WeightWatchers.com, and was thrust into the new program despite my meeting not being for another four days.

The FAQ informed me that as November 29, WW.com wasn't supporting the old plan. I was thrown for a loop. eTools was my lifeline. I literally was on the website tracking food, exercise, etc all day. When I came home from work, I booted up the website so I could track my dinner, down to the gram and didn't log off until I had eaten my last Point.

The changes? Pretty overwhelming. My 3 point lunch was now 6. My beloved wine just about doubled in Points. I logged in my breakfast, lunch and dinner (no snacks) and was 3 Points over for the day, where on the old plan I was 3 or 4 points under with midday snacks factored in.

"But fruit is 0 points!" "My daily points allowance almost doubled!" "Just exercise more!" The message boards were of no comfort.

I wasn't happy. I don't particularly like fruit. My points allowance only went up by 5 Points. And as for exercise more? Bitch, please. I already do high intensity exercise 6 days a week. Am I supposed to run in my sleep?

My grown up, mature response was to go off program. I've exercised once since the day before Thanksgiving. I've been having full-fat Caesar dressing, with croutons, on my salad for lunch. I had a bagel with regular cream cheese for breakfast on Monday. Tonight I had a chicken steak sandwich (with mushrooms, no cheese) with a side of fries.

What? My meeting is tomorrow. I'll behave then.

I've been ranting on message boards. I've emailed WW twice. I even posted a snarky remark on the CEO's blog, begging them to support the old WW plan. All to no avail.

So, I'm going to suck it up. Back to my meeting tomorrow, up a couple of pounds most likely. I'm giving the new plan a shot, decreasing my wine intake (sob!) and increasing my fruit and veg. I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but a change may do me some good.

Side note: in the past two days at work, I've had three different people approach me to comment on my weight loss. Funny how that happens when I'm off plan. That encouragement has helped, I admit it. A part of me wanted to throw in the towel and use this change as an excuse. I realize I've come too far to go back now.

The Doctor Is In

I have a lot of flaws. I admit it. I once paid somebody upwards of $30 a week to help me understand them, and in some cases, point them out to me.

It's not that I'm ignorant of these flaws. I'm overly sensitive, have a short temper, like to overeat, and when I overeat, it's typically unhealthy foods. I don't like to exercise, tend to shove my head up my ass (despite my lack of flexibility), get attracted to the wrong guys, have a negative outlook, and when I get drunk, oh boy, better get a hazmat crew.

Lack of self awareness, that is something I don't lack.

Some people tell me I'm too hard on myself. There are times I agree. There's a great song that comes to mind at times like this, with the following lyric:

"It's no surprise to me,
I am my own worst enemy.
'Cause every now and then
I kick the livin' shit out of me"

That said, it may come as a surprise to you that I really, REALLY, resent it when other people try to fill the roll of de facto devil on my shoulder.

There are some people in my life who feel the need to knock me down a few pegs from time to time. I'm not sure they are aware of where I am from a mental status when they decide to do it. To be honest, when these people decide to come out of the woodwork, I'm typically at a low ebb. Perhaps they are at a low ebb as well, and decide to take a hit at the low hanging fruit, so to speak. I'm not exactly closed off to input. I'm always open to hearing other people's POV, but as I've gotten older, I've gotten more sensitive to the context.

For example, one area that is an oldie but a goodie is my living situation. I make no secret of the fact that I still live with my parents. It's an arrangement that actually works for me. I have two dogs, and given the fact that I have had days that include 14 conference calls with 30 minute lunch breaks, it makes having two other adults in the house a positive. I can also go away on vacation without paying a large fee to a kennel to keep them fed and watered. Despite that, there are people who feel I am living in a state of arrested development, and like to criticize that fact. To them I flash my Coach bag, Michael Kors watch and my gym membership. I wouldn't have any of them if I was living on my own in an apartment, let alone the companionship of my parents and two loving animals.

Then there are those who feel that my occasional gripes about work are inappropriate. Make no mistake, I love what I do, and I am lucky enough to have a mentor in my boss, a woman who I have worked for at two different companies. She pushed me out of my admin assistant role, one that benefited her, into a role that made me realize my potential. That said, there are frustrations, ones that would manifest themselves if I was a nun in a Carmelite monastery, or a hedge fund broker on Wall Street. I know I'm lucky to have a job, but let me have my occasional gripes. They keep me sane.

Ah, then there is that old chestnut, the size of my ass. I had one person who told me that the magic bullet, in response to my fears about a high school reunion, was to eat less, drink more water, and exercise more. I wanted to throttle her. Needless to say, she isn't someone I go to for advice. When I'm working the program (WW for those of you who don't know), I appreciate the support. However, when I'm feeling low (i.e. fat, flabby and otherwise insecure), I'd rather not hear about what I'm doing wrong. I know cheese fries aren't a health food, I don't need someone to tell me otherwise.

If I sound bratty, churlish, or ungrateful, I apologize. I love my friends, all of them. There are some who are closer than others, and those are the ones I have on my mental "Council of Buds". The ones I go to for an opinion, even if I know it might not be one I want to hear. They are the ones who will say "yes" if I ask "Do these jeans make my ass look fat?"

Of course, those friends are the ones I probably wouldn't ask that question of on a low ebb day.

But I digress. I'm not what I consider a closed minded person, but I think that sometimes my general nature leads people to believe that I am weak minded, or one who desperately needs their advice. I won't tell someone off, or say that my feelings are hurt, but know that sometimes words do hurt. So, in the words of George Carlin, be careful with them.

If I ask for your advice, by all means, I want it, unvarnished. If I don't ask for your opinion, feel free to keep your trap shut.

Thanks

Reflections

For those of you living under a rock (or who have smartly blocked my updates from your Facebook feed) I will be celebrating a birthday on Wednesday. Wait...celebrating may be the wrong word, especially since I will be entering my late 30s, as my boss kindly pointed out. Of course, given the alternative, that alternative being dead, I guess marking another birthday isn't a bad thing, so bottoms up!

As I've gotten older, my birthday has triggered periods of introspection. Who am I? Where am I in my life? Who do I want to be? I guess that's normal, especially as one gets older, but it's kind of new for me. Growing up, my birthday was just a day for celebration. Where's my present, pass the cake, and once I turned 21, is the bar open yet? Those were the questions of the day. Not this deep introspective shit.

But for better or worse, this is where I'm at. Consider this my personal State of the Union address.

Friends, Family, the state of my union (to continue this metaphor) is good. Not great, but good. 35 was an interesting year.

Thankfully, I'm still employed, some of my friends can't say that. And I like what I do, and most of the people I do it with, so that's a plus.

I branched out of my comfort zone this year. I rejoined a co-ed gym, started working out again after struggling with ED. I ventured back into running, started taking spinning classes, working with a trainer. I've tried to embrace balance - taking a day (or four) off, or even a week, and then getting back onto the program. I'm still a work in progress, but I'm embracing the concept of forgive yourself and move on.

I tried on-line dating (also again). I went on a few dates, and ultimately decided that the dating world isn't ready for me yet. But the take away is that I put myself out there, even though I was terrified of rejection. I'm still single, but after seeing what is out there, for the moment, that's OK. Mr. Right is out there, but we're not ready for each other yet.

I experienced loss this year losing my grandfather. I miss him, and I'm sad thinking about how it affected my family, but I hope I can live as full of a life as he did.

I'm still in touch with the friends I was blessed to reconnect with a few years ago. Without their support, this year would have been even more difficult.

Are there things I would have changed in my 35th year? Yes, if I'm honest, but I wouldn't trade what I have learned for anything.

Where do I want to be this time next year? Healthier (read: thinner, who the hell am I kidding with this healthier crap?), with a better self image. Still employed, hopefully making more money (Dear President Obama - work on the economy now, thanks). Closer to my family and friends, perhaps with a Mr. Beth by my side. But overall, another year like this one, eh...I could deal with it.

In closing, Happy Birthday to me. Here's to another 35 (hopefully more)!

Open Letter

Please excuse me this indulgence friends, but I have something I need to get off my chest and I'm not sure I'd have the guts to do this face to face.

Dear K,

Please pardon the lack of the honorific "Aunt", but given the events of the last few months, I'm not sure I can think of you that way anymore.

Before Grandpop died, you crossed the line, I admit that. It was out of respect for my grandfather that I didn't call you out on it. You talked to my mother like she was crap and she took it, and believe me, that had little to do with the advice my sister and I gave.

You wanted to let my grandfather die like he was a dog on the side of the road. I thank God that my sister and my mother called that morning, and my sister put her livelihood on the line that day. She put her career at risk to ensure that our grandfather didn't suffocate in pain. You wanted to let him suffer. I'm not sure I can ever forgive you for that.

Your tantrum the day after grandpop died was unacceptable, and your accusations towward my mother were uncalled for.

You are the one who cannot be trusted, not my mother.

I've stayed away until recently. Not because I don't love my grandmother, but because I respect her, and I respect my mother. I allowed myself to think better of you, in spite of your actions in the days after my grandfather's death. I allowed myself to think that you had turned a corner.

Tonight that all changed. The old "K" came back, talking to my mother like she was a piece of shit. I won't forgive that. I won't forgive you.

I'm done. Saturday just may have been the last time you'll ever see me. I hope you can live with that. I hope you can live with yourself.

Fuck you.

Rehab - Update

Just realized...I claimed no bacon had entered the picture. Duh! What is the best part of a club? THE BACON! GAH!

