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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

SVH

Another true confession time here. Hopefully some of you will relate.

5’6”. Blonde. Aquamarine eyes. Size 6 figures. Drove a red Fiat. Identical twins. California. More dances in a year than I went to in my entire school career, junior and high schools combined.

For those of you of a certain age, those bon mots mean only one thing: Sweet Valley High and the Wakefield Twins.

They set an impossible standard for us children of the 80’s. How couldn’t they? Elizabeth, with TBT (Trusty Boyfriend Todd) and her sister, Jessica with her ever revolving cast of boyfriends, but steady (and fabulous) bestie Lila. Their high jinks, at least subconsciously, had me thinking there was something wrong with me once I made it to 18 (although I had, in fact, moved onto more adult authors well before high school), since I had made it to maturity without ever having been: in a coma, kidnapped, in a small plane crash, date raped (or almost), had a boyfriend who played both basketball and football (imagine! He plays for both teams!), been drunk after one shot of vodka, had my kitchen decimated by an earthquake (admittedly difficult living in Pennsylvania) or recruited by cult. All before I turned 17 (let alone 18). Oh, and I never had a fabulously wealthy boyfriend (named Bruce of all things) that had a vanity plated Porsche – 1bruce1.

The cheesy, nostalgic part of me (who writes this blog) was ecstatic when I heard a sequel of sorts was coming out, revising the twins at the age of 27. The premise: Elizabeth, the “good” twin hastily relocating to NYC after some sort of betrayal by Jessica, the ubiquitous “bad” twin and Bruce, the driver of 1bruce1, at the time a vain playboy, now Elizabeth’s bestie, not Enid (her brunette, frizzy haired friend). Oh, and in SVH canon, with the exception of Lila, all brunettes were dull and rather unfortunate. Anybody else wonder why I’m obsessed with hair color? Ok. Good. Glad we’re all clear on that point.

I’m ashamed to admit I cleared my reading queue (i.e. not starting up another book on my Kindle or lengthy magazine) in the day or two before its release date.

Today was the day, and as I type this, I’m frankly disappointed.

I managed to read it on my lunch hour.

Yep, you read it right. My lunch HOUR. When I was 11 or 12 and reading the SVH books for the first time, they were quick reads at best. But hell, I read Mommie Dearest and Interview with A Vampire when I was 10 or so (much to my mother’s chagrin, even if though she did brag one day that an employee at the DMV was engrossed in an SVH novel when she went to get her license renewed, long after I outgrew the series), but I thought the creator, Francine Pascal, would have had enough respect for her seemingly (hopefully?) now adult readers to have made it more substantive than a short story in Cosmo (which, full disclosure, I stopped reading a few years ago. If I haven’t tried the Reverse Cowboy by now, odds are my hips are too bad to try anytime in the near future).

Yeah, it was nice reading a story with familiar characters, even if some of them swore more and drank more dirty martinis than I remembered from my youth. But I’m fairly certain I could have written a more mature novel with a little more character development after several bottles of wine.

Oh well, I guess you can’t go home again. Here’s hoping Diablo Cody (the writer/director of Juno) comes up with a decent screenplay!

Sunday, March 20, 2011

My Quest – Continued (with a script!)

I’d like to take the preamble to my blog to reiterate to my friends and family that they should submit me as a candidate for TLC’s show, What Not To Wear. I won’t get mad, in fact, the only tears that will be shed will be tears of joy. I’ll act the part if that’s what they want, but I will be ecstatic inside.

The groundwork having been laid, as I sit here watching an episode, I’d like to make it a bit easier for the crew of WNTW but laying out the script for my episode.

Voiceover: Meet Beth, a 36 year old single Operations Analyst (and please don’t ask what that actually means because her family doesn’t know) who lives in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She recently lost over 80 pounds and wears generally tragic clothing. In this episode, we’ll help her ditch her discount store wardrobe, $5 sweatpants and sweatshirts and embrace her inner high-end fashionista.

