Some updates before I get into the title of this post.
- I signed up for the Color Run in Baltimore in November, which is a 5K.
- I've started running but haven't done it enough.
- I am still alive after running, therefore, it didn't kill me like I thought it would.
- I alternate running and walking the entire 5K, per song. It's been working so far.
- I haven't had to take my inhaler.
- Nothing is attractive about my appearance during a run. Or after it.
- I don't run fast, and I think that's ok.
- I don't run straight, but I'll work on that.
- My new sneakers are amazing and light.
- My only goal for the 5K is to run the whole thing.
- I turn up the music so I don't hear myself panting like a dog.
- School is tough this year.
- I am on a cart instead of in a classroom.
- Every other day I have 10 classes which by the way is a LOT.
- The days in between those days aren't exactly easy.
- Some things that I was stressed about before are gone, and I feel like this year will be wonderful.
- I'm getting tested for allergy shots this Thursday.
- I've done the prick test before, about 20 years ago.
- These docs have no idea how much my arm will blow up.
- I hope my body can take to shots, bc Mac and I want a dog.
- I'm unbelievably allergic to dogs.
- This weekend I'm going home to Cherry Hill for Ashley's bridal shower.
- The shower is at her best friend's family's home in our old neighborhood.
- I love that we're having it in our old neighborhood.
- We are so lucky to have so many great memories from there.
- My whole family, the 4 Kellys will be there at the same time, which is awesome.
- I have a bajillion things to do this week to get ready for the shower.
- I honestly don't know how I'm going to fit my job onto my to-do list.
Anyways, the title of this post.
Sometimes, it's me. But not lately. Lately, it's you. It's them. Retail stores.
I wanted a new dress for Ashley's shower. I found one I loved, but my size wasn't in that particular store and was no longer available online. Red-orange, 3/4 sleeves, tunic style (maybe?) and exposed gold zipper in the back. So classy. Not tight. It was the PERFECT dress. Oh well, moving on.
I went to every blessed store in the mall. Bridget carried hundreds of dresses for me. I might be from NJ, but I don't dress like one of the real housewives from NJ. Every dress I tried on was TIGHT and SHORT. Look, I wasn't trying to squeeze myself into a size 8 either. I was picking up my normal sizes. I left feeling so defeated. Three hours in a mall and nothing to show for it. I am upset that stores want girls to dress like ladies of the night.
I thought it was me. There are few things worse than having 10 stores make you feel fat. So, on to Target the next day. Ugh, same thing. Seriously, who are the stylists? I am not 18 and I'm not 100. What do 30 somethings wear?!
Then Ashley and I talked. She was having the same problem. She was just as frustrated as I was. She felt like she was in stores that were advertising dresses which no female could fit in. If you have the body of a dude, you could wear a dress this season. If you have the body of a woman, you're in trouble.
Ashley made me feel better. It wasn't just me. Bridget vouched for me. It wasn't just me. It's them. It's you, mr. Designer, Ms. Designer. Please, I beg of you. Make a variety of dresses.
Anyways, not my best post, but I'm rushing bc I want to watch Breaking Bad.
p.s. It's worth noting I've made some disaster choices in the fashion area, but I'm working on not doing that anymore. :)
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Meant to be
This post has almost nothing to do with weight loss, healthy eating or exercise. This post is about my teaching career, my opinions on the education system and why this week was one of the more challenging weeks of my life.
I graduated from Elon University in May, 2004. I double majored in Music Education and Music Performance, and I had known since high school that I wanted to teach band. College was great. Student teaching was great. I applied to schools in North Carolina and New Jersey, and had three potential jobs lined up for the following school year. At the time, I didn't realize how lucky I was to receive more than one job offer. The market hadn't really fallen, and it seemed that almost everyone got a job right away. So, I turned down the position of Admissions Counselor at Elon (I had been a tour guide, loved it and could/can brag about my school to anyone), and I accepted the job of band director at a middle school. Six classes a day, two per grade level, classes divided by instrument (brass & percussion, woodwinds). Cady had helped me pick out my first suit. Even though it was July in NC, I wore a black suit (skirt), lavender blouse, stockings, black heels and pearls. It's what I was taught to do. Plus, I feel powerful in pearls. :)
The interview went really well. The principal offered me the job on the spot, and I'm pretty sure my cooperating teacher from student teaching had something to do with that, as this was a school in his county. I saw the band room, and corny as it sounds, it looked magical to me. I think magic can happen in all classrooms, but the band room is where I'll lead comfortably . The tiers, the ugly grey carpet, the old wooden lockers. Oh, just gorgeous. I could do good things in this room.
I was so naive and stupid. I had no idea what I was getting into. I didn't know the program was a complete mess. I didn't know the director who had retired two years ago left it in shambles bc he didn't like the principal. (He did.) I didn't know how much the teacher who was in between us for one year struggled. (We talked on the phone and he said he drank a lot during that year.) I didn't know what "rough" kids were like. I thought all students listened in class. I was so, so very innocent.