Rehab

It's been a bad week, well WW and workout wise. I haven't tracked my food since last Friday, haven't been to the gym since last Thursday. My water consumption has been sketchy and my energy levels are low.

Let's turn back the clock, shall we?

I decided last Friday I needed a mini-break, both from WW and the gym, in light of my milestone 40+ pound weight loss. Fabulous...no problem, right? Take two days off, back on track. Yeah, not so much. Two days off became three, three became four and here we are, Wednesday, six days out.

I'm not where I was six months ago. I've had french fries, my culinary nirvana, twice in those six days, where six months ago it was twice a day. I haven't been all bad. No bacon has entered the picture.

As an example, today I had oatmeal (not measured) from the cafeteria with cinnamon and some brown sugar. Lunch was a turkey club (with cheese) on a semolina roll, no mayo, a few chips and I only ate 2/3 of the sandwich. Dinner was actually WW friendly - whole wheat pasta, grilled chicken, mushrooms. The past few days have been same - 2 out of three meals ok'ish, one misdemeanor bad.

To be honest, I'm lost and a little scared that I'm slipping. I've been down this road before - just a few days off becomes a week, a week becomes a month.

I don't have a good excuse for not being on program. Nobody's died, I'm not away and on a real vacation. I just didn't "want to" this week - I didn't want to sweat, having to wash and dry my hair, forcing it into a style and spending a half an hour planning and measuring food for the next day. I didn't want to come home late from work to two irate dogs. I just didn't want to.

But who the hell wants to do any of that? I'm pretty sure, if you're being honest, you don't want to. I resent having to. I resent having a shitty metabolism (because of my own doing). I resent being short (love you mom!). I resent loving carbs and not grilled salmon.

Tomorrow is a new day. Who cares if the WW week is just about over. I'm resigning myself to a gain on Friday. Tomorrow isn't about mitigating damage, it's about getting back into the routine. Next week isn't going to be much better (work dinner on Monday, so no gym; all day meeting on Tuesday with a late finish time, so again, probably no gym).

It's a marathon, not a sprint. I'm not a marathon runner, and unfortunately since this isn't a relay (and therefore I can't ask somebody to run a leg for me), please do the next best thing. Cheer for me. Send me positive vibes. Lift me up on Friday so I'm not too heavy on the scale.

Live on TV

I feel like my experience with live television has only been tragedies.

As a child, I watched the explosion of Challenger, I saw Bud Dwyer kill himself during a televised press conference on a snow day, and as a young adult, I watched the Twin Towers collapse in real time.

Tonight I got to watch a miracle.

It’s not over yet, but I’m hopeful.

I was going to go to bed at a reasonable time, but decided to get an update on the rescue of the Chilean miners before I went to bed.

Between Anderson Cooper and Facebook, I got sucked in, and I’m glad I did. I got to see the rescuer make it down the mine, and saw the first miner, Florencio Avalos, get into the rescue capsule and make his way back to the surface while it was happening. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried when I saw him hug his son.

I’m praying that the remaining 32 miners make their way back up safely, and I’m thankful that I am able to make a living in a field that doesn’t put my life at risk.

Please keep the miners in Chile, and the rescue workers, in your prayers. They’re in mine.

Bullies Suck

There’s been a great deal of attention in the media about the epidemic of bullies these days. Last year there was the story of Phoebie Prince, age 15 who killed herself because of bullies at her new school and recently there are the suicides of Billy Lucas, age 15; Cody Barker, age 17; Seth Walsh, age 13; Tyler Clementi, age 18; Asher Brown, age 13; Harrison Brown, age 15; Raymond Chase, age 19; Felix Sacco, age 17; and Caleb Nolt, age 14 - all in September 2010.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I found myself the odd girl out when I was 13. I’m still not sure what I did, but one Monday I came to school and found myself on the outside and being the butt of jokes. The hurt still stings, I can still remember coming home from school, locking myself in the kitchen, turning on the soap opera One Life to Live and crying while ramming Oreo cookies in my mouth (the soap opera was so there would be an excuse if I was caught crying). My family knew what was going on, but still I tried to conceal the pain. Since that point, I’ve always thought of myself as a dork, and particularly cautious with people outside of my family. To this day, irrational though it may be, if I hear groups of people laughing (especially females), I assume they are laughing about me – oh the ego.

At that time, I went to bed wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next day. I didn’t actively think about suicide; I still planned to become a lawyer, marry Michael J. Fox, move to Connecticut and drive a Porsche. I just wanted to sleep through the rough years and come out on the other side OK. Funny that I still want the same thing now (i.e. weight loss – just put me in a coma, help me lose the weight painlessly, and wake me up when it’s over). Even at 35 (going on 36) I don’t want to go through the growing pains that shape you.

If I could go back in time and talk to my 13 year old self, I’m sure she would think I was crazy. I’d tell that overweight, extremely busty girl that it would turn out OK – oh, and that flat, straight hair would be just A-OK. The boobs would be reduced, that while we’d always struggle with our weight, there was a way out, and that two of the girls that I thought of as my chief tormentors would turn out to be two of my best friends - I’d look forward to hanging out with them, we’d commiserate about the rough times, and turn to each other now in the bad times.

I’d tell her that it gets better.

While I’m not gay, and have never been bullied because of my sexuality, I was bullied because of things out of my control. I feel like I can relate on some small level to Phoebe, Billy, Cody, Seth, Tyler, Asher, Harrison, Raymond, Felix and Caleb. While my private life wasn’t broadcast on the internet, my sexuality wasn’t being mocked or questioned, I wasn’t being beat up or called a slut, I felt like I had lost my world. My friends were gone, I felt I was alone and the butt of the jokes. In a word, it sucked.

I’m glad I didn’t check out. I’m glad I didn’t go into the “magic coma” of my fantasies, because the pain I went through in my teen years has made me a more compassionate person today. I want to sit the people down who made the lives of these teenagers a living hell and explain to them what it will be like in future years; that they won’t always be on top; that Karma is a bitch. But mostly I want to talk to the kids who have decided that suicide was the answer. I want to give them a hug, some words of reassurance.

I want to tell them that it does get better.

Signs

I was driving to my spinning class yesterday when I saw the signs – no parking on Harding Blvd, a relatively flat stretch of road near the Elmwood Park Zoo, for a 5k today. No other information – just your standard police “no parking” signs.

The weather has been refreshingly fall like, the weather for today was forecasted to be good, and I haven’t done anything stupid in at least a week. I Googled 5k, Norristown, October 3 and found the information on the race. I’m still in the beginning stages of my training for the 5k I’m signed up for in November, I can’t run more than one mile before having to stop and take a breather, and I haven’t run 3 consecutive miles without having to stop and dry heave in over 3 years. That would have stopped a sane person. As a reader of my blog, you should know by now that I’m far from sane.

I posted on Facebook that I was thinking about it. Got a helpful tip from my neighbor that half a case of Guinness would help for carbo loading, which I dismissed in favor of some whole wheat Pasta. I charged my iPod, organized my gear and went to bed early.

I got up at 7:00 am this morning, threw on my racing running shorts (size L – a little snug, but no seams tore), laced up my sneakers and was at the Zoo for registration. It was cold and I was surrounded by 80 year olds wearing multiple layers asking me if I was cold, athletic looking stick insects wearing tank tops and children who I knew would kick my butt.

At 9:00 the starting horn blared and I started. I decided at the outset that I wasn’t going to even try to keep up with the pack – I was competing against myself. I didn’t even check my time until the last half mile. I knew I wasn’t going to be in the hunt as far as being in the top for my age group, I just wanted to finish.

I made it to the 1.25 mile mark before I need to walk. I alternated for the rest of the race. Run for as long as I can, walk for a few steps. The course was flat until the halfway point, a pretty steep hill approaching Johnson Highway. I scared the crap out the kid in front of me – huffing and puffing up the hill. I’m sure I sounded like I was in a bad porno. The hill going down was a relief, and went past the zoo for the second loop on Harding Blvd - then it hit me – the smell.

There are donkeys and buffalo (bison?) that are housed right near the street. During the summer I roll up my windows when I drive past. They are fragrant to say the least, even on a 50 degree morning. At least it provided motivation to push myself to get past the enclosure as fast I could.

I did the second loop and was in the home stretch. That’s when I started talking to myself. Hey, I was in Norristown – I’m sure the people on the route just thought I was an escapee from the local mental hospital. Then the 7 year old participating in his very first 5k with his dad blazed past me. I was very conscious at that point that my encouragement to myself was mostly curse words. Oh well, he was bound to learn them sooner or later.

Then I went past the donkey enclosure. Would this be the bonk point? Nope…pushed forward and sprinted to the finish line.

I didn’t finish last, but was definitely in the back of the pack. And that’s fine by me. I finished in a respectable time – 36 minutes, 42 seconds (according to my Nike Plus sensor). I’m feeling more confident about the November 14 race –especially since I’ve got time to do more prep work.

I had another triumph today when I went to the mall. Yesterday I found my jeans were getting stupid big – I sucked in my stomach and they came dangerously close to falling down. I’m not complaining. I went to Old Navy – grabbed a few different styles in size 18 – the largest size they had in a short length. Not only did they fit, they were big! I got a size 16, and went to get a hard earned slice of pizza and shared some fries for lunch with mom. We then went down to NY & Co – feeling cocky I grabbed two pair of pants – 18 petite and 16 petite. The 18s fit – perfectly. I’m not there yet with the tops, but soon enough. Now I have even more motivation to keep going!

Real Housewives of Norristown

Dear Bravo,

I’ve been watching the previews for years now, The Real Housewives of Orange County, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of New York City, New Jersey, Washington, and now Los Angeles.

