And The Days Go By

Ultrasounds are Modern Torture

2011-04-03T15:30:00.000-07:00

Generally speaking, I avoid going to the doctor whenever I can. I’m not afraid, I just find them unpleasant. Updating your insurance, sitting in a waiting room full of random sick people, waiting to be called in so a complete stranger can start poking and prodding you.

I particularly dislike the gynecologist. All of the above apply, but in addition, a complete stranger is going to stick a large metal device up your hoo-ha and poke around, which makes you swear to God that you will never have sex ever, ever again as long as that horrible thing gets taken out right fucking now. Then, they want to poke your ta-tas as hard as possible, causing immense pain (which they mistakenly describe as “discomfort”) all the while scolding you for never doing a self breast exam.

I’m not poking myself like this, bitch! I don’t like feeling pain!

But the worst, the absolute worst of all medical examinations I have had to endure as a woman is the pelvic ultrasound. (I’m not saying it’s the worst medical procedure ever. I’m just saying it’s the worst one I’ve had to put up with that didn’t involve actual surgery.)

I know. The ultrasound is a wonderful device that helps you check on the health of your growing baby. You can see its little heartbeat and its tiny little feet.

Well, la-de-freakin-da for you. I’m not pregnant. I just have a weird pelvic anatomy, so every so often I have to go to have things checked out.

First, they tell you to drink 5 million and 3 gallons of water before your appointment. And not just right before your appointment. You have to finish drinking unnatural amounts of water an hour before your appointment starts, and then you have to hold it. Evidently you cannot possibly have a decent ultrasound unless your bladder is so full that you may explode at any moment. Seriously, once I almost peed on the technician. You can imagine how embarrassing that would have been.

After you start to float away on your bladder of unnatural size, you check in at the counter. Oh, it will just be a short wait, they tell you. A short wait turns into 15 minutes of absolute agony, with each passing second bringing you closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Tick, tick, tick. Each second on the clock brings another drip of urine from your kidneys into your already overflowing bladder. You pray for kidney failure, just to end the misery. You contemplate going to the bathroom and squatting over the toilet, just to pretend that you can pee. Maybe you can trick your body into feeling relief. But no. The ultrasound demands a full bladder. Sweat forms on your brow as you force yourself to think about anything but the pulsing, swishing, sloshing, constant pain coming from your loins.

Then, they finally call your name to come back. You sprint across the room, practically undressing right there in order to speed the process along as much as possible. They walk you back, forcing you to walk right past a freakin bathroom. No relief is in sight for you yet. You still have to endure the ultrasound itself.

At this point, you are practically delirious. You can’t remember why your doctor sent you there. All you can remember is the water, oh god, the water. They begin the exam. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up... JESUS MOTHERF*ING CHRIST WHY AREN’T YOU FINISHED YET?!?!? You envision all the ways you could end the misery. You could scream for help. You could kick the ultrasound machine, rendering it useless. You could pee on the technician. But deep down inside, you know that none of these options will end your suffering, because a) somebody will get really mad at you and b) they’ll just make you do the god damn ultrasound all over again.

The longer the examination continues, the harder the wand seems to press on your bladder. Yes, there is my bladder. It is the GIANT WHITE THING on the screen. Why in the name of all that is holy and good are you still looking at it?! The images on the screen change. It’s all a blur to you, but the technician seems to think he knows what he’s looking at. (Personally, I think they’re making shit up.) “Hmmmm,” the technician says. Hmmm?! That’s all you’ve got?! I’m dying here! “I’m having a hard time getting a good picture because your bladder is so full. Why don’t you go and empty it and we’ll see if we can get something better?”

As you race to the bathroom, you realize what a sham it all is. And you swear that if you ever stop peeing, you’re going to kill all of these bastards. Because they knew all along that your bladder was going to be too full, and they just wanted you to suffer.

Week 3: Success

2011-02-15T20:40:00.000-08:00

Life has been pretty crazy in the past couple of weeks- Scott and I have decided to move to Palo Alto, my current commute is horrendous, and work has been very busy.

But, I have been sticking with my diet, and on weigh-in day, I was pleased to see that I have lost 10 pounds. I have noticed a difference in my pants as well- I'm back in my size 8 pants. It's a fantastic feeling.

So, the official week 3 results:
Weight: 152.4
Weight Lost: 9.5
R Upper Arm: 10.875
L Upper Arm: 11.625
Waist: 32.0
Hips: 39.0
R Thigh: 22.625
L Thigh: 22.5
Total Inches: 138.625
Total Inches Lost: 5.125

Lots of things coming up soon. Keeping up with this diet- it feels great to be doing so well!