I can quite confidently say that I had the worst first year of teaching in the history of teaching in the history of the world. Every class had at least 40 kids in it, and one class had 36 boys and 4 girls. Nothing was left for me in terms of lists, programs, anything. Jody, the orchestra teacher was my mentor. She was and is amazing. Without her, I wouldn't have made it through my first year, or any year. I simply didn't understand that in order to teach, you had to be a disciplinarian first.
I read a "Cup of Comfort for Teachers" the summer after that first year, and I couldn't wait to start year 2. I was coming back, guns blazing. I wrote a 10 page handbook, made all the kids AND their parents sign it, agreeing to my class rules. I was going to be a bitch. A smiling bitch, but a bitch.
Guess what? It worked. The program was cleaning up, and the kids that started with me in sixth grade were outplaying the older kids above them. Jody still helped me EVERY SINGLE DAY. I loved it. I liked going to work everyday, my concerts were improving, kids were happy, parents were happy, administrators were happy, and I knew I was in the right place. Middle schoolers are SO weird, and I laughed a lot. There was one big problem with this school though: it was five hours away from Mac. He offered to move down to NC, but I didn't want that. I loved my school, but I missed the opportunities bigger cities can offer, like diversity. Some of the kids called me "damn Yankee." And it's true, I missed the North. (I also didn't realize that some people still think the Civil War is happening.) Don't get me wrong; I loved the South. The sweet tea, barbeque, hush puppies, ranch on everything, strangers who smile and wave hello, the slower pace of life. I just missed it up here.
So, after four years of teaching in NC, up to MD I moved. Taught band and general music in a Catholic school for one year, and the kids and the teachers were amazing. A great community, but I'm a product of the public school system. There was one really big thing that was happening in some private schools that I didn't agree with, and I knew I had to leave. (Band directors are not paid by the schools, therefor the salary is not part of students' tuition. If students wanted to be in band, they had to pay an extra $700 per year, to be in the program. That was in addition to the cost of the instrument. Also, I was instructed to turn away kids whose parents were not current on their payments. I couldn't do that. I don't believe people should have to pay to be in band.) Again, loved the kids and loved the teachers. But I thought I could find a version of my old middle school from NC in MD.
I resigned from the Catholic school and applied all over. Turns out, the job market had changed. With five years of experience, I did not get hired anywhere. I was shocked. So, I subbed for a year in a county. I mostly subbed for music teachers, and I even subbed for Mac's old high school band director. Being a substitute teacher is VERY HUMBLING. Look, I don't regret it, but I don't want to do it again. That summer, Mac and I got married, and I sent out applications all over again. This time, someone bit.
I interviewed with the heads of the music department in PG County, and man, were these women something. The interview was extremely professional, I had to audition for them, and sing and teach a lesson of their choice on the spot. (Flute is my instrument, not voice, but I am certified to teach elementary music as well as band.) I couldn't believe when they called me to offer me a job teaching elementary/general music. Full time, but between two schools. Monday, Wed, Fri, one school. Tues, Thurs, every other Fri, another. A FULL TIME JOB?! WITH BENEFITS? EVERYDAY? IN MY FIELD? NO MORE SUBSTITUTING?! I'LL TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be honest, some people would never apply to this county. The county gets kind of a bad reputation, but it's not all true. I didn't know any better, and really, there are good and bad schools everywhere. And did I mention that I didn't want to sub again? Did I mention how grateful I was to receive a full time teaching position in my field? And besides, kids are kids. I don't care where they're from, they can all be great.
Those women I interviewed with occasionally observed me for the next couple of years. Two highly acclaimed former music teachers, I'm confident there are no better people in a central education office anywhere. They respond to emails and phone calls, they offer constructive criticism, and they're happy. They've taught some of my classes, and I couldn't soak up enough of their techniques. I don't think people understand how RARE it is to have a supervisor who has actually been in your shoes. Think about it... how many people in central offices even remember the classroom? These women do, and they're like legends in the county.
I like my kids, I like my schools, I like my job. But I miss teaching band. I miss teaching middle school. I miss the innocence of sixth grade middle school kids, the quirkiness of awkward seventh graders, and the egos of eighth graders, who are 13, but know everything. I miss kids with braces and gangly limbs. I miss kids who are just starting to learn who they are.
So, I put some feelers out into other counties, because, in my county, I can't transfer to instrumental music until I'm tenured. (One more year.) I figured, what's the harm? Well, I guess the job market is back a little bit, because I got an interview at a middle school in Silver Spring. I went this past Tuesday. It seemed meant to be.