I’d like to propose that you look at how “real people” live, and share with you my proposal for The Real Housewives of Norristown.

No, seriously, don’t look away. I’d like to present the cast – Jen, Jenn, Sherri, Aric and Beth (yes, I’ve cast myself – do you have a problem with that?). Feel free to imagine our cocktail dressed selves (well, except for Aric) doing the Bravo-promo hip check/reposition thing.

Jen, 24, is my friend Renee’s partner. Works at a local supermarket and is a cool chick. She provides the 20-something POV along with guest-Housewife Shannon.

Jenn, 35, is a wife and mother of two. She works in the Real Estate industry, tells it as it is and has been my friend for over 30 years.

Sherri, another long time friend. She’s a wife and mother of five, including a newborn, and runs a day care business out of her home. Her kids range in age from 17 to less than one week old (at least as of this writing).

Aric, the first Househusband. Classified himself as “a stay at home dad with no kids” before he and his wife adopted their now five month old daughter. He is also a Renaissance man and inventor.

Beth (me, duh!) in the vein of Bethenny Frankel of RHONYC, 35, single, career girl, chronic singleton and has a relationship with all of the other Housewives.

Hi-jinks will ensue. I guarantee it.

I await your reply Bravo.

P.S. And to those of you named, I hope you don't take offense. There are few people I want to be photographed with, let alone captured on video. I'd use pseudonyms, but where's the fun in that?

Training Day(s)

What the hell was I thinking?

That’s what I was thinking, somewhere around .75 of a mile, the dance mix of Jennifer Hudson’s version of “And I Am Telling You” blaring from my iPod as I trotted down Colonial Avenue, up-hill toward Farm Park, on my most recent training run.

As I mentioned on Facebook, I’m registered for the Lemon Run on November 14 (benefitting Alex’s Lemonade Stand – I’m also looking for sponsors, if you haven’t sponsored me, and if your budget allows, please do so – here’s the link http://www.alexslemonade.org/mypage/69338).

As you can see, I’m taking this whole body transformation thing quite seriously. I’ve joined a gym, hired a trainer and am doing a 5k on November 14 (3.2 miles for those of you not into the metric system) four days after I turn 36.

I’m not going to sugar coat it, the training has been tough. Literally blood, sweat and tears, along with vomit and blisters. It’s not easy getting a 230 pound body back to 135 pound shape. I’m generally lazy and impatient – I want instant results with minimal effort. While that may have worked when I was in 6th grade English class, that doesn’t hold true to physical fitness as a 30+ old woman. To date I’m down 31.2 pounds, 5.5 points of BMI and 62.4 pounds away from my goal weight of 135.

I’m having running shoe issues (had a fitting at one store, spent $100 on shoes that gave me blisters, exchanged then for another shoe that gave me more blisters), endurance issues (thanks ragweed allergies and asthma) and the above mentioned general disposition to laziness.

I won’t lie, there are days I want to say f**k it and go get a 10 pack of McNuggets and a large order of fries. I’m trying really hard to fight the urge. As I write this I’m sipping on my 4 oz of white wine (2 points) and bag of Jolly Time Healthy Pop Kettle Korn (1 point) and hoping for a better, more positive, day tomorrow.

Please keep sending me positive vibes and happy thoughts. I know I can do this!

Distance

I’m not a marathoner. Never have been, and I’m not just talking about running.

I’ve always been a short-term kind of person. I know I’m not unique in that I want results now.

I knew when I started on this weight loss journey that I wouldn’t shed the weight overnight. I knew it would take me a long, long time to lose the 95 pounds I’ve gained over the past 2 and a half years. There would be long hours at the gym, a lot of weighing and journaling of food and times when I wouldn’t see the results despite working (literally) my ass off.

Days like today, hell weeks like this one, make me want to throw up my hands and get some chicken fingers and french fries for lunch and wash it all down with a cold, non lite, beer.

I guess it all started on Monday – I was getting ready to take a bath and against my better judgment I hopped on the scale, yes, at night, and shocker, wasn’t happy with the number. Then I caught a glimpse of myself, in all my naked glory, in the full length mirror on the door. Rationally I know I’m better off than when I started almost three months ago. I have a dorky spreadsheet that tracks my progress….29 pounds down, 4.5 points of BMI lost, but at times it’s hard to see it. Still, I tried to brush it off and move on. I went to spinning on Tuesday, and took last night off from the gym since I hadn’t had a day off from exercise in almost 10 days.

I made the mistake of weighing myself this morning – the number was lower than last Friday but it was a reminder…a reminder I still have roughly 65 more pounds to lose. Then I went into work, my hair down and freshly flat ironed, makeup carefully applied (I even wore lipstick!) and went to have my picture taken for our company directory.

Thanks to the wonders of digital photography, I got to see the pictures. My heart sank. Who is that fat girl? Why do I look like a contestant on RuPaul’s Drag Race?

There’s a part of me that now really wants to say screw it and eat whatever I want for lunch – maybe a fried chicken cutlet on crusty bread that’s been calling my name. Or a basket of chicken fingers. Maybe a cheese steak.

Then I remember tomorrow is weigh in, that I packed a salad, and that this is marathon, not a sprint.

So I need to brush off the bad picture. Remind myself that I’m in this for the long haul, and I can’t let one (or four) bad picture derail what I’ve accomplished.

Off to the Races

I've been talking about it and now the deed is done. I've signed up for a 5k, the first in over a year, in order to give myself a real goal.

Back in my thinner days, I regularly ran the equivalent of a 5k every day on my treadmill. I didn't do any cross training and went to Curves three times a week for strength training. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone that I eventually injured myself and couldn't run. The depression crept in along with the pounds.

Last year I attempted to get back into the game and again was sidelined. There were a lot of reasons, most of them mental and some of them physical, that caused me to not be as successful as I would have liked. I had signed up for a 5k and while I finished, it wasn't satisfying in that "Yay me!" kind of way.

Over the summer I decided to do an overhaul. Going to a gym, working with a trainer and, of course, doing Weight Watchers. I'm mixing up my cardio with spinning, the stair master and yes, running. My endurance isn't where I would like it to be, but I'm working on it along with everything else.

So, four days after I turn 36 (aack!) I'm going to run what I hope will be my return to racing. A little older, hopefully a little wiser. My expectations are low, I just want to finish, hopefully without barfing. Wish me luck!

Like Julia Roberts, But Fatter and Less Toothy

Sadly, I didn't go to Italy, India or Indonesia. I didn't have any life changing revelations. I didn't meet any cute boys. Heck, I didn't even use my passport.

I am returning from my own Eat, Pray, Love, although I prefer to call it Eat, Drink, Shop. So while I didn't need my (expired) passport, I did put roughly 230 miles round trip on my car while driving to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, home of several gay bars (hence the not meeting any boys) and tax free shopping.

I had an amazing time. I had some awesome pizza (Grotto Pizza), some mediocre pizza (Nicola), a night of reckless drinking with my brother-in-law (my liver still isn't talking to me) and got not one, but three handbags. Oh, and 2 flasks, 5 rings, multiple pair of earrings, 3 t-shirts and didn't run one mile despite bringing 2 pair of running shoes and several work out outfits.

I had a personal best at the arcade while trying to win a Spirit Head (still not sure what it is or what it does) for my niece and confirming that if I lived closer to Atlantic City I'd be in even more debt than I already am. We survived a hurricane (Earl), even if it was a wimpy one by the time it got up to us. Watched countless hours of children's TV - is it wrong that I'm completely up to speed on The Suite Life On Deck, and can't wait for the sequel to Camp Rock?

Today I returned to Pennsylvania and reality. The goal for the upcoming week is to get back on the WW Wagon and take my lumps on Friday without getting discouraged. I'm on a great track right now and can't stop now. It felt amazing to put on a pair of shorts I bought at the beginning of the summer and find them loose. I even put on a bathing suit for the first time in almost a decade and wear it in public. I need to keep the momentum going and get back into feeling the good pain.

Hope you all had a great summer and have a fantastic Labor Day!

Where, Oh Where, Did My Ambition Go?

I was doing so well... updating my little blog every few days, going to the gym, exercising like a mad woman and eating right, then it all went to pot.

The day after my grandfather died I had a therapeutic cruller (admittedly shoved in my mouth so I didn't say something I'd regret to a melodramatic family member) and a Happy Meal on my way home in lieu of a healthy lunch. Monday and Tuesday weren't all that bad except I didn't really count Points like a good little WW'er.

The day of my grandfather's funeral was probably the height of bad eating -

Breakfast: WW Almond Granola Bar (good start)

Lunch: Chicken Marsala, baked potato, broccoli in cheese sauce (ok not bad)
1 Biscuit with butter
Side salad with Caesar dressing
3 Glasses of Wine and a Shot of Irish Mist (all before 1pm)
A piece of cheesecake

Dinner: Farfalle in rose sauce with chicken, mushrooms and spinach and a side of garlic bread
Mozzarella Sticks somewhere around 10:00 pm
Chips and salsa around midnight
So much alcohol I spent the night sleeping on the floor holding on for dear life

Yeah, I cope with food (and booze apparently), you got a problem with that? Needless to say the gym took a backseat with everything else that was going on, so imagine my surprise when I hopped up on the scale last Friday and was told I lost 2 pounds.

Oh well, I 'm getting back on track and that is what counts.