End of Week One

2011-02-01T21:45:00.000-08:00

Today, I learned a very important lesson: salad does NOT make good leftovers.

I had ordered a large salad at Pluto’s last night, not knowing just how large that would be. I figured I’d just have the rest for lunch today. Well, when I put that first large bite of spinach in my mouth, I just about gagged from the squishy, slimy mess that I encountered. It was horrible.

Note to self: only eat leftovers that can be reheated.

It is the end of the first week of the 4 Hour Body diet, so it’s time to see how I did:

Weight: 153.5
Weight Lost: 8.5
Right Upper Arm: 11.12
Left Upper Arm: 11.32
Waist: 33.5
Hips: 40
Right Thigh: 22.25
Left Thigh: 22.5
Total Inches: 140.69
Total Inches Lost: 3.06

All in all, I’d say I did pretty well. This week I’m also including the breakfast, which will consist of organic, cage-free Omega-3 eggs, spinach, and black beans. Breakfast of champions, and hopefully, people who continue to lose weight.

I noticed this morning when I put on a pair of pants that had previously been a bit too tight in the waist that they were no longer too tight in the waist. I’m not saying they were loose or anything, but I’m saying it’s progress. Success breeds motivation, so here we go with week 2!

Day Three

2011-01-27T14:22:00.001-08:00

This morning when I weighed myself I was down 7 pounds from Monday and three pounds from yesterday. That is- according to our crappy bathroom scale, which may not be super accurate and is one of those dial scales that’s really hard to read. Three pounds in one day seems like a lot, but I have been following the diet carefully. It could be water weight, but I’ve actually increased my water intake. I think this weekend I will go buy a nice digital scale and see how we do. Even if my weight ends up being higher with a digital scale, at least it will be easier to read and track my progress.

Yesterday when I got my lunch they had it all wrong- a ton of beans (way more than any person should ever have to eat), a ton of mushy veggies (I hate it when veggies are overcooked), and no chicken. They totally screwed up my order, but since it had already taken 15 minutes and I was starving, I choked down as much as I could. It was horrible.

So today I took a different approach- order one chicken taco, one veggie taco, a side of beans, and a side of guacamole. Then, they can’t screw it up and I just won’t eat the tortillas. It was so much better! The food actually tasted delicious and I didn’t feel like I was forcing myself to eat.

Diets are hard when you have to eat food that you don’t like or doesn’t taste good. I know the beginning is going to be the hardest, and after a while it becomes habit. So far I’m just preparing myself to meet the challenge- which for me, is saying, “No, I don’t want to eat that delicious gooey chocolate chip cookie of amazingness right now.” Knowing that I will have a “cheat” day on Saturday does make that better- now, I can say, “I will eat that delicious gooey chocolate chip cookie of amazingness on Saturday, probably along with 3 of its friends.” MMM..... Saturday.

Day One

2011-01-25T14:23:00.000-08:00

Today I started an approximation of the Slow-Carb Diet recommended in The Four Hour Body. I say it’s an approximation because my breakfast was the same as before because I don’t have the ingredients for the new breakfast in the house. The book did recommend starting with changing breakfast to see awesome results, but given this week’s schedule, that probably won’t happen until Sunday. But, I figure if I do the diet the rest of the day, it’s better than nothing at all.

For lunch, I stopped by the Mexican place on campus and got a steak burrito bowl without the rice. I ordered extra beans but I don’t think I got any. I also ordered veggies but didn’t get any of those (besides lettuce, which it came with). I think the guy was very confused with my order.

At any rate, it was moderately delicious. Not as good as Chipotle, but ya know. When I first stopped eating, I didn’t feel completely full, but as I went for my lunchtime walk, I realized that I was full. I am worried that since there weren’t enough beans in the meal that I’m going to get super hungry long before it’s time to eat another meal.

It’s hard to shift my expectations about dieting. I know that starving doesn’t work for me because I will have a major blood sugar crash and get super cranky and ineffective. Counting calories doesn’t really work because then I get obsessive about food. I think I need to change the way I think about this. I don’t have to count calories, and if I get hungry, I can eat again, as long as I eat from the list of “chosen foods.” Then on Saturday, I can eat whatever the hell I want. It seems simple enough. So far so good.

The Four-Hour Body

2011-01-24T21:01:00.000-08:00

Ok, it’s probably time to get real about my physical situation.