The signs were all there. Middle school band. Diverse school. Interview in July, just like my very first interview. Black suit, black heels, stockings, an ivory blouse, hair pulled back, and my pearls. (I had lost one pearl stud FOUR years ago, cried, and found it the MORNING OF MY INTERVIEW.) "It's a Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt came on the radio, one of my favorite songs. Now we have two big signs: the pearls and the song. I got there early, reviewed my questions, and stepped out of my car into the sweltering heat that is Washington DC in the summer. It was 9:00 and the heat index was probably 1,000 degrees. I buttoned my jacket, straightened my skirt, applied lip gloss one last time, grabbed my beige Vera professional bag and walked on the sidewalk into the school. I was looking sharp. Mac had even approved my outfit, and he's a tough critic when it comes to professional attire.
Now for the third sign. (Hello, I'm Megan. I don't always walk well in heels.) On the sidewalk, I looked at the windows with the blinds closed. I was observing the school when something terrible happened. My heel caught in a crack on the sidewalk and I lost my balance. I couldn't regain it and I FELL DOWN ON MY KNEE, HANDS, AND LANDED ON MY BUM IN THE GRASS! $#@%!!!!!!!!!! Now, I'm in the grass, I'm confused and I said a bad word on school property. Good thing I'm headed for the principal's office. Get up you idiot before people wonder what your deal is. Checked the stockings, and they were ok. No bleeding anywhere. Dusted dead grass off of my suit, and found no stains. I cannot believe that this happened to me. I cannot believe that I finally get an interview for a middle school band position, and I effing fall down on the side walk outside of the school. This is so absurd, that maybe it's a sign. Like, maybe this is a school I could really be myself in. My clumsy, awkward, silly self.
Now, I'm sweating. Like, omg sweating, because I'm flustered. I finally make my way in, and the secretary tells me to have a seat. I keep checking for grass and I try to play it cool like I didn't just FALL DOWN GO BOOM. I wait patiently, and staff members make short, polite conversation with me, telling me how much I would love it here. I get called in.
Honestly, I think I nailed it. The principal already had my resume, and the staffing coordinator seemed pleased. They loved my band handbook and seemed to believe me when I said I could discipline middle schoolers. The interview went really well, and I left, almost forgetting about my tumble. What an awesome day so far. Now, on to baby-sitting for the rest of the day. And no more falling, dear God, no more falling. I made eye contact with the side walk on my way out, as if to say "Bite me."
Two hours later, I got an offer for the job. I was shocked. I couldn't believe it! It worked! My fall was the third sign! (I am still so ridiculous.) They liked me! How awesome it is to feel wanted?! They believed in me! I could lead a middle school band again! I'd be with an awesome age group, and we'd make bad, then ok, then good music! An hour later, I got a call for an interview at another middle school in Bethesda. OMG! I AM ON FIRE!!! I GET TO WEAR MY PEARLS AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok, now comes the part where my week gets challenging. I got the job offer, but I had not submitted my resignation to PG County. Most people would think, who cares? There's still at least a month until school starts, and that's more than the two weeks most companies require. Just resign. Not. So. Fast.
The grand state of Maryland has very specific rules. Non-tenured teachers must resign by May 1st. Tenured teachers must resign by July 15th. My interview was on July 16th. If you resign after these dates, you are released "with prejudice," your teaching license is suspended for 365 days, and no other county in the state is permitted to hire you. I was trapped. I was honest in my interview and told them that I hadn't resigned, because, well, I didn't want to gamble. I can't NOT teach. My interviewers said it would probably be fine. I was hopeful. I was scared. A year of middle school band, feeding into high schools that I know and subbed at. High schools that Mac, his brother and his cousins went to. I'd be sending the kids off to good programs.
I played phone tag with HR in my county. I pleaded, and explained that it wasn't about leaving the county. I wanted to teach middle school band, and I would have had to wait one more year to teach it in the county. I have a good teaching record. One of my principals called and advocated for me. On Wednesday, I got the phone call I was hoping not to get, that said I could resign, but that it would be with prejudice. I sighed, told the woman "thank you, but if that's the case then I will not be resigning" and I emailed my principals and supervisors, praying that I hadn't burned any bridges with my current bosses. It's not about them, or their schools, or their county. It's about the content. I WANT TO TEACH MIDDLE SCHOOL BAND. My principals all understand this, and I think my supervisors do too. Then, I called the principal who interviewed me. She was pretty disappointed, but not mad at me. She knows it's the state rule/law.
I finished baby-sitting, and I was lucky to have the kids to keep my mind from racing. I drove home in silence, walked in the front door and looked at Mac. I had texted him earlier and he was in shock. I burst into tears and sobbed. I couldn't believe that I was being held back. I know, I didn't follow the rules and resign in May, but aren't there exceptions? Why am I being punished? My principals are even ok with me leaving! I cried for a while. Mac told me to look in the fridge, where he had a note that said "Love you" on top of a tuna sub and crab rangoon. I sobbed harder. He brought me food to make me feel better, and now we have deliciously bad food in the house! Booooooooooooohooooooooooooooo!