This week has been a rebuilding week. I went back to the gym on Monday and am trying to hit it hard. I'm not sleeping all that well to be honest - perhaps it's the fact that I've worked from home for the past two weeks, but I'm frankly exhausted. Tonight I had my session with my trainer with the plan of hitting it hard afterwards and just couldn't. I'm not saying that the 25 minutes of cardio pre-trainer and 30 minutes of weights aren't respectable, but my feeble attempt at running afterward was pathetic.

I'm not sure what the take away from all of this is. I know I can't save the world, and I know I need to not be so hard on myself. Two and a half years of therapy at $30 a week taught me that. Perhaps the lesson is shit happens, you put on your big girl panties, deal and move on.

Maybe that should be my new credo.

Deep Breath....

As you might imagine, this week has been a long one. Only now am I really processing everything, but considering my hyperactive tear ducts, I haven't cried as much as I would expect.

I was talking to my sister yesterday and I told her I felt the same way I did after watching Schindler's List. I had stayed as far away from that movie as I could for as long as possible, knowing myself and the fact that I once cried watching a McDonald's commercial. Perhaps I had built up an emotional callus, but it wasn't until the end of the movie that I cried, precisely because I hadn't cried while watching the horrors in that movie.

That's not to say that throughout the past few days I haven't shed a few tears.

I walked into my grandparents house last Saturday and was shocked at what I saw. I was greeted by what looked like a corpse who slightly resembled my grandfather, gasping for breath, my aunt having a nervous breakdown and my grandmother sitting in a chair with a blank smile on her face, clearly with no real clue as to what was happening. My sister, a hospice nurse by trade was taking control having set up a command center in the kitchen. She was doing her best to hold it together but was clearly holding on by a thread. My mother was going through the motions because her sister wasn't able to and I felt like I had no other choice but to put on my big girl panties and move on.

My aunt tried to talk to me - triggering some tears and I had to push her off. On some level I knew if I started to cry I would be useless. I also didn't want to face the fact that my grandfather was going to die and I couldn't go near him - the figure in that chair was not my grandfather. I was the errand girl for the day, getting lunch, sitting at the pharmacy waiting for palliative medication to ease Grandpop's transition, going home to pack bags for my mother and sister. I've always said I don't want to be around myself when I'm ill, and I really can't stand to see loved ones in pain.

I didn't want to remember my grandfather the way I last saw him - a bruise under his eye (the result of a broken cheekbone from a fall), his eyes tightly shut, mouth agape. I wanted to remember the robust man who loved to walk, coupons in his back pocket, up to the shopping center, proudly coming home with a bag full of merchandise that he paid next to nothing for, so what if he had no use for the stuff? I used to joke that I was afraid one day he'd come home with a pack of condoms and box of Tampax purely because they were on sale and he had a coupon.

I got the call shortly before 11:00 on Saturday night that he had passed peacefully. I shed a few tears, but oddly felt the need to share the news. I posted on Facebook, texted a few close friends. It's almost like I wanted this to be outside of myself, not my experience alone.

Even now, I'm not sure I've truly mourned, even though that's what I'm telling my family. On some level I'm expecting to hear his voice when I call, or see him sitting up in his chair, remote in hand ready to pass off to my niece on our Sunday visits.

There's a part of me that doesn't quite believe that my Grandpop won't be at my wedding (if that ever happens) and that he'll never meet my children. I'm jealous my sister has had that chance. I miss my Grandpop. I want to turn back time to when I was four or five and would wait on the sidewalk outside of their house, waiting to see him walking down the sidewalk coming him from work at GE. I want to argue with him about politics (especially Obama), about the stock market and unions. I want to give him a kiss again and tell him I love him.

Grandpop

Throughout his 88 years on this earth, Martin Barrett had many titles. Son, Sailor, Husband, Father. My sister and I knew him as Grandpop.

He was the quintessential stubborn Irishman. My mother said that he was giving orders right up until the end. It was his way or the highway. But when it came to his grandchildren, anything went.

One of our favorite family stories was The Tale of the Red Mary Janes. My aunt got married in 1975, and a white dress with red trim was chosen for my then 3 year old sister to wear in her role as flower girl. Kelly decided that she had to have red patent leather Mary Janes to go with her dress. Well, if Kelly wanted red Mary Janes, then red Mary Janes she would have. Legend has it Grandpop went from store to store; shoe stores, department stores, boutiques, you name it, Marty Barrett went in search of the elusive red shoes for Kelly to wear. He was told it was impossible, but find them he did. Of course 3 year olds being as they are, those darn shoes almost never made their debut, Kelly having cold (albeit red patent leather) feet minutes before her trek down the aisle. At one point, Grandpop was going to have to march forward, the bride on one hand, the timid flower girl on the other. At the end of the day, Kelly was coaxed forward and all was well in the end.

But that was my grandfather. He would do anything for family. Whether it was buying my Barbies $21 hand sewn dresses – an obnoxious price now, let alone in 1984 - because they caught my eye, schlepping to Dunkin Donuts first thing on Sunday morning to make sure his great-granddaughter Tara had donuts with sprinkles on them or making sure his beloved Cass (nobody else could get away with calling her that) wanted for nothing.

I love you Grandpop. Rest in peace.

Virtue Points

As most of you know, I've embarked on weight loss attempt 496.

I've gone back to my old stand by, Weight Watchers, and am hoping that the combination of old faithful with my newly acquired trainer and my friends and family, that this time will stick.

This week has been a rough one. Apparently Wednesday was National Junk Food Day (which I ignored) and as I sit here typing I am smelling the remaining french fries from my father's dinner. It is taking everything within me not to attack them. In fact, I'm tempted to interrupt this entry to desecrate them with my kryptonite, mustard and mayo.

In fact, hold on....

Thanks for waiting. That's better. Now the handful of french fries that have been sitting in styrofoam singing their siren song have been silenced, for as much as I love fried potatoes, I despise mustard and mayo more.

That brings me to my next point. Virtue Points.

For the uninitiated, in Weight Watchers, the current program is based on points. Based on your weight and situation in life (age, active job, nursing, etc) you get a certain number of points which convert to food. The way you calculate points is an algorithm based on calories, fat and fiber. You also get a "bank" of 35 points per week which you can take or leave, plus you get points for physical activity which you can use for more food if you choose. The key is finding the maximum number of points you can consume while still losing weight.

In a perfect world, one would get what I call "Virtue Points". I have resisted french fries tonight, therefore I would get, oh let's say 5 virtue points, which of course would translate into pounds lost. On Monday, I really wanted pizza. I didn't have it, so I should have lost weight, or gained virtue points, based on this.

Flawed logic, or genius? Maybe it's the Pinot talking (1.5 points for 4 ounces), but I think I'm onto something.

Weight Watchers (and God), I await your call.

Long(ish) Time, No Blog

Wow...I must be the most inconsistent blogger ever. I go weeks posting every couple of days, and the bam! Nothing.

Perhaps it's the mini-break from online rejection, I mean dating. Less amusing (to me) stories to tell born out of frustration. Or perhaps it's the new exercise regime. The brain cells I had allocated to blogging are now being eaten up by the lack of oxygen getting to my teeny, tiny brain.

As for the weight loss, I'm still on track. I'm in the midst of week three and I'm down 8.8 pounds (roughly 85 to go, but who's counting?). I'm making progress with the exercise. My first day back at the gym I clocked 20 minutes on the treadmill and a whopping 6 1/2 minutes on the stair master. I'm now up to 20 on the stair master and last night I managed 25 on the elliptical. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I was done, but it's progress and I'll take it.

The hardest part for me is the patience. I want to see results NOW. If I thought she'd go for it, I'd ask my doctor to put me in a medically induced coma so I could be fed nothing but Slim Fast through an IV. I'd pay off the nurses to work my muscles so they didn't atrophy and arrange to have a full body lift done before I woke up.

I think I've put way too much thought into this. To be fair, I wanted to do the same thing while I was growing my hair out so I didn't have to deal with the horrible in between stage. I avoid unpleasant things - it's just how I roll.

So, I guess I'm going to have to suffer through.

Thanks for the encouragement!

Oops, I Did It Again

No, not that.

I sang karaoke, in public, again.

I went out with my friend R Saturday night, ostensibly to meet her friend S (Bachelor Number 3 for those of you keeping count). We didn't head out until later than planned and went to a bar I've only been to one other time instead of our planned trek into Philly.

Side Note: Bach No. 3 lives in Philly and because of the 4th of July events this past weekend, he was stuck in traffic and didn't make it to the burbs, so the meeting has been postponed.

We settled in at the bar and I realized it was karaoke night. R, who has a great voice and sings any chance she can (music or no) grabbed the books and was up at the mike before I knew it. I sucked down my first of two cranberry & vodkas and figured why the hell not.

I opened up the book and looked for a song I was pretty confident I knew the words to, and picked up a slip. R's girlfriend J glanced over and, warily, asked "Are you going to sing?". "Yep" I slurred.

Before I had a chance to talk myself out of it, I walked up to the table and dropped off my slip. After a shot of tequila and getting halfway through my second drink, I heard my name.

I marched up, grabbed the microphone, and massacred "Before He Cheats". No rotten food was thrown (the kitchen was closed), nobody booed (at least not that I could hear) and I survived. I was so off-key at various points I think I was singing a whole other song, but I had fun.

In other news, went to a BBQ at a neighbor's house tonight and was in the presence of BATS for the first time since last week. I did my best to ignore him without being a rude bitch, although I really wanted to be. I'm making peace with the whole thing. It's not his fault he's clueless, and if he's not into me, then that's his loss.

I'm also telling myself he looks like Mr. Potato Head.