Secret Camera Footage

Me: I think this is functional (wiping sweat from my face and smoothing my hair down while talking to the crew at the supermarket). I just came from the gym and really, why should I dress up? I’m just going there to sweat, so why should I make an effort (while gesturing to my $5 bike shorts and oversized t-shirt). My work style? It’s functional (queue footage of me teetering around on heels and in oversized pants)

In my bedroom – my friends, Jen and Ashia

Jen: Seriously, look at this shit (bleep!). It’s polyester. And this shirt? Cute and it works, but she stole it from her mother (who rocks a v-neck and is totally fashionable) but no 36 year old should be stealing her mother’s clothing.

Ashia: And these shoes? Payless! PAYLESS people. If you’re going to kill an animal for fashion, at least make it for Manolo Blahnik.

Intervention

Voiceover: We’re here in Blue Bell (or East Norriton or wherever) with a $5,000 What Not To Wear credit card and a fashion intervention for this 30 something’s wardrobe.

Me: (doing something interesting and official, I’m sure) Blah, blah, blah. Blah blah blah blah.

Stacey: Stop. Just stop right now. Beth, I’m Stacey

Clinton: And I’m Clinton

Both: And we’re from TLC’s What Not To Wear

Clinton: Beth we’re hear because your family is sick of your work wardrobe of cheap synthetics and weekend wear of gym clothes…

Beth: (cutting Clinton off): THANK GOD YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!

END. SCENE.

I’ve done the legwork people. I’m even wearing my “best” dog hair covered seat pants so you can get plenty of shots. Now it’s your turn.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I went for the big snip yesterday – no, not that one. I have the wrong parts for THAT big snip, but I did cut off most of my hair.

As I was perusing pictures, looking for one of me with my “old” pixie cut, it occurred to me that most of the people in my life, aside from a few friends and family, have only known me with my veil of long hair. I was in the midst of growing it out when I joined Facebook about 2 and a half years ago and most of my recent pictures are either of the awkward growing out stage or of the end product.

I was amused at the reactions I got when I floated the prospect of a haircut out on Facebook. There were a lot of “No!”’s and a few “Go for it”s. My new stylist, who I love, but have only been going to since October, was cautious but enthusiastic. The end product is a bit longer than I envisioned, but as my stylist pointed out, you can also cut off more, but gluing it back on is a bit difficult.

I understand the reactions. Many women have their entire identities wrapped up in what grows out of their noggins. I’m not one of them. I’m always slightly annoyed when I watch What Not To Wear and the week’s subject balks at the suggested changes to hair style and color. I for one would jump at the chance to have someone who normally charges upwards of $500 for a haircut and is known and respected in their field to give me an unbiased suggestion as to what would look best on me. As I’ve told many a stylist, and friend, it’s only hair, and that I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve cried over a haircut, the last time being when I was 20 (the tears were mostly over frustration trying to style a new cut without the right tools, not that I didn’t like it).

I know I’m not normal for my gender, but my attitude is if you can’t have fun with your hair, then really, what’s the point?

I’ve justified lopping off the product of three years of bad hair by saying it will make my workouts easier – more specifically the post workout routine easier. Anybody can throw their hair up in a ponytail, but only a glutton for punishment gets up early to workout, then wash, blow dry straight and then flat iron hair that has multiple cowlicks and sections of curly hair. A part of me was sick of seeing the hair falling out when I washed it – both from the natural hair cycle and from weight loss, another part of me got sick getting it caught in the straps of my purse and yet another part of me got sick of getting up at the crack of dawn to do the above routine. My reasons for having longer hair were more than cosmetic though.

True story – a few months ago I was at the supermarket, and saw a guy I had a blind date with. He was aggressive and a little letchy – he suggested, in a roundabout way, that we have a “sleepover” the night I met him. Sensibly, I demurred, but he didn’t get the hint, alternately calling, texting and messaging me through the dating website we met through. I was at the market one Friday and saw him. I did a supermodel/Pantene worthy flip of my hair and hid half of my face when I saw him to avoid detection.