Mac doesn't understand. Neither does my sister. Or my parents. Or some of my teacher friends. Or me. I don't understand. I mean, I do, but I'm mad and sad. So, it was good to get my crying out. That was a really important release for me. Then, I took a Xanax later in the week to slow my mind down and get some decent sleep. Hey, there are worse things I could have taken.
Here's where I am now: I have a full time job in my current elementary schools, teaching general music, which is in my field, and I have benefits. I like it. I love some days. I love kids. I'm so very grateful to have a job. This is one mother of a learning lesson and it was a very big pill to swallow. Do I wish I had resigned on May 1st, like the law states? No, because that would have been too big of a gamble for me to take. I couldn't risk NOT having a job. Plus, the job I was offered wasn't even open at that point. Do I wish I could be released without prejudice? Of course. Do I think it's all meant to be? Yes.
Here are my bottom lines: I got an interview, which is great for experience. I got a job offer, which is great for my confidence. It means someone was willing to trust me, and that perhaps, my resume is good. I got to dress in business formal attire, which I think is the way you're supposed to dress for an interview. (I have also had several debates on this topic, and if you want, feel free to debate me. I must warn you though, it's hard to argue with someone who is both Irish AND right. ;) ) I still have a job, and I still like my job. That last sentence, that's the most important one. I am so very blessed to be teaching, that I believe this was/is all meant to be.
p.s. A few short views on the education system:
1. I don't believe in tenure. If you are bad at your job, you should be fired. I had tenure in NC, and it didn't change the way I taught. It shouldn't. Teach well, and you have nothing to worry about.
2. Some days are tough. It's ok. Everyone has tough days and kids are unpredictable.
3. Be proud of what you do.
4. Be an appropriate example for children. Dress and act professionally.
5. I wish video cameras were in every classroom, because unfortunately, some teachers need to go. Certain stories have hit the news with teachers verbally abusing children, and that is 100% unacceptable.
6. Expect more out of kids than society does.
7. Be happy. Enjoy your job; you've got one of the best jobs in the world.
8. If you're not happy, please leave.
9. Encourage children.
10. Enjoy their innocence. It's awesome.
I graduated from Elon University in May, 2004. I double majored in Music Education and Music Performance, and I had known since high school that I wanted to teach band. College was great. Student teaching was great. I applied to schools in North Carolina and New Jersey, and had three potential jobs lined up for the following school year. At the time, I didn't realize how lucky I was to receive more than one job offer. The market hadn't really fallen, and it seemed that almost everyone got a job right away. So, I turned down the position of Admissions Counselor at Elon (I had been a tour guide, loved it and could/can brag about my school to anyone), and I accepted the job of band director at a middle school. Six classes a day, two per grade level, classes divided by instrument (brass & percussion, woodwinds). Cady had helped me pick out my first suit. Even though it was July in NC, I wore a black suit (skirt), lavender blouse, stockings, black heels and pearls. It's what I was taught to do. Plus, I feel powerful in pearls. :)
The interview went really well. The principal offered me the job on the spot, and I'm pretty sure my cooperating teacher from student teaching had something to do with that, as this was a school in his county. I saw the band room, and corny as it sounds, it looked magical to me. I think magic can happen in all classrooms, but the band room is where I'll lead comfortably . The tiers, the ugly grey carpet, the old wooden lockers. Oh, just gorgeous. I could do good things in this room.
I was so naive and stupid. I had no idea what I was getting into. I didn't know the program was a complete mess. I didn't know the director who had retired two years ago left it in shambles bc he didn't like the principal. (He did.) I didn't know how much the teacher who was in between us for one year struggled. (We talked on the phone and he said he drank a lot during that year.) I didn't know what "rough" kids were like. I thought all students listened in class. I was so, so very innocent.
I can quite confidently say that I had the worst first year of teaching in the history of teaching in the history of the world. Every class had at least 40 kids in it, and one class had 36 boys and 4 girls. Nothing was left for me in terms of lists, programs, anything. Jody, the orchestra teacher was my mentor. She was and is amazing. Without her, I wouldn't have made it through my first year, or any year. I simply didn't understand that in order to teach, you had to be a disciplinarian first.
I read a "Cup of Comfort for Teachers" the summer after that first year, and I couldn't wait to start year 2. I was coming back, guns blazing. I wrote a 10 page handbook, made all the kids AND their parents sign it, agreeing to my class rules. I was going to be a bitch. A smiling bitch, but a bitch.