Laughter is the best medicine, isn't it?

In Weight Watchers news, I'm down 7 pounds my first week. I have no idea why, although the fact I had eaten a full breakfast with 2 cups of coffee before my first weigh in may have stacked the deck, but I'm taking it. I made it to the gym four times last week and went today despite not wanting to, and I'm going to conquer the Stair Master if it's the last thing I do, even if it's one minute at a time.

Back to reality tomorrow.

Hope you all had a Happy 4th!

Torn

Perhaps I should call this It's Complicated, Part Two.

I thinking about putting myself back on the bench.

OK, OK, I hear what you're saying, I've only been back in the dating world for a few weeks and I'm already thinking about taking a break, WTF? I know, but hear me out.

I've been on Match.com and eHarmony and throwing myself at clueless neighbors, and clearly am not having much success. Yes, Rome wasn't built in a day, but there is a part of me that feels like maybe I'm not in the right place to go marching down this road.

My body confidence, while never good, is at a pretty low point, especially after going to WW last week and seeing the ugly truth. All I can focus on at this point is size of my considerable belly right now, and it's not cute.

I can also feel the noonday demon sneaking back up on me, and I know I need to get that in check.

But is that a good enough reason? I don't know.

I keep reminding myself that I'm not getting any younger, and if I want to have children (which I think I do),I'm not exactly playing with a great deal of time. Which brings me to the next issue...

Maybe I'm too judgemental, or too quick to dismiss, but I do know that I am wary, and a lot of the people I'm meeting online aren't screaming Mr. Right. What I don't want to do is settle because I feel like I'm up against the clock, and I feel like I'm doing that. I've also found myself stifling who I am in order to get a date from someone I've never met and who I'm not even sure about. Seriously, what the hell is that about?

So perhaps a bit of time to regroup is in order.

Just not for 10 years.

Something to sleep on.

It's Personal

My sister worships at the altar of Jillian Michaels. She faithfully watches The Biggest Loser and is currently into the newest series, Losing It With Jillian. Me? Not so much.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be trained by Jillian, although I'm pretty sure I'd try to sit on her as a method of retaliation at some point during our sessions, but I can't get into weight loss as entertainment, and I'm pretty into Reality TV. You name it, and unless there is a housewife or an orange Guido on it, I've probably seen it. But watching something that is a real battle for me? Not so much.

The weigh in alone fulfills one of my biggest nightmares, being practically naked on national television getting on a scale. Seriously, why would I want to see that played out on a weekly basis?

I've seen most of the regular cast on various talk shows - Jillian, Bob, Alison - and they all seem likable. Perhaps the four of us could wolf down some cheese fries and cocktails. OK, perhaps not. The point I'm getting at is that my aversion to the show has nothing to do with the regulars.

Weight loss is personal and fraught with emotion for me, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. I'm not plus size because I'm lazy or because I eat bad food, but because of other things (although I am at times lazy and eat bad food). I'm an emotional eater - piss me off and I won't yell at you, push or shove you. I'll go home and take out my frustration on pizza, potato chips or mac & cheese. When I'm sick, all I want is comfort food. Nothing says "feel better" like pastina with egg and plenty of salt. When I'm sad I want to cry into my beer - sometimes literally. Getting on my sneakers and hopping on the treadmill or going out for run is not my first thought.

So now that I'm back on the wagon, I need to rework my coping mechanisms. This isn't my first time at the rodeo, I've done this before - four years ago I spent so much time out running my feet were two massive blisters. A day without muscle aches was a rarity. I was named "The Biggest Loser" at my gym. I also wound up being treated for an eating disorder.

Clearly I need to find a middle ground. I need to figure out expressing my emotions and not eating them, stuffing them down or running away from them. While doing that on TV may help another person, I don't think it would help me.

So since I'll never benefit from Bob or Jillian's expertise, or get encouragement and feedback from Alison, I'll need to find my own way on my terms.

I don't have the answers, but I do have a plan and TV isn't part of it.

Unless I can get on Survivor...pretty sure that witchetty grubs and rats would be a sweet weight loss plan.

Here We Go Again

I'm sure I'm on some kind of wall of infamy at WW HQ for the number of times started.

Mark yesterday as attempt 126.

I've been on Weight Watchers on and off for over 19 years now. I've been through exchanges, Fat & Fiber, 123 Success, you name it, if it was introduced since 1991, I've worked the program.

I've had good leaders and bad ones. Good buddies and lack luster ones. Through the years I've found that the best motivator is myself and my own demons, sometimes a little too motivating.

Yesterday was D-Day. I've had that date marked on my calendar for a few months now. Blame the mailer I got from WW offering $10 a week for Lifetime Members as long as they rejoined by June 28. Of course I had to push it to the very end.

So, as usual, I waddled in yesterday, hopped on the scale and gave them my money. I think I say it every time I do this, but the scale was at its highest point EVER. I had my last blow out yesterday as well. (I look at joining day as a free day, program starts the following day). Bacon & cheddar omelet with hash browns for breakfast, chicken sandwich with bacon and cheese with a side of fries for lunch and a spinach calzone for dinner washed down with plenty of full calorie beer.

Today, walking the line. Of course it's only noon, but I'm in for the long haul. I've joined a gym I've studiously avoided. I'm taking Alli as a kick start (the side effects are killer if you go off program).

I'm also going to try something new - having a life. In the past I've been a monk when I've changed my eating habits (read: dieted). I didn't deal with the pit falls of going out and seeing friends. I was an exercising machine. I also abused my body in the process. That can't happen this time.

So here I go again, name back in the log books at Weight Watchers, hunting for my ratty exercise clothes, scheduling workouts back into my day.

Sigh.

About Last Night

BATS is finis.

I drove, I paid and I got a peck on the cheek like you'd give your Aunt Mildred. I was home by 8:15.

Thank God for my friends - they had to spend most of the night trying to drag me out of my rejection depression. But booze, dancing and seeing idiot boys act like, well...idiots was fun.

Onward and hopfully upward. I just wish I hadn't spent a month acting like an idiot for someone who clearly doesn't deserve me.

5 Second Update

OK kids, I'm really trying hard to keep up with this blog, so here's quick update so I keep the writing going.

BATS and I are going out tomorrow night. Not sure if it's a date (I think it is) or just two friends getting together. Let's hope for the former, shall we? I have to keep telling myself he's so shy he makes me look like a screaming party animal, and his social skills are fairly limited. Why do I find myself attracted to him? He's nice, funny, loyal, knows his beer, can cook (!), is good to his mama and despite being a Republican (with a capital C for Conservative), opposites attract I guess. He also gets my McKenzie Brothers references - I mean seriously, the man's seen Wicked Brew.

However, I'm not giving up on the on-line dating, although match.com is losing some of its luster. I've met a guy on e-Harmony who seems pretty cool. We like a lot of the same things (he shared his music cache with me last night - I was impressed with the overlap). Despite the fact he lives about an hour away from me, I think this one could have legs. More to come.

Met up with old colleagues tonight from BearingPoint (the one employer I'll actually name on Pinot since they've gone out of business). Surprised myself by having a good time - got to catch up with folks I hadn't seen in almost three years, and am looking forward to the next get together!

On a more sober note, East Norriton Township Police Chief John McGowan is being laid to rest tomorrow. He was a good friend of my father's and it is always unsettling to see one's father so shaken up as my dad was when he learned of Chief McGowan's death. He had survived two bouts with cancer to lose his life in a motorcycle accident, leaving behind a wife, two sons and two grandchildren in addition to his parents. He was 58. May he rest in peace.

What's Cookin'?

In honor of the fact that today was the first time in a long time I've actually made a meal from scratch, I thought I'd share the recipe with you. It may sound gross, but it's quite delish'. It can be doctored up with onion, garlic and/or oregano. I prefer to keep it simple with just salt and pepper.

This is a family fave, passed down from my paternal grandmother who was not a great cook, and despite the original name, Italian Delight, she was not Italian, nor is there much in the recipe to suggest an origin in Italy.

So, without further adieu, I present what I have renamed Ghetto Casserole:

3/4 pound ground beef
1 1/2 cups uncooked elbow macaroni
1 can tomato soup
1/2 cup corn (canned or frozen - fresh may be good too, but I've never tried it)
8 oz Velveeta
Salt
Pepper

In a pan, cook ground beef, cooking it as you would for tacos. Salt and pepper to taste. Drain fat, set aside.

In a pot of boiling water, cook the elbow macaroni until tender. Drain and add the cooked meat, corn, tomato soup and Velveeta. Stir until mixed. Season as desired.

That's it - like I said, probably sounds gross, but it's quite tasty. The beauty of it is you can play with the quantities adding meat or macaroni if you prefer one to the other. It can be prepared in advance and reheated although I prefer it freshly made.

I believe the original recipe called for onion, and perhaps oregano (thus making it Italian), but it's long gone by now. I've looked on Campbell's and Kraft's websites and they don't have a record of it. For all I know, it originated in the mind of my grandmother.

Give it a try! I'll post another recipe next Tuesday.

What are you having for dinner?

I Lied

Alright, one more post about my love life. Actually, it's a post about a post.

Comments are welcome on the entry from Saturday. Am I too picky? Not discerning enough?

Any hints, tips or suggestions from those of you who have escaped from the trenches?

I'm thinking about speed dating if I can find one that has an event out here in the suburbs. I'd go into Philly for one of Hurry Dates's events but I think the amount of alcohol I'd need to get through the night would double the entry fee. It's a heck of a lot cheaper to cab it back from a local hotel/bar.