Being totally honest, the whole reason why I grew my hair out in the first place was because of my weight. I felt like my then signature pixie was out of place on my increasingly obese frame. I often mock models with their little bodies and disproportionately large heads, and I found myself feeling like the opposite – big body, little head. I wanted the hair to balance it out….to hide behind. Now that I’m smaller, and being more active, longer hair is a massive pain in the ass truth be told. I have to make sure my gym bag always has a hair band and rubber bands. A few weeks ago I forgot a rubber band when going to spinning class. I was focused more on maneuvering my hair off of my neck and out of my face for the class rather than on the quality of my workout. After 60 minutes of this I wound up throwing my neck out. The other night, I had a weight training session and forgot a hair band. Oh yeah, doing pushups was a blast with my hair in my face, not to mention having to get up the next morning to wash the sweat out of my mop (and all that entailed).

I had started kicking around a chop around the time I started back at the gym, but didn’t feel confident until now. I gave myself excuses – I’ve invested a ton of money in product and accessories (side note: anybody interested in used InStyler? $25 OBO), guys like girls with longer hair, I spent three years growing it out.

At the end of the day, I decided to own my look and shed my veil, my comfort blanket. This is me…I have short hair, and I can sleep later than you in the morning and still look pulled together. Let’s rock this.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Dirty Secret

Despite the fact that I relentlessly Facebook and blog about it, and seem to be constantly engaged in some form of it, I hate exercising.

I actually question the sanity of people that say they love exercise.

Whether it’s running, spinning, hitting the Stairmaster, lifting weights or going for a brisk (yet endless) walk, the only thing I like about working out is the end result and the fact that it’s done for the day.

From the sore muscles, black toe nails (still! I may never be ready for flip flop/sandal season at this rate. Chanel Vamp here I come), icky hair and/or smeared makeup, there is very little I enjoy about the workouts I do.

Last night I experienced a rarity, the runner’s high. I pressed the snooze button at 5:00 am (actually, I hit another combination of buttons and changed the time of my alarm from 5:00 to 6:00 (with that kind of dexterity at 5:00 am, I probably could have managed a run), and still didn’t get up until 6:45) and wound up in two positions I dislike – having to wear “sensible heels” to work, and needing to rush home and get on the treadmill so I could exercise, eat dinner at a reasonable hour and get something resembling a good night’s sleep. I would up leaving work later than I had planned, and despite a valiant effort, wound up getting caught in traffic. I didn’t make it home until later than I wanted, but still wound up getting in a 5 mile run.

I had a false start – due to an accumulation of dog hair on one of the wheels of my treadmill, it travelled across the linoleum floor during the first five minutes of my run, making me stop, clean up and reposition. After that, something kicked in and I sailed through the next 40 minutes. If it wasn’t for my parents and a pending DVR’d episode of Survivor, two hungry dogs and if I’m truthful a hungry me, I might have been able to get in 6, or even a record 7. It was the kind of run I dream about, the only part missing was me having a long blonde ponytail bouncing from my head, firmer abs and a tighter butt, and I could have done without the copious amount of sweat dripping from my puny brown ponytail and smeary raccoon eyes. But I’ll take it.

Honestly the only reason I ran last night was because of what I now know is a malfunctioning bathroom scale, which had me believing I had gained 3 pounds because of last Saturday’s crusty bread/peanut butter binge/extravaganza. I wanted to be able to walk into WW this morning knowing I had done all that I could. I weighed myself this morning and found I weighed slightly more than I did last Friday (yeah, I weigh myself twice a day, I know and expect my nighttime weight to be higher than my weight in the morning, but I still can’t break the habit). I expected my weigh in this morning to show a gain, or at best a stay the same, not the 1.8 pound loss I actually had. I would have chalked up the WW scale as wrong, but I also went to the doctor and found the scale there was in sync with WW. Of course the answer is for me to go to WW or the doctor at 6:45 am and 9:30 pm, drop trou and hop on the scale at one of the two locations on a daily basis. Somehow I think I’ll have an issue convincing either that this is a good idea.

Or I could just get a new scale.

Anyhow, getting back to fitness….I managed to get my workout done for today, and didn’t experience a repeat of last night’s “high”. I got in a 1 hour, 3.75 mile walk while multitasking on conference calls and replying to emails, and also managed a 3.3 mile, 33 minute run with a break here or there (one for repositioning, one because I wanted a break at the 25 minute point, and the last because I had to reply to an IM from a colleague, and while I can walk and type, I can’t run and type). I’m again in love with exercise because I am done for this day, and thinking of what I am going to do (or do to get out of it) tomorrow.