I know I’ve talked a lot about losing a lot of weight, or a little weight, or being healthy, or whatever. And it’s not like I haven’t done anything. I’ve changed my diet pretty dramatically (following the “Eat Food” of Michael Pollan’s “Eat Food, Not Too Much, Mostly Plants” mandate), I work out with a personal trainer 3 days a week, and I’ve gained a considerable amount of strength and lost a considerable amount of body fat from when I started in September 2007. In addition, my cholesterol levels are phenomenally good, my insulin levels are normal, and my BMI is within the “normal” range. Compared to the average American, I’m doing pretty good.

But reality hits me today. My body still embarrasses me. I wear clothes that purposefully cover up my belly (and violate most rules from What Not to Wear). I don’t particularly like looking in the mirror and despite the progress I’ve made, I don’t feel like I’ve met any meaningful goals.

I’ve started reading The 4 Hour Body by Timothy Ferriss. When reading it, part of me wants to scream “This is bullshit!” and throw the whole thing in the garbage. But the other part of me sees truth in what it says. The reasons I haven’t met any of my goals are because a) I’m holding my own self back, and b) I didn’t set goals that I believed I could achieve. Today, when I was out for my lunchtime walk and enjoying 65 degree weather, I decided it was time for me to stop hating myself and to start actually feeling good.

One of the most important suggestions from the book I’ve read so far is that I need to post a “before” picture somewhere that I will see it frequently. So, time to swallow my pride and put them up:

If I wear strategic clothing, you can't tell from the front so much.

I won't suck it in for these pictures.

Yikes.

The book also recommends that you track your progress. It’s not just weight, which I will track out of curiosity, but also percent body fat and circumference measurements. I feel like tracking measurements besides weight on a daily basis is a bit much, so I’m going to track those on a weekly basis.

Weight in Pounds: 162
% Body Fat (approx): 25
R Upper Arm: 11.25
L Upper Arm: 11.75
Waist: 34.75
Hips: 40.5
R Thigh: 22.25
L Thigh: 23.25
Total Inches: 143.75

So, here we have my starting points. I’m going to keep blogging about this because accountability is super important in being successful, and I don’t want to fail!

I Will Pwn the Zombie Apocalypse

2010-12-03T22:20:00.000-08:00

I recently discovered that my friends voted me “most likely to survive the zombie apocalypse.” I am quite proud of receiving this award. I mean, that’s a pretty big deal, right? Surviving the zombie apocalypse?

But, it’s true. I’m pretty ruthless when it comes to zombies. And I’m not just talking about random zombies. I will pwn even zombies who used to be my friends.

(Are you reading this, friends? If you become zombies, you’re dead to me.)

Also, I’ve got a whole zombie apocalypse action plan all ready to go. The one flaw I’ve identified in my plan is that I don’t actually have any shotguns lying around. Shotguns are imperative for survival during the zombie apocalypse. It’s been scientifically proven that shotguns are the best method for zombie-head removal.

(Note, if you don’t already know that the only way to kill a zombie is to remove the head or destroy the brain, you should probably go watch Sean of the Dead before you continue reading.)

So, I do have nightmares that the zombie apocalypse will come and I’ll be stuck in an old mansion in Aspen with no access to shotguns. (It’s true, you can ask Scott!) I spend a good majority of my time plotting what I’ll do in case the zombie apocalypse should come at that moment.

The first order of business is to acquire weapons and snacks. You can’t survive the zombie apocalypse without weapons, and you can’t survive period without snacks. Given a lack of shotguns (or ammunition) any blunt object that’s long enough to keep the zombies out of flesh-biting range will do. A good, heavy shovel can be used in a pinch. But, you must remember to conserve your energy, because you’ll need it once the zombies reach critical mass. That’s where the snacks come in. Good snacks that are high in energy are imperative, not only for running away from zombies, but also for keeping your mind clear so you can loot the gun store and get away with the shotguns.

(Note: for further research on the rules to surviving the zombie apocalypse, please watch Zombie Land.)

The next order of business is to hook up with a few key, non-zombie friends. At first, I thought Google Latitude would be a great way to do this. Then, I realized that Google Latitude isn’t smart enough to differentiate between zombie and non-zombie friends. It won’t do you any good to navigate through the zombie wasteland only to find that your strongest friend has already succumbed to the disease.

(Are you reading this, Google? Please develop technology to differentiate between zombies and non-zombies.)

To get around this problem, I’ve planned a meeting point. I figure anybody who knows about the meeting point as a human will forget about it if they become a zombie. I’m pretty sure that zombies are incapable of thinking about anything but brains. (Ironic, eh?)