Feel free to email me privately!

For the Last Time...

Even I am getting sick of reading about the tragic state of my personal life, so this is going to be the last blog about my foibles on match and eHarmony (for a little while at least - and by a little while that probably means a week or two).

I've found some interesting opinions among my friends. Some think I'm being too picky - whether it be age, location, hobbies or occupation. Then some think I'm insane for going down this road of on-line dating in the first place. Others offer no such opinion and accept this journey that I'm on. The minority think I'm perfectly within my rights to be picky (they tend to also be single).

Maybe I'm too picky, but I do have some criteria, and I don't care if it makes me hypocritical or a bitch, but I'm going to put them out there, not only for those of you who care, but for the universe. My ideal man:

1. Will want children - or at least hasn't closed the door to the idea of them
2. Will be under the age of 45.
3. Lives in the Commonwealth of PA
4. Is single (never married, divorced or widowed - but under no circumstances will be considered a bigamist if we were to take off and go to Vegas tomorrow to get married)
5. Has a job or has been employed within the past 2 years (bad economy exception). If he is currently unemployed due to circumstances beyond his control, he is actively looking for a job.
6. Does not live in his mama's basement. Yes, I know this is hypocritical considering my living situation, but I'm a girl and I'm allowed to apply different standards to boys.
7. Will not unload his tale of woe in the first email to me - or on the first date for that matter. I don't lay out my baggage in my profile or in introductory emails and I keep it to myself on the first date, I expect him to as well.
8. Has read a book in the past year that he wasn't forced to read because of work.
9. Finally, "gets" my sense of humor


Am I bitch? Maybe, but my friend J yelled at me the other night that I'm not confident enough, and I think that confidence needs to come along with standards.

While I'm at it with one last hurrah, I have another gripe. Apparently us full figured girls aren't on anyones hit parade. News flash boys, we all want a boy with The Situation's abs (just the abs in my case). Oh, and a boy with a full head of hair, or at least the ability to grow one. I'd like to be able to describe myself as a 5'6" blonde with a flat tummy, boobs the size of flotation devices and an IQ to rival Bill Gates. But, in the words of Mick Jaggar, you can't always get what you want. Seeing as we live in the real world, I'm honest, and I try to punch within my weight class. I'm realistic about the guys still single at this point in my life and who might be attracted to me.

I'd like to see the boys do the same.

True story: I ran across the profile of someone I know in real life on one of the sites I'm on. He weighs somewhere north of 350 lbs and describes himself as husky. OK...no problem - he's a nice guy and while not my type I'm sure there is a girl out there for him.

What bothered me was when I looked at how compatible we are (or how we "match") and when we got to body type, while he falls into what I'm looking for, this full figured beauty is not his type. He is only looking for girls who are: athletic and toned, slender, about average and a few extra pounds. He's not the only one - there are a lot of "full figured" guys who are not interested in full figured girls. I know men can drop a few pounds pretty quickly (one of God's many jokes) and many aren't crippled by body insecurities thanks to Vogue, Allure and Glamour, but c'mon, seriously? Let's level the playing field and make Men's Health mandatory reading for all men.

Boys, give us girls with a little junk in the trunk a chance. I'm cute, funny, smart and have a good job. I'm a loyal friend, a decent kisser (at least, I think so, I've never had any complaints) and my bad singing and insane dogs will provide hours of entertainment. Plus I can order a mean pizza.

Ok. I'm done my rant and leaping off of my soap box. I may have a few sleepless nights trying to come up with stuff to write about that isn't on-line dating related, but I'll do my best!

By Popular Demand

So I had my "date" with Bachelor Number 2 on Monday night.

I think I prejudiced myself a bit by doing some detective work earlier in the day and finding him on Facebook, but hey, if you're going to tell me your name and where you work, I'm going to do some digging. Again, coming off of a L&O: SVU marathon - I'd like to know if I'm going out on a blind date with the new Drew Peterson.

While I didn't find any dead (or missing) spouses or girlfriends, I did find a lot of pictures of him with dead fish, the proud trophies of his fishing hobby. He also is a huge outdoorsman. When you think of the great outdoors, I'm pretty sure you don't think of me - unless it's an open air mall or bar, but hey, opposites attact, right?

I had another set of spies at the bar that night (the scene of the last crime)and knew some of the bartenders working. Turns out Bachelor Number 2 is a regular. This didn't work in his favor. It's not that I'm opposed to bar flies, but when you make a bad impression on the bar staff, that's not a good sign.

My spies were chatting up the bartenders who conveyed their dislike of Bachelor Number Two while he and I chatted (exact quote - she can do better). At the time I knew this wasn't going anywere, but being polite I stayed for a bit. We traded stories, living situations, etc.

I'm going to go off track for a minute and share with you what my friend Bill told me about his experience on match.com: Good luck, Beth! I meant to comment on your previous posts about Match, but I always read them on my phone and didn't feel like typing a long message. My wife and I met on match.com about five years ago. I think I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to other guys, but I'd be hesitant to recommend it to women.

When I was on there, I decided to check out the competition, and it made me feel like a rock star. It seemed liked 95% of the guys on there were a) married and looking for something extra on the side, b) just looking for one night stands, or c) total losers living in their mom's basement or something. At least that's what it seemed like five years ago.

So, I met (b) in Bachelor Number 1 and call me hypocritical (which trust me, my father did when I brought this up) Bachelor Number 2 falls into category (c). Layer in that the bartenders said he's generally a jerk and cheap (he got overly excited that the owner of the bar bought a round while we were there - the whole date cost him $3.50).

Am I discouraged? A tad. I've let myself wallow in the general failure of my two first dates, although I'm sure there will be more to come. But I'm putting myself out there and that's what's important to me right now.

On to the next adventure. No Bachelor Number 3 on desk just yet, but stay tuned.

Bachelor Number 1

As some of you know, I had my first match.com date Wednesday night. Since I talked about it so much in the build up, I feel I owe you the gory details.

It started off OK – we met at a local bar, I had two friends planted at the bar as my bodyguards/get away excuse. I apparently ran past him on my way in (it was raining) and we found each other inside. It was loud – the Philadelphia Flyers were playing what was to be the final game of the Stanley Cup and the bar was packed.

We ordered beers and appetizers and did the awkward first date interview. He was cute, but I wasn’t getting the spark, although I chalked it up to the fact that we were practically screaming at each other over the din. After a while, I suggested we go someplace for coffee so we could chat in a quieter place.

He suggested we go back to his place.

I should have stamped my little foot and told him that I’m not that kind of girl (really, I’m not – stop laughing). I told him no and that there was a diner up the road. He agreed and we talked for another hour or so. We agreed to see each other again, although no plans were set.

As we were leaving we leaned in for the awkward hug and what I thought would be a kiss on the cheek. As a rule, I don’t swap spit with someone I’ve only known for about four hours – unless he’s Justin Timberlake of course. Bachelor Number 1 apparently has no such policy in place.

Again, I should have pulled back and told him to back off, but it was late and I was questioning my instincts. I have been doing my monk impression for a while, so maybe I was in the wrong I thought.

That night, I sent the obligatory text – nice meeting you, had a good time, maybe we can meet up again. Again, I was thinking I was in the wrong for feeling awkward about the whole encounter.

He texted me the next morning asking if I wanted to go out that night. To see a movie. At his place. I pushed back and suggested we go to a theater to see a movie. He agreed. Ultimately plans fell through.

After talking to my council of girlfriends (and a guy friend) all agreed that the “hey let’s go back to my place” was way too forward for a first meeting, and the kiss was definitely out of line. My take away from this is that I need to trust my instincts more.

So Bachelor Number 2 is lined up for tomorrow night. I’m wary to say the least. I’m not giving up on the on-line dating just yet, but it’s getting tiresome and it hasn’t even been a month. I’ve been approaching this like it’s a full time job – spending as much time as possible on the sites, winking like I have Tourettes and going out on a limb and emailing guys I think are interesting. I may need to take a step back and look at it like a part time job, or even a hobby. There are only so many questionable guys and rejection a girl can take.

But I’m keeping positive, Bachelor Number 2 on deck, instincts properly tuned and getting back on the horse.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from Madonna

I was driving to the bookstore this morning and Like a Prayer came on my iPod. One line struck me, "Life is a mystery; Everyone must stand alone" and it occurred to me how prolific Her Madgesty is.

It's difficult to believe that the music of Madonna has been in my life since I was 9 years old. Even then I thought she was amazing - the lace gloves, the rosary as an accessory, the dance moves. My mother was horrified. Despite being Catholic and having a million pairs of rosary in the house, nobody actually said one, so it seemed natural to me that one would throw one around one's neck. My mother, another product of the Catholic school system, disagreed. Oh she let me rock a pair of hot pink lace fingerless gloves and the strip of lace in my hair, but that was it.

I did win the hair battle a few years later - I loved Madonna's pixie cut in the Papa Don't Preach video - the piecey low key look in the narrative part, not the overly styled bouffant in the choreographed dancing section of the video. Unfortunately living in the Philly suburbs in 1986, I only had access to mousse, so I wound up with the bouffant version that greatly vexed me. Oh, and forget the bleached blonde color - strictly brunette for this Madonna wanna be.

I defiantly boycotted Pepsi when they dropped Madonna in 1989 for her Like a Prayer video, I inappropriately grabbed my crotch a few months later while imitating the dance moves in the video for Express Yourself. I also inadvertently poked myself in the eye while attempting to Vogue.