Guess what? It worked. The program was cleaning up, and the kids that started with me in sixth grade were outplaying the older kids above them. Jody still helped me EVERY SINGLE DAY. I loved it. I liked going to work everyday, my concerts were improving, kids were happy, parents were happy, administrators were happy, and I knew I was in the right place. Middle schoolers are SO weird, and I laughed a lot. There was one big problem with this school though: it was five hours away from Mac. He offered to move down to NC, but I didn't want that. I loved my school, but I missed the opportunities bigger cities can offer, like diversity. Some of the kids called me "damn Yankee." And it's true, I missed the North. (I also didn't realize that some people still think the Civil War is happening.) Don't get me wrong; I loved the South. The sweet tea, barbeque, hush puppies, ranch on everything, strangers who smile and wave hello, the slower pace of life. I just missed it up here.
So, after four years of teaching in NC, up to MD I moved. Taught band and general music in a Catholic school for one year, and the kids and the teachers were amazing. A great community, but I'm a product of the public school system. There was one really big thing that was happening in some private schools that I didn't agree with, and I knew I had to leave. (Band directors are not paid by the schools, therefor the salary is not part of students' tuition. If students wanted to be in band, they had to pay an extra $700 per year, to be in the program. That was in addition to the cost of the instrument. Also, I was instructed to turn away kids whose parents were not current on their payments. I couldn't do that. I don't believe people should have to pay to be in band.) Again, loved the kids and loved the teachers. But I thought I could find a version of my old middle school from NC in MD.
I resigned from the Catholic school and applied all over. Turns out, the job market had changed. With five years of experience, I did not get hired anywhere. I was shocked. So, I subbed for a year in a county. I mostly subbed for music teachers, and I even subbed for Mac's old high school band director. Being a substitute teacher is VERY HUMBLING. Look, I don't regret it, but I don't want to do it again. That summer, Mac and I got married, and I sent out applications all over again. This time, someone bit.
I interviewed with the heads of the music department in PG County, and man, were these women something. The interview was extremely professional, I had to audition for them, and sing and teach a lesson of their choice on the spot. (Flute is my instrument, not voice, but I am certified to teach elementary music as well as band.) I couldn't believe when they called me to offer me a job teaching elementary/general music. Full time, but between two schools. Monday, Wed, Fri, one school. Tues, Thurs, every other Fri, another. A FULL TIME JOB?! WITH BENEFITS? EVERYDAY? IN MY FIELD? NO MORE SUBSTITUTING?! I'LL TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be honest, some people would never apply to this county. The county gets kind of a bad reputation, but it's not all true. I didn't know any better, and really, there are good and bad schools everywhere. And did I mention that I didn't want to sub again? Did I mention how grateful I was to receive a full time teaching position in my field? And besides, kids are kids. I don't care where they're from, they can all be great.
Those women I interviewed with occasionally observed me for the next couple of years. Two highly acclaimed former music teachers, I'm confident there are no better people in a central education office anywhere. They respond to emails and phone calls, they offer constructive criticism, and they're happy. They've taught some of my classes, and I couldn't soak up enough of their techniques. I don't think people understand how RARE it is to have a supervisor who has actually been in your shoes. Think about it... how many people in central offices even remember the classroom? These women do, and they're like legends in the county.
I like my kids, I like my schools, I like my job. But I miss teaching band. I miss teaching middle school. I miss the innocence of sixth grade middle school kids, the quirkiness of awkward seventh graders, and the egos of eighth graders, who are 13, but know everything. I miss kids with braces and gangly limbs. I miss kids who are just starting to learn who they are.
So, I put some feelers out into other counties, because, in my county, I can't transfer to instrumental music until I'm tenured. (One more year.) I figured, what's the harm? Well, I guess the job market is back a little bit, because I got an interview at a middle school in Silver Spring. I went this past Tuesday. It seemed meant to be.
The signs were all there. Middle school band. Diverse school. Interview in July, just like my very first interview. Black suit, black heels, stockings, an ivory blouse, hair pulled back, and my pearls. (I had lost one pearl stud FOUR years ago, cried, and found it the MORNING OF MY INTERVIEW.) "It's a Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt came on the radio, one of my favorite songs. Now we have two big signs: the pearls and the song. I got there early, reviewed my questions, and stepped out of my car into the sweltering heat that is Washington DC in the summer. It was 9:00 and the heat index was probably 1,000 degrees. I buttoned my jacket, straightened my skirt, applied lip gloss one last time, grabbed my beige Vera professional bag and walked on the sidewalk into the school. I was looking sharp. Mac had even approved my outfit, and he's a tough critic when it comes to professional attire.