Once you’ve met up with your non-zombie friends, the third order of business is to get the hell out of the population centers. Obviously, population centers are where all the zombies are. You can either try to hunker down in your shitty apartment, where you will eventually be surrounded by zombies and run out of food and guns, or you can escape to the middle of nowhere Idaho/Montana/Wyoming where there are probably only 20 zombies and you can kill them all.

Finally, it’s extremely necessary to find a bunker that is easily defended from zombies. Sure, you’ve done the initial killing of the 20 zombies in the middle of nowhere. But someday hungry zombies will wander towards your compound, driven by the smell of brains, and you’ll need to see them coming to destroy them. Research on any successful battle knows that whomever has the high ground is at an advantage, so try to find a nice hill somewhere to build your house. Bricks are the preferred building material. Remember, you are in the zombie apocalypse and you are surviving. Anything left behind by people who are now zombies belongs to you. Go loot what’s left of the town (after killing all the zombies, of course) and get all the bricks you can. Then, you can build yourself a house, or, in the lucky event that you find a house already standing in the perfect location, a nice wall with a watch tower.

Then, just wait out the zombie disease until order is restored. Or, more likely, live as in a hippie commune for the rest of your life. It’s not that bad. At least you survived!

Google Maps Sucks at Finding Gas Stations

2010-11-30T21:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, when I got in my car to come home, there was a loud *Beep!* followed by a blinking light on my gas gauge. Wouldn’t you know, my car was running out of gas.

Now, if I still had my old car, this would have been major cause for alarm. I would have taken myself straight to the gas station on campus, even though it’s hecka on the other side of campus and would have taken like 20 minutes round trip.

But, now I drive a Prius. I get like 50 miles to the gallon on this thing. I think to myself, “Well, it’s probably only like 15 miles or something to get down the peninsula. I can totally make it!” And then I start driving home.

My route home from Stanford takes me down the 280 corridor on the peninsula, which, in case you haven’t been there, is like randomly driving through a rural part of the Bay Area. Except that the traffic is bumper-to-bumper the whole way. So there I am, sitting in my usual traffic jam, listening to my usual music, watching that light flash on my gas gauge. Then, panic and paranoia set in. What if I don’t actually have another 50 miles before I run out of gas? I’m in the middle of nowhere 280! They don’t even have gas stations on this road! I better turn off the heater to save gas!

So I turn off the heater, which only serves to make my paranoia worse. I don’t do well in the cold. After a couple more miles have gone by, I finally break down and decide that I had better damn well find a gas station before my Prius runs out of gas and I have to sit on the side of the road and call AAA. Because that will just ruin my night. (Also, I’m pretty sure you get the “Loser of the Year” award if your hybrid runs out of gas.)

But, as usual, technology will save me! I pull out my handy Nexus One and turn on the Google Maps app. In all its glorious smart-phone-ness, its internal GPS knows precisely where I am. (Every time I use my phone to do anything other than text or make calls, I feel like I’m a member of the secret adult club. You know, the one where you clean your house up every night and carry around a sweet-ass phone that tells your children bedtime stories and feeds your dog.)

My phone has a sweet function where you can do voice search, which is awesome when one is in a situation like I am, where you really can’t be typing “gas station” into the search bar because at any moment, traffic might start moving again and you’ll look like a total loser. So I do my voice search for “gas station” and the machine whirs away, finding me some saving petroleum grace. And, lo and behold, there’s a gas station not too far away from where I am. Sweet! I hit “navigate” and start following my phone’s directions.

Soon, I’m driving down this random road that’s mostly deserted, because nobody in their right mind ever gets off this part of the 280 to try to find a gas station. No, normal people actually go down past the 85, where civilization starts again. But not me. I’m following my phone to what promises to be a sweet, hidden gas station.

After a while, I start to notice that I’m not really driving on surface streets anymore. Instead, I’ve entered some random neighborhood full of what I’m sure are ridiculously rich people. This strikes me as odd, because how could there be a gas station in somebody’s yard? But I continue to follow my navigation partially because she sounds so authoritative, and partially because I’m terrified that if I try to turn around, then I’ll run out of gas and then I’ll be stranded in some serial killer’s driveway. To quell my panic, I think to myself, “It’s ok. Google Maps just knows some sweet shortcut, that’s all.”

So, I continue to drive. Left and right, I’m so far in this neighborhood now that there’s no telling how far away the main road is anymore. Plus, it’s dark, so it’s not like I can even read the street signs. But still, Google Maps promises me I’m getting close to my gas station. I hold on to my last shreds of hope.