The first time I wanted to pierce my nose was in 1994 when Madonna rocked one on her cuss-filled appearance on Letterman in support of Bedtime Stories, and I made my first Estee Lauder purchase when they featured the red lipstick and nail polish worn by Madonna when she appeared in the movie Evita.

I guess what Madonna really taught me was that as a woman, I didn't need to be a victim. That it was OK to stand up with the boys and tell it like it is. I think it's pretty awesome that she still "talks" to me 26 years later through her music. So, in honor of Madonna, I thought I would share some other things I've learned from the Material Girl, in no particular order:

- We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl ~ Material Girl
- I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me ~ Human Nature
- A man can tell a thousand lies, I've learned my lesson well ~ Live to Tell
- Don't go for second best baby ~ Express Yourself
- Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone - Like a Prayer
- Beauty's where you find it - Vogue
- Nothing really matters, love is all we need - Nothing Really Matters
- You met your match when you met me - Causing a Commotion
- Don't forget that your family is gold - Keep It Together
- The road to Hell is paved with good intentions - 4 Minutes

I hope Madonna continues to write music that inspires generations to come. Thank you for the music Madonna.

Amendment

Something has been bothering me since I pressed the Publish Post button last night.

I wrote about messing with BATS head just because I can. That's not nice, that's not me.

I've had my head messed with and it's not fun. I wrote it from an annoyed place and I wish I hadn't.

I'm resolving to be kinder and more judicious with my words. In every area.

Oh, and I resolve not to freak my mother out with my posts. I'm sure she'll appreciate that more than anything.

Tuesday Update

Here's a few things that have happened since the last episode of Beth in Real Life in no particular order...

I'm officially done my part time job a few days early. Not exactly proud of the way it ended, but retail can be messy.

I saw Boy Across The Street Saturday night. He called Saturday morning and invited me over for an impromptu dinner party he was throwing, and despite the short notice, I accepted. I brought wine, we all had dinner. After everyone left, BATS and I made out (sorry mom). He was tired. I went home. I almost yelled at him to man up and drink a Red Bull, but I didn't. I may see him again "romantically", I may not. I may also mess with his head just because I can. I'll see where the mood takes me. And yes, I only recently realized that Boy Across The Street spelled out
BATS. I think there may be something to that.

I have a blind "date" with a guy from Match.com tomorrow night. The 2 second scoop - he's 39, divorced, has an 11 year old daughter and works in recruiting. He's not unattractive based on the pictures he's posted, but then again, I only have one chin in the ones I have on my profile. It's hard to see where something will go just based on a few emails and text messages. More to follow.

There's another guy on Match who has expressed some interest. Not sure he's my type, but we're emailing. Pluses: he's a chef at a casino who is studying to be a paralegal in the criminal justice area. Minuses: he's 44, never been married with 2 kids. I'm thinking a Saturday morning coffee meet and greet is in order.

Work is busy, and also hot, smelly and loud (we've moved into a new building which is still being finished, I haven't suddenly started pig farming). Thankfully the RM for whom I've been pseudo-backfilling is back from maternity leave, although the 7:30 am con call every Tuesday hasn't disappeared from my calendar. I can't complain much as it's 6:30 am for her.

Family is also fun and games these days. I'll leave it at that, but I'll reiterate that I am NOT getting old, do you hear me God? I've tolerated this turning 35 business, but I'm done aging. I need to negotiate some sort of eternal 29 type deal, although I guess I'm about six years too late. So, I'll stay 35, keep my faculties and general looks the same. Just let my weight fluctuate because I don't want to be a size 20 (oh ok...22) forever. OK God? We'll renegotiate when I'm a size 6 (or 8 or 10).

So, that's the update --- ta, ta for now.

Free At Last!

....well almost.

After next Thursday, my adventures in retail will be coming to an end.

I'll miss the extra cash, and the discount, but it's gotten to a point where the aggravation isn't worth it. Oh, and the fact that some nights I spent more than I made had a little something to do with it (re: the night I bought a Coach watch for $70. Seriously, a Coach watch for $70 - not buying it would have been criminal).

I won't miss picking up other people's trash, or picking up garments that have been tossed on the floor. I also won't miss having to sit on the floor to do markdowns (while wearing black pants) or working up a sweat wrestling with the area rugs that get left on the floor.

Last night confirmed my decision as I was put on the cash register. Right next to the door. Which opened up frequently. It was 90+ degrees and humid last night. My upper lip was sweating. Sexy, right? I had to come home and wash my hair I was so sweaty by the time I was done, and I wasn't even doing something fun. Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to run a register in July when it's 98 and even more humid. I wasn't glistening or glowing. I was sweating like a pig.

So after next Thursday I will have my nights to myself and will be able to banish blue tops and black pants to the back of my wardrobe for a little bit.

Can I get a hallelujah?

It wasn't all bad. I work with some cool people that I hope to stay in touch with - even if they do make me feel really old. So even though I really didn't save a whole bunch (oh, who am I kidding, any) money, I did come out a little richer.

Where It's At

So I'm feeling a little discouraged, even though the logical part me knows it's way too soon.

Let me explain, I had taken myself out of the game for a while. I mean a really long while. Think Clinton administration.

Sad, no?

That's not to say I haven't had the random date, but random being the operative. I've been so wary of being hurt that I've insulated myself to the point ridiculousness, so now that I'm wading back in, I'm overly sensitive.

It's been slightly short of one week that I've been on Match, and much like my friend who expected to be pregnant after one month of trying, I'm impatient. I'm working on it, but patience is not a virtue I have in great supply.

I'm also still licking my wounds from Across The Street Boy. I'm embarrassed, I'm a little hurt (even though I only have myself to blame) and I'm wondering how I got it so wrong. There's a part of me that feels like all of the negative thoughts I have are being affirmed. In a word, my ego has been bruised.

Compounding this is the whole on-line dating process. I've been doing some reverse searches (meaning people whose criteria I fit, rather than people whose criteria I fit) and what I'm finding doesn't thrill me. Today I came across a 60+ year old who I think may be Jerry Garcia's twin. I've "winked" at a few guys and have emailed two - maybe I'm making the fatal mistake of being too honest when I call myself Full Figured (or Big & Beautiful - great options, eh?) and have had radio silence.

I know I'm being too hasty getting discouraged - I think it's a case of the Tuesday Mondays (i.e. the Tuesday after a long weekend, thus making it a de facto-Monday). As I said before, I have six whole months to get rejected. I need to pace myself and find a better attitude.

I just wish it didn't hurt so damn much.

And So It's Come To This

So things with Across the Street Boy don't appear to be in the cards, so I'm moving on. It's not that I'm not interested, if I'm being honest with myself, it's just that he doesn't seem to be that interested; and if he is, well, he's doing a lousy job of communicating it.

True story - left a six pack of beer on his front step last night with a note saying give me a call if you want to hang out (I had consumed a few at his place Saturday night). He calls me a few hours later, saying he was busy, blah, blah, blah and oh, "I really should take the garbage out. Talk to you later."

Um....ok.

So, I sulked for a bit, and then took some action. Yes, I get myself in trouble when I decide to take action, but let's face it, the Cute Single Guy Patrol has yet to hit my neighborhood and they sure as hell aren't roaming the halls of my employer.

So yes ladies and gentlemen (are there any gentlemen readers?) I've signed up on Match.com. I forgot I had signed up a few years ago, so I reactivated my profile and spent the night modifying what I had written. I do think I am going to need to convene my buds for a review, so consider yourself warned.

Within the past 24 hours my profile's been reviewed a few times and I've had two "winks" - the pussy way of contacting someone without emailing and getting a rejection. Neither one seems like a great fit - one a 41 year old professional student for whom money isn't important and the other a 36 year old from New York who describes himself as "a White American" - not Caucasian...a White American.

As for me, I've winked at one guy - that's all I've worked the nerve up to do at the moment. I'm essentially lurking for the time being. Hey, I've six months to get rejected a whole bunch of times.

So there it is...as my friend J said, at least I may get a few meals out of it.

Stay tuned.

And hey...if you live near me and you're happily coupled up, if you know of a single guy who might be interested in a high-maintenance girl, help a sister out will ya?

Update

I'm getting the sense that He's Just Not That Into Me.

Don't even want to talk about it.

Boys

I met a boy.

Well, to be accurate, I met him four years ago. Since then, off and on, I've been waiting for him to make a move, and figured he wasn't buying what I was selling. Until Saturday night when I got the 411 from a mutual friend that he was extremely shy and most likely wasn't going to make the first move.

Our friend excused himself, and fueled by a mixture of tequila and Bud Light I pounced. At least that's how I like to think of it.

Oh, did I mention he lives across the street from me? Yeah...it's a little complicated.

So now I'm waiting. And thinking. And the thinking is the dangerous part.

Did I come on too strong?

Does he really like me or did he not know what else to do?

What the f*** do I do now?

Of course the good old insecurities have come into play. What am I without them. Do I repulse him, after all, I do look like Princess Fiona but with a slightly better complexion. Was he humoring me when he kissed me back? Do I need to figure out a way to lose 1,000 pounds between now and the next time I see him (which will hopefully be tomorrow)?

Sigh.

I'm pretty sure this why I'm still single. I get hung up by my body, I jump in too quickly, I over think it. Let's face it, I've been crushing on this guy for a while now, so it's a little difficult to not come on too strong, but I also don't want to scare the hell out of him.

I also don't want to get hurt. That's the scary part.

I haven't opened myself or my heart up to love, or even a date for that matter, in a long time. Getting hurt sucks, and I don't want to go through it again.