Now for the third sign. (Hello, I'm Megan. I don't always walk well in heels.) On the sidewalk, I looked at the windows with the blinds closed. I was observing the school when something terrible happened. My heel caught in a crack on the sidewalk and I lost my balance. I couldn't regain it and I FELL DOWN ON MY KNEE, HANDS, AND LANDED ON MY BUM IN THE GRASS! $#@%!!!!!!!!!! Now, I'm in the grass, I'm confused and I said a bad word on school property. Good thing I'm headed for the principal's office. Get up you idiot before people wonder what your deal is. Checked the stockings, and they were ok. No bleeding anywhere. Dusted dead grass off of my suit, and found no stains. I cannot believe that this happened to me. I cannot believe that I finally get an interview for a middle school band position, and I effing fall down on the side walk outside of the school. This is so absurd, that maybe it's a sign. Like, maybe this is a school I could really be myself in. My clumsy, awkward, silly self.
Now, I'm sweating. Like, omg sweating, because I'm flustered. I finally make my way in, and the secretary tells me to have a seat. I keep checking for grass and I try to play it cool like I didn't just FALL DOWN GO BOOM. I wait patiently, and staff members make short, polite conversation with me, telling me how much I would love it here. I get called in.
Honestly, I think I nailed it. The principal already had my resume, and the staffing coordinator seemed pleased. They loved my band handbook and seemed to believe me when I said I could discipline middle schoolers. The interview went really well, and I left, almost forgetting about my tumble. What an awesome day so far. Now, on to baby-sitting for the rest of the day. And no more falling, dear God, no more falling. I made eye contact with the side walk on my way out, as if to say "Bite me."
Two hours later, I got an offer for the job. I was shocked. I couldn't believe it! It worked! My fall was the third sign! (I am still so ridiculous.) They liked me! How awesome it is to feel wanted?! They believed in me! I could lead a middle school band again! I'd be with an awesome age group, and we'd make bad, then ok, then good music! An hour later, I got a call for an interview at another middle school in Bethesda. OMG! I AM ON FIRE!!! I GET TO WEAR MY PEARLS AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok, now comes the part where my week gets challenging. I got the job offer, but I had not submitted my resignation to PG County. Most people would think, who cares? There's still at least a month until school starts, and that's more than the two weeks most companies require. Just resign. Not. So. Fast.
The grand state of Maryland has very specific rules. Non-tenured teachers must resign by May 1st. Tenured teachers must resign by July 15th. My interview was on July 16th. If you resign after these dates, you are released "with prejudice," your teaching license is suspended for 365 days, and no other county in the state is permitted to hire you. I was trapped. I was honest in my interview and told them that I hadn't resigned, because, well, I didn't want to gamble. I can't NOT teach. My interviewers said it would probably be fine. I was hopeful. I was scared. A year of middle school band, feeding into high schools that I know and subbed at. High schools that Mac, his brother and his cousins went to. I'd be sending the kids off to good programs.
I played phone tag with HR in my county. I pleaded, and explained that it wasn't about leaving the county. I wanted to teach middle school band, and I would have had to wait one more year to teach it in the county. I have a good teaching record. One of my principals called and advocated for me. On Wednesday, I got the phone call I was hoping not to get, that said I could resign, but that it would be with prejudice. I sighed, told the woman "thank you, but if that's the case then I will not be resigning" and I emailed my principals and supervisors, praying that I hadn't burned any bridges with my current bosses. It's not about them, or their schools, or their county. It's about the content. I WANT TO TEACH MIDDLE SCHOOL BAND. My principals all understand this, and I think my supervisors do too. Then, I called the principal who interviewed me. She was pretty disappointed, but not mad at me. She knows it's the state rule/law.
I finished baby-sitting, and I was lucky to have the kids to keep my mind from racing. I drove home in silence, walked in the front door and looked at Mac. I had texted him earlier and he was in shock. I burst into tears and sobbed. I couldn't believe that I was being held back. I know, I didn't follow the rules and resign in May, but aren't there exceptions? Why am I being punished? My principals are even ok with me leaving! I cried for a while. Mac told me to look in the fridge, where he had a note that said "Love you" on top of a tuna sub and crab rangoon. I sobbed harder. He brought me food to make me feel better, and now we have deliciously bad food in the house! Booooooooooooohooooooooooooooo!
Mac doesn't understand. Neither does my sister. Or my parents. Or some of my teacher friends. Or me. I don't understand. I mean, I do, but I'm mad and sad. So, it was good to get my crying out. That was a really important release for me. Then, I took a Xanax later in the week to slow my mind down and get some decent sleep. Hey, there are worse things I could have taken.
Here's where I am now: I have a full time job in my current elementary schools, teaching general music, which is in my field, and I have benefits. I like it. I love some days. I love kids. I'm so very grateful to have a job. This is one mother of a learning lesson and it was a very big pill to swallow. Do I wish I had resigned on May 1st, like the law states? No, because that would have been too big of a gamble for me to take. I couldn't risk NOT having a job. Plus, the job I was offered wasn't even open at that point. Do I wish I could be released without prejudice? Of course. Do I think it's all meant to be? Yes.