Then, all at once, the navigator announces, “You have arrived.” I stop. I’ve arrived, haven’t I? I look around. Where the fuck is the gas station, Google Maps?! This isn’t a gas station! It’s some serial killer’s driveway! And I’m sitting in a Prius without the heater on because I’m running out of gas, and god damn it if I die out here they’ll never find my body!

I end up tossing my phone on the passenger seat in disgust, and using my own personal internal GPS system to find my way out of this neighborhood. (I actually have a sweet sense of direction. Scott would be hopelessly lost if it weren’t for me.) I end up at a different entrance to the neighborhood than I came in, and I can see an expressway. My intuition is telling me there must be a gas station somewhere along this road. Lo, and behold, there it is, way over on the left on some random frontage road. I screech across a lane of traffic to exit the expressway, and find myself dumped onto a random road that runs diagonal to the expressway. Diagonal roads produce intersections that don’t make any damn sense. I get all flustered and end up going straight when I should have turned left, and to get to the gas station I end up having to make some really fantastic maneuvers that I’m pretty sure were illegal. But, I make it to the gas station alive.

So, here’s what I learned:

1. Google Maps sucks at finding gas stations. It’s great at other things. But apparently “gas station” is Google Maps-speak for “serial killer’s driveway.”

2. I totally could have made it to the gas station by my normal exit. My 50 mpg Prius does not mess around.

3. That random part of the peninsula is freaking scary and you should never drive around there under any circumstances.

4. Turning off the heater probably doesn’t save you any gas. Instead, it makes you paranoid and cranky.

There you have it, folks. Google Maps: not quite as awesome as I thought it was.

Holidays Make Me Verklempt

2010-11-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

Every time there is a holiday, I get all sentimental like a total idiot. It can be the most major or the most inconsequential of days, I still get all verklempt.

Independence Day: Oh, my god! I love America SO MUCH!
Labor Day/Memorial Day/Veteran's Day: Oh, my god! I love the troops SO MUCH! I am SO PROUD of our troops!
Earth Day/Arbor Day: Oh, my god! I love the Earth SO MUCH! Let's all save the Earth!
Valentine's Day: Oh, my god! I love Scott SO MUCH!
Election Day: Oh, my god! I love America SO MUCH!

And on and on. You can imagine, then, how rough the time between Halloween and New Year's is for me. It's a crazy emotional roller coaster ride between total euphoria (at the fact that the holidays are awesome) and total hysterics (at the fact that the holidays are awesome.) I get teary-eyed when sentimental holiday commercials come on (and don't even get me started about It's a Wonderful Life.) I walk around in a total haze of good will towards my fellow men. And if I should ever see somebody acting like a crazy person because of the holidays, I think, "Oh, how sad. They must have forgotten how AWESOME the holidays are!"

As an example, last night I went to pick up pizza for myself and my friends. Our pizzas were still cooking, so I had to wait a few minutes. Thankfully, they have a television, and thankfully, Beauty and the Beast was on. As a child raised in the 90's, that movie embodies my childhood experience. Maybe seeing that movie primed my emotional response. I'm not sure. All I know is that after I paid, I wished the cashier "Happy Thanksgiving!" and found the words sticking in my throat and that familiar sting behind my eyes. As I walked into the parking lot, that self-critical part of me reared up: You idiot! You don't even know that guy! Why should you care if he has a happy Thanksgiving! But then, the compassionate, emotional part of myself answered back: Because, Thanksgiving is an awesome holiday! And everyone has something to be thankful for! And I hope that guy can celebrate with his family and friends!

And so I say to everyone: Have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Remember what you have in this life to be grateful for. Even if it's just that the sun came up again today.

Now, where are the tissues?

Half Day

2010-11-24T16:51:00.000-08:00

Today, in celebration of the Thanksgiving holiday, our director gave us a half day off. I only had to work until noon, and even at that I didn't have much to do.

So, had lunch with Scott, then took my fantastic little dachshund, Ringo, to the pet store to see about getting a harness. He really likes to be out in front when we are walking, and it pulls on his collar, which I am afraid will one day damage his trachea.

Side note: I worry about this dog like some people worry about their children. Except that Ringo will never have to leave my care, muahahahaha.

Because Ringo is the cutest dog that ever lived, people love him every where we go. The pet store is certainly no exception, and the lady gave Ringo cookies and now he wants to live there. She helped me find a harness that both fit him and looked adorable on him. When he wears it he looks like he's all suited up for work. All he needs is a doggy briefcase and a hat.