You know what? Screw it - he's a big boy. If he's not into me, then let him tell me. Until then, I'm going to go for it.

Wish me luck.

I really need it :)

Words

Words can hurt. Shocker, right? Yet I think we all make the mistake of saying that one wrong thing that unintentionally hurts someone.

I personally suffer from chronic foot in mouth disease. You would think I wouldn’t considering my thin skin (the only thin part of me), yet I seem to have a knack for saying the wrong thing, particularly when I try not to. I always feel like shit when I realize it, but you can’t put the genie back in the bottle sometimes.

We all have our trigger points. Perhaps it’s religion or sexuality. Maybe it’s marital status, children or lack thereof, but I have to believe that everybody has that one thing that is a sore spot. Mine, of course, is weight. If you’re surprised, I invite you to go back and read earlier entries of this scintillating blog.

I want to lose weight. Yes, I’m aware of the size of my ass, that my arteries are probably in a very sorry state and that sitting on a hammock would probably not be wise. I’m also apparently very good at talking about losing weight and writing about it, but it’s the actual follow through where I fail.

I see the looks and I know I’m judged, or perhaps I perceive I’m being judged when I’m not. I spent roughly two and a half years in therapy ostensibly because of my screwed up body issues, yet here I am.

I’m a big joker about my weight. Maybe it’s because I was the butt of other people’s jokes in my younger years, but my MO is to get in front of the joke, call out the elephant in the room. The elephant of course being me.

I also have this urge to tell people that I used to be thin. It’s like I’m saying “I’m not really lazy, I’m just going through a rough patch. I wasn’t always like this”. Mind you, most people don’t say anything about my weight to my face (and Lord help them if they did), but I can feel the judgment, real or perceived.

One person in my life does feel the need every so often to make the rogue comment. He once told me I was porky, and tonight made a pointed remark about dieting. What he doesn’t realize is that remarks like that don’t have the intended result. Five minutes after he said it, I made myself a sesame seed bagel with four pieces of bacon. At 10:30 at night. As I was eating it, I knew what I was doing. The eternal 16 year old inside me was flipping the finger. Another part of me wanted to cry.

On a mature level, I do need to do something, I really do. But as I’ve said before, I need to do it my terms, looks and words be damned.

But getting back to my original point, words. To quote George Carlin, “So be careful with words. I like to think that the same words that can hurt can heal, it’s a matter of how you pick them”.

Secrets

I have a secret I want to share with you. I'm sure some of you may have already figured it out by now, but I wanted to make it official.

This is really hard for me, so I hope you will all love me and continue to accept me.

Deep breath.

Ok...here goes.

My name is Beth, and I like Coors Light.

Whew...that's a relief. For years I've been hiding my love of relatively weak beer behind pricey imports like Stella Artois and Smithwicks, and local brews like Yuengling.

I've laughed along when people I'm drinking with mocked the light beers. I scorned my beloved Silver Bullet.

Like many things in my life, I of course blame my father. When I was little, my dad was a Miller Light man. For some random reason, I can recall playing in the empty boxes.

Incidentally, we also used to play with the empty cigar boxes supplied by my father's colleague. Yep, my sister and I played with alcohol and tobacco vessels. We also had cap guns, water guns and munched on candy cigarettes. It's a wonder we didn't become felons wanted by the ATF.

Anyhow, back to beer. At some point, dad switched to the silver cans of Coors Light. I don't quite remember when, but I have to believe it was somewhere around the time I became aware of the demon rum, er...beer. So, my first sips of booze were light beer and the Chablis that came out of the green jugs my mother purchased.

Light beer and cheap wine. Have that with chicken nuggets and pizza, and you can imagine why I ruled out culinary school. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm pretty sure that there are 4 year olds with more sophisticated palates than me.

When I came of age (not that I ever sipped alcohol before then! Stop Laughing) I was mocked the first time I ordered a Coors Light. I was mocked. So I started cheating. I tried micro brews, imports - but nothing tasted like Coors Light.

On Friday I went to the beer distributor. They didn't have Stella or Smithwicks, and I couldn't get bottles of Yuengling. What kind of beer distributor was this?!?!? Anyhow, needing beer, I grabbed a case of Coors Light. Spent about $10 to $15 less than I planned, and the Silver Bullet and I got back together.

Now on to my second confession...my name is Beth, and I like cheap wine!

GTL + Crestor

I don’t get Jersey Shore. No, not the majestic beaches of the Garden State, the TV show.

I admit it – I may be the only person in the world who has yet to watch an episode of the iconic MTV reality show. I’m pretty sure my grandparents are hooked on it, and my grandfather is 89 and my grandmother has Alzheimers.

I’ve seen the cast on TV talk shows and on Ellen. I can tell you that there is some guy called The Situation who has a rock hard oiled six pack and hair-do one might call original at best. Snookie looks like an oompa loompa escaped from Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory with a pouf that accounts for half of her height. Oh, and there’s somebody called J-Woww who is “just like me” according to US Weekly - although I don’t have a superfluous consonant at the end of my name. And there’s some guy called Pauley D, who has the most normal name out of the bunch. They apparently spend their days doing GTL (or Gym, Tan, Laundry (or as I like to call it, Torture, Melanoma and More Torture)). I’m not sure what else they do for a living. They honesty don’t seem all that bright.

I’m pretty sure I know way too much about Jersey Shore than is good for me.

I was young and in my twenties once, and while I don’t choose to partake in the hijinks these guys engage in, I understand where they are coming from. They have a show on MTV after all, not PBS, so some drunken antics are to be expected.

What I really don’t understand is the latest entry in the reality TV genre, Sunset Daze, a Jersey Shore for the over 70 set. Full disclosure, I haven’t actually seen an episode, but I’ve read some reviews and I’m scared. I thought age brought wisdom.

According to some of the latest statistics, the senior set make up for one of the fastest growing groups of people contracting and spreading STDs. And thanks to Sunset Daze, apparently we get to watch it too.

Thanks Viagra.

My grandparents idea of a good time is a road trip to Shady Maple, or perhaps a rousing game of bingo at the church pot luck dinner. Not doing body shots off of one another. And if they are, I so do not want to watch it. I’m frankly still trying to recover from walking into my grandmother’s hospital room to find her naked from the waist down (nature was calling) but still, it’s an image I really want to forget. I certainly don’t want to see her participating in a wet t-shirt contest or jumping out of a plane in tandem with my grandfather.

I’d like to propose to the Reality TV show producers of America that they leave Reality TV to the young. I’m flexible with the age, let’s say under the age of 40. After that point, the odds are good the participants may have children (or grandchildren) who are old enough to watch it during the first run.

Until I get them to agree to my terms, I’m putting parental controls on the computer lest my parents get any ideas of Reality TV stardom.

Jobs I've Had

Despite my myriad insecurities, I guess one area they haven’t hit is my “retail” area. No, I don’t mean that I buy size 4 jeans when I’m obviously not, although my body dysmorphia is another blog altogether.

What I mean is the fact that I have a habit of taking on retail sales positions in areas I know nothing about.

Maybe it’s this bad economy or the fact that I’m only getting paid once a month, but in the past year I’ve taken on two part time jobs in retail areas that one might consider my blind spots.

Job Number One – Video Game Salesperson. To be honest, I didn’t seek this job out. When I first realized that my expenses were greater than my income, I reached out to my friends. If I’m honest, I was hoping someone would come back with a clerical position on the weekends. I’m REALLY good at sitting on my ass and acting like I’m busy. Sadly, such a role didn’t materialize. My old friend R texted me that the video game store she worked at just outside of the Philadelphia city limits had an opening. The money was good so I took it. This was a bad decision on so many levels.

Bad decision number 1 – working for a friend. To be fair, my friend wasn’t in a management position when I took the job. A few days before I started, that all changed. My friend who I’ve known since we were 5 or 6 became the store manager. I thought I had it made. Not so much. I love my friend R to death, but as my drinking buddy, not my boss.

Bad decision number 2 - taking a job in a field where the customers are passionate and can smell bullshit a mile away. Bullshit was all I was selling.

Bad decision number 3 – taking a job just outside of Philadelphia. No, not just outside of Philadelphia, the store was literally on the other side of the street from the city limits of Philadelphia. Look, I’m suburban – despite the fact that both of my parents were born and raised in Philly, I have no street sense. Most of my friends are Caucasian, not by design, but these folks are the ones who I grew up with or work with. I love Jay-Z and lip-synch a pretty kick-ass 99 Problems, but that’s as urban as I get. My customers, not to stereotype (although I guess I am) came off of the streets of Philly. Some days I felt like I needed a translator. My friend and manager was practically throwing gang signs while I stood off to the side like a female Lawrence Welk.

So, combining all three bad decisions together, I resigned and went on to Job Number Two – Cashier at a Big Box Home Improvement Store. I’m going to level with you – my motivation was the male to female ratio, which I thought was going to rock in my favor. I had visions of young hot dudes who could fix my plumbing (insert inappropriate joke here) and make a few bucks at the same time. Instead I was planted at self checkout wearing a horrid polyester orange apron being asked about home improvement items that I had never even heard of, let alone knew where in the store they were located.

So now I find myself at another part time gig, one that I’m more naturally inclined to work at. I mean seriously, we sell handbags – how much more simpatico can you get? Yet, I find myself dissatisfied, both with the pay and the level of effort I have to expend to keep the store tidy.

So, as always, I’m keeping my eyes open.

Across the parking lot is a guitar store. I’ve never played the guitar. I know nothing about guitars other than I like Slash and Eddie Van Halen.

I wonder if they’re hiring?