Here are my bottom lines: I got an interview, which is great for experience. I got a job offer, which is great for my confidence. It means someone was willing to trust me, and that perhaps, my resume is good. I got to dress in business formal attire, which I think is the way you're supposed to dress for an interview. (I have also had several debates on this topic, and if you want, feel free to debate me. I must warn you though, it's hard to argue with someone who is both Irish AND right. ;) ) I still have a job, and I still like my job. That last sentence, that's the most important one. I am so very blessed to be teaching, that I believe this was/is all meant to be.
p.s. A few short views on the education system:
1. I don't believe in tenure. If you are bad at your job, you should be fired. I had tenure in NC, and it didn't change the way I taught. It shouldn't. Teach well, and you have nothing to worry about.
2. Some days are tough. It's ok. Everyone has tough days and kids are unpredictable.
3. Be proud of what you do.
4. Be an appropriate example for children. Dress and act professionally.
5. I wish video cameras were in every classroom, because unfortunately, some teachers need to go. Certain stories have hit the news with teachers verbally abusing children, and that is 100% unacceptable.
6. Expect more out of kids than society does.
7. Be happy. Enjoy your job; you've got one of the best jobs in the world.
8. If you're not happy, please leave.
9. Encourage children.
10. Enjoy their innocence. It's awesome.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Why?
Well, I'm back from vacation, and vacation is always a good thing. Of all the things I can do, I vacation really well. And I tan really well. (With sunscreen.) I read, I eat, I drink, and I sweat from sitting on the beach. Now, I'll stop bragging.
Of all the things I don't do well, balancing my eating habits is at the top. So is regularly exercising. I reflect well, but I often reflect too late. So, I told Mac about an idea I had, because, let's face it: I need to keep trying things or do something.
I took three index cards and wrote "Why" on the front of them with a black Sharpie. Nice and bold. On the back of each card, I wrote suggestions or questions, like "Clean" or "Turn off the tv" or "Is this an emotional decision?". I really feel like I need to ask myself "Why" in the moments that I want food, or want to just slouch on the couch. I understand there are times for that, but not everyday. So, I told Mac I'm going to tape them in a couple key locations in our apartment. The #1 location is the mantle. I'll see that one the most, bc it's in the main room. The other two will be placed in the kitchen. I realize this may sound stupid, but I'm hoping if I can just reflect for a little bit and force myself to answer the tough questions, maybe I'll change, just a little bit.
One of the most important questions on the back of the cards is more personal than the others. "Is this what you promised on your anniversary?" Last night, Mac and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary, and while at dinner, we continued a little tradition we have. We discuss our favorite parts about the past year, and share our goals, as individuals and a couple for the next year. The goals can be big or small; it doesn't matter. So far, we've accomplished most of our goals each year. Our goals might seem small to other people (like when we got four matching kitchen chairs one year to replace the 3 random non-matching yellow ones), but they're important to us. Little by little, we're adding more grown up things to our apartment which we're hoping to place in a house soon.
So last night, as we were discussing our goals for this coming year, we each shared that we want to become healthier for ourselves and for the other person. We've said this before, but not on an anniversary. (Maybe that makes it more serious? Fingers crossed.) If we want to live long, happy and healthy lives, we should be more proactive than we are right now. If we want to look better for the other person, we should be more proactive. If we want to be happier as individuals, we should be more proactive.
So hopefully, with the help of three index cards, I'm going to be like that ridiculous toddler who asks "Why?" repeatedly.
p.s. I realize this may sound like the dumbest thing in the world. What chach needs to put index cards in their home to remind them of good behavior? This chach, apparently.
Of all the things I don't do well, balancing my eating habits is at the top. So is regularly exercising. I reflect well, but I often reflect too late. So, I told Mac about an idea I had, because, let's face it: I need to keep trying things or do something.
I took three index cards and wrote "Why" on the front of them with a black Sharpie. Nice and bold. On the back of each card, I wrote suggestions or questions, like "Clean" or "Turn off the tv" or "Is this an emotional decision?". I really feel like I need to ask myself "Why" in the moments that I want food, or want to just slouch on the couch. I understand there are times for that, but not everyday. So, I told Mac I'm going to tape them in a couple key locations in our apartment. The #1 location is the mantle. I'll see that one the most, bc it's in the main room. The other two will be placed in the kitchen. I realize this may sound stupid, but I'm hoping if I can just reflect for a little bit and force myself to answer the tough questions, maybe I'll change, just a little bit.
One of the most important questions on the back of the cards is more personal than the others. "Is this what you promised on your anniversary?" Last night, Mac and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary, and while at dinner, we continued a little tradition we have. We discuss our favorite parts about the past year, and share our goals, as individuals and a couple for the next year. The goals can be big or small; it doesn't matter. So far, we've accomplished most of our goals each year. Our goals might seem small to other people (like when we got four matching kitchen chairs one year to replace the 3 random non-matching yellow ones), but they're important to us. Little by little, we're adding more grown up things to our apartment which we're hoping to place in a house soon.