Then Ringo and I came home and took a nice long nap on the couch. The beautiful thing about my new job is that when I have a day off like this, I can come home and take a nap just because I want to. Not because I'm so physically exhausted that I literally can't stand up anymore. I think that we should all be allowed to take naps every afternoon. Think about it. We'd all be way less cranky and there would be less war. Anything that involves less war I am an advocate of.

Now, I'm awake, and I thought to myself, What do I want to do? This is a question I don't often get to ask myself, and recently, when I've been asking it, I'm finding it difficult to come up with an answer.

So, I decided to start blogging again. I have goals in mind for the blogging, of course. But I've found in my life that if I tell other people about my personal goals then I get to feeling all guilty if I don't meet them. It's like the goal doesn't become about me, it's about the people I've told about it. And then I get all self-defeating and go into this "If I can't even do this then I will never do anything worthwhile ever again" spiral. So not with the blog. I'ma keep my goals to myself for once, thank you very much. And goddamnit, I like it this way!

Won't These Nightmares Ever End?

2010-10-10T07:54:00.000-07:00

Here I am, up once again with the sunrise and several hours before Scott and Ringo will wake up. I think part of the problem is that my body is re-adjusting to a work schedule, and I woke up this morning at the same time I'd have to wake up on a weekday. I know plenty of working adults who have this problem. It's annoying that circadian rhythms don't understand the concept of sleeping in on Sundays.

But besides that, I'm not sleeping well because I'm still being plagued by teaching nightmares. Seriously?! Can't we ever move on from this? My life has moved on. I'm really enjoying my new job and I'm feeling more at peace with my life than I ever have.

So why am I still reliving all the worst moments from my classroom last year? Is this some kind of mild form of PTSD?

Perhaps part of it is that I'm still doing my part-time TFA job, where I support corps members by meeting with them individually and planning workshops for them. Yesterday I met with a new teacher who needed help with her classroom management and planning her next unit. We worked for over 3 hours and she was so excited with the work that she did. She was curious about my past work as a teacher (naturally.) So I was forced to explain, once again, why I quit teaching. She was pretty non-judgmental about it, especially when I talked about how working 80-hour weeks completely burnt me out. She was really supportive about the fact that I now work at Stanford University.

I don't want to stop doing this TFA job because it helps me feel connected to the mission and allows me to have some impact without having to kill me. But it does seem to bring up the bad memories in nightmares. Hopefully as I get more settled into my new job and my life continues to move on, those memories will just fade into the background.

Improvements

2010-10-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

This week seems to be the week where Scott and I are finally turning the corner away from the ridiculousness and back into our lives.

Last Sunday, we saw an ad in the paper for a sale at a Toyota dealership in Daly City. After doing some research online, we discovered that the sale price for the 2008 Toyota Prius was equivalent to the Kelly Blue Book value. So, we drove up to Daly City and bought the car. We figured we would never find a deal like that again, particularly not one that included a warranty.

So, while we still only have one car, at least it's ours. That definitely took some pressure off.

In addition to the car, yesterday I got a job at Stanford University! I'll be the new office coordinator for the Humanities Center. I could not be more excited. I feel like I've finally found a job that will actually suit me! No more having to get to work way before work actually starts to do the work that I should have done last night. No more having to work every night and every weekend. No more Sunday freak outs or early morning panic attacks. Just a simple, 8-to-5-with-an-hour-for-lunch, work-stays-at-work, job. The people in the department are super nice, and the woman who offered me the job couldn't stop talking about how thrilled they are to have me come on board. The best part? I'll be making the same salary I was making before, which means that we can go back to living relatively comfortably while also saving a lot more money for a house.

So, now it's time for me to reflect on how good it feels to be going to a place where the people actually care about my own well-being, and they care about whether or not I like my job. I'm not just an achievement-gap closing robot who is supposed to shut up and get results. I'm not an automatron who can work ridiculous hours without extra compensation, who can put up with horrible emotional and mental abuse from administrators and students alike. I'm a human being with self-worth, and this new job reflects that. They want me to like my job so I can do a good job at it. The ironic thing is that this is really the only thing that has to happen in order to feel job satisfaction. If I'm supported by my superiors, and not being treated like dirt, then I'll want to work hard for them. Period. And I just can't wait to start on Tuesday!

Ok, Universe, Maybe We Can Catch a Break Now?

2010-09-23T07:32:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't exactly say that the last two weeks have gone well. Since the car accident, it feels like it's been a non-stop onslaught of badness. Let's see... dad hit some debris on the road and popped two of his tires, Scott's family's dachshund Bailey had to be put to sleep, I didn't get the job with TFA, my friend's wallet got stolen (while she was at work! Yikes!), my other friends decided to break up, and Scott's car broke down. (Which brings our current car count down to zero.)

I rented a car yesterday so we would be able to get around at least until the end of the week. Scott's car got towed to the shop on Tuesday, but we haven't heard anything from them yet. Scott is going to call today to see what's happening. After I got home yesterday, I developed a low-grade migraine and spent the rest of the day laying on the couch with Ringo trying to nurse myself back to health. I suppose in this situation, it's a good thing I'm unemployed.

In good news on the job front, I applied for an office coordinator position in the Humanities department at Stanford. It's very similar to a student job I had in college that I enjoyed. I applied for it on Friday, and on Monday I got an email from them asking for a phone interview. I had the phone interview on Tuesday and I think it went pretty well. I'll find out by the end of this week or the beginning of next if I get an in person interview. I think the best part of this job is that it starts at 8 and ends at 5, with an hour for lunch. You'll notice that it specifically does not involve working on evenings, weekends, or at home. I need a job where work stays at work so I can enjoy my personal life.

So anyway, let's all keep our fingers crossed about that. And, universe? Maybe it's time to give the Williamses a break.

Insomnia

2010-09-10T05:55:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep. Partially because Scott is sick and has been snoring all night. But mostly because I have a lot on my mind today.

I used to feel this way when I was teaching- particularly on the weekends. I'd find myself waking up at about 5 am, feeling totally wired by the to-do list, and being unable to ignore it for a couple more precious hours of sleep, despite total exhaustion.

These days, though, sleep hasn't eluded me so much. In fact, quite the opposite has been true. I've been sleeping a lot more, but still feeling tired. (Isn't that a sign of depression?) But today, 5 am seems to be my wake-up time.

Yesterday was a pretty big day. On the way to the gym yesterday morning, I was in a car accident. The car in front of me merging onto the Central Expressway stopped short at the end of the entrance ramp. I stopped. They went. I looked over my shoulder to merge and started to accelerate, only to turn around and find they had stopped again. I slammed on my brakes, but it was too late. Their car didn't get too much damage, but I'm pretty sure my little 1992 Honda Accord will be totaled. I mean, it's only worth $2,000 at most, and given the fact that the radiator started leaking, the entire hood will have to be replaced, the headlight was smashed, and so on, I'm sort of doubting that we'll come anywhere close to it being worth repairing.

I was planning on driving that car until it wouldn't drive any more. I guess we're at that point.

After dealing with all of that, I had my final in-person interview for a job with Teach for America. I suited it up and drove up to San Francisco (in Scott's car.) I think it went ok, but it's so hard to tell with these things. I think that given that I was already feeling bad about my car, in retrospect I'm thinking more negatively about the interview than I would be otherwise. I should hear back from them by the end of next week (which feels like about forever right now.)

In the mean time, I'm looking for other options. The job search landscape is such a wasteland. I don't want to have anything to do with teaching or schools, which is pretty unfortunate because those are my most recent jobs. I'm trying to think of what I'd like to do that might actually be a fulfilling job for me, and with the exception of Teach for America, I'm drawing a blank. There are plenty of secretarial jobs I could do, but I don't know if I could stand it. I suppose at this point I can't really afford to be picky. Maybe I just need to find something to do while I'm figuring out what I want to do. Because I'm going to be needing a new car sometime soon.

This Coffee Shop is Not a Playground

2010-09-06T11:25:00.000-07:00

As a childless adult, I find it extremely irritating and distracting when adults with children let their children run around restaurants during a meal.

Now, on an empirical level, I get it. Your kid has legs. Your kid knows how to use those legs. Your kid wants to move around. But, seriously folks, isn't this what they invented Chuck-E-Cheese for?

Come on. I'm trying to enjoy my morning coffee and discuss current events in the Sunday paper with my husband, and I'm finding it impossible to hear what he's saying because your banshee of a child is running around and screaming right next to me. I didn't spend $3.50 on my chai tea to have my morning ruined because you don't know how to control that thing.

I propose a rule: if the establishment you are planning on taking your kids to does not provide crayons to your kids, it is not a "family-friendly" restaurant. That doesn't mean you can't take your kids there. But it does mean that the other people in the restaurant probably don't find your kids to be as adorable as you do, especially when your kids are screaming at the tops of their voices.

I avoid restaurants like Chuck-E-Cheese and Red Robin because I don't want to be surrounded by a lot of noise. I go to places like the local coffee shop because I want to enjoy a nice, adult atmosphere and have a decent bagel. Please, respect my right to not be subjected to your crazy children.

Thank you, and enjoy your visit to the local playground- which is about 5 miles away from where I am having my coffee.

Boredom

2010-09-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

All this sitting around as a stay-at-home wife is starting to get to me.

I'm used to being busy. In fact, I thrive on busyness. It helps me appreciate the downtime that I have.

But now my life entirely consists of downtime. And it's driving me crazy. I wake up in the morning, still feel mentally tired but my body itches to get up. I putter around until it's time to go to the gym. (My appointments with my trainer vary. Sometimes I get up and go right away, and sometimes I have a couple of hours to wait.)

Come home. Shower. Eat something. Realize it's not even noon yet, and what the hell am I going to do for the rest of the day? Everyone I know is at work. So, I'll do things like take a 3 hour nap or watch 5 episodes of Glee on the internet. Real productive.

I have a second interview for a job with TFA today. Let's all keep our fingers crossed that I get this job so I can stop going crazy.

Body Fat Win

2010-08-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

This morning, I went and had hydrostatic body fat testing done, mostly because my trainer suggested I do so, but also because I thought it would be an interesting experience.

I've been working with my personal trainer for 3 years now, with quite a bit of success, mostly due to the fact that she doesn't let me slack off. My nutrition has always been my downfall. Given the choice between cake and carrots, I'll choose cake every time. And probably eat the bowl of ice cream as well. So, my weight has fluctuated up and down, and last November I hit 160 pounds, which was my highest weight ever.

Now, I know that in the grand scheme of life, 160 pounds isn't horrendous, but that was a big wake up call for me. I realized that even though I was working out regularly, and gaining strength, I wasn't feeding my body in a healthy way. I knew if I continued down that road I'd be in big (no pun intended) trouble.

I decided to join Weight Watchers online. I was busy teaching and I knew I wouldn't be able to squeeze another hour of free time out of my week, so I just tracked my points online. Over the course of a few months I dropped 10 pounds, and felt pretty good about myself. But, that didn't really satisfy me, and I wanted to be fit, not just back at the weight I had been before. Plus, my body fat percent was still hovering around the 29% mark, too high for my tastes. I also had my wedding on the horizon to worry about.

I started working out harder and trying to eat even less. I found the working out to be easy, but the food part to be next to impossible. Right before my wedding I went on a crazy diet that finally got me down to 145 pounds, but then I went on my honeymoon and drank my weight in rum.

So now, here I am, back at 149 pounds. I had set my goal weight at 135 pounds. On Friday, I had measurements done with my trainer- the pinch your skin folds kind, which found my percent body fat at 26%. Not bad- I've definitely lost a good deal of fat, but I wanted it to be 21% or lower. So my trainer suggested to go have the hydrostatic testing done, which is the most accurate body fat measurement available.

The testing is done on a truck, which had conveniently parked itself in my gym's parking lot. The guy who worked there was very helpful, and after I changed into my swimsuit, he showed me exactly how to position myself in the water tank to get accurate readings. The water was comfortable- much like bathwater. The measurements were over before I knew it, and then came the best part.

23.7% body fat! Woo-hoo! I'm close to the bottom of the "average" range, and what's more, way closer to meeting my goal than I thought! The guy asked me how we had come up with my goal weight, and I told him it was based on the skin fold measurements, and what my most recent results were. He told me that based on my current measurement, to get down to 135 pounds, I'd have to live the lifestyle of an athlete. And I'd only have 15% body fat. Yikes. 15% is not an unhealthy percent, it's just that I'd pretty much have to just work out all the time. Sorry folks, I'm not going to the Olympics any time soon. I'll stick to my regular 4-6 hours of exercise per week, thanks.

So, to get to a goal of 21% (which will put me into a nice, fit range), I only have to lose about 5 more pounds. This is so much better than the 15 I thought I had to lose! 5 pounds is doable; 5 pounds would mean cutting 300-400 calories a day. (So... probably I should stop eating fro-yo every night.) But, even better than that, I can exercise knowing that I'm not unhealthy! I'm not going to keel over and die of heart disease or get diagnosed with diabetes any time soon. (Ok- maybe that's a little dramatic. I'm only 25. But you get my point.)

I did my workout after the testing with much more vigor than I've had in the past couple of weeks. I was feeling like I was hitting a plateau, and I was wondering if it was going to be even possible to change my diet anymore without going crazy. Now, I know that as long as I get my recommended doses of fruits and veggies (and only indulge in sweets or alcohol once in a while) that I'm not going to work against myself. I feel liberated!