So last night, as we were discussing our goals for this coming year, we each shared that we want to become healthier for ourselves and for the other person. We've said this before, but not on an anniversary. (Maybe that makes it more serious? Fingers crossed.) If we want to live long, happy and healthy lives, we should be more proactive than we are right now. If we want to look better for the other person, we should be more proactive. If we want to be happier as individuals, we should be more proactive.
So hopefully, with the help of three index cards, I'm going to be like that ridiculous toddler who asks "Why?" repeatedly.
p.s. I realize this may sound like the dumbest thing in the world. What chach needs to put index cards in their home to remind them of good behavior? This chach, apparently.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
The Neighbor
Two out of five mornings this school year I would see a neighbor getting into his car, a van parked in the handicapped spot outside our apartment building. We live on opposite sides of the building, so it's not really appropriate to yell "HI!" at the stranger. Anyways, this man opens the sliding door on the side of the van and gets in as the driver. Next, a man in a wheelchair uses the ramp into the van and situates himself into the passenger spot. I have never seen the man in the wheelchair up close. I don't even think I've seen his face. Again, we're too far away from each other for a polite "Good morning!". I find myself wondering why he is in the wheelchair. Was he paralyzed at some point? Does he have some sort of a condition that affects him in more than just physical ways? Maybe he was born with Cerebral Palsy and has always lived his life in a wheelchair. Maybe he has arthritis and has trouble walking, so it's easier to use a wheelchair. I have no idea, but I found myself internalizing a lot more.
For whatever reason, this man is in a wheelchair. I certainly don't pity him, and I've heard that that's not what people want: pity. But here I am, fortunately gifted with an able body. And I don't always take care of it to the best of my ability. What if this man could walk... would he run? Would he treat his body as some sort of temple and really take care of it? Would he judge me if he knew how often I sat on the couch? Do I take my body for granted?
The answer is so obvious it's like a slap in the face. Yes, I take my body for granted. I don't mean to, it just happens. In the past week, I've tried to take advantage of my body's abilities. That's all I can do... try. Take advantage of my capabilities. I don't know if this all sounds self-involved; I certainly don't mean to. It's just that sometimes I see things and I want to do more. When I watch sports on tv, I want to play them. (Those stupid athletes make things look so easy.) On field day this year, watching over the hockey game between kids, I wanted to get in there and actually HIT THE BALL. When I've taught music to special ed kids, I wanted to keep them moving, because it clearly brought them so much joy. So yeah, when I see this neighbor in the wheelchair, it is thought-provoking to say the least.
Side note: check out this story... it's amazing. http://www.teamhoyt.com/
It's about a father and son who run marathons together. It's so awesome.
In case you're wondering, I'm totally NOT training for a marathon. I'm just DOING more physical activity. At least for a week. I should star this freaking post to remind myself on days when I don't feel like doing anything.
Here's what I've done this past week:
- Driving range
- Worked out a couple days at home with lunges, squats, sit ups, etc.
- Arm exercises using a full wine bottle :)
- Walked a few miles on a nearby trail
- Been to the pool a bunch. Finished "Inferno" and started "The Scarlet Pimpernel." Such a scholar. :)
- Got my ass kicked by Bridget at the gym
- Eaten a lot better, not perfect, but better
- Lost the five pounds I had shamefully gained. I got on the scale 3 times this morning to double check. I'm still confused.
And just so you know I'm not a completely changed person...
I met my friend Mary for happy hour at a Mexican bar. She drove, I had 3 margaritas and didn't realize how GOOFY I was until I got home. I face planted on the couch, and Mac insisted on me trying a "Burger Cookie" from Baltimore, a chocolate treat. He put a little piece in my mouth, I devoured it, and promptly fell asleep, face down. The next day, I noticed a spot on the couch, and if you know us, you know we're a little insane about our furniture. I leaned down, realized it was chocolate and almost screamed. I had obviously DROOLED part of the Burger Cookie out onto the couch. That's right. Epic fail.
For whatever reason, this man is in a wheelchair. I certainly don't pity him, and I've heard that that's not what people want: pity. But here I am, fortunately gifted with an able body. And I don't always take care of it to the best of my ability. What if this man could walk... would he run? Would he treat his body as some sort of temple and really take care of it? Would he judge me if he knew how often I sat on the couch? Do I take my body for granted?
The answer is so obvious it's like a slap in the face. Yes, I take my body for granted. I don't mean to, it just happens. In the past week, I've tried to take advantage of my body's abilities. That's all I can do... try. Take advantage of my capabilities. I don't know if this all sounds self-involved; I certainly don't mean to. It's just that sometimes I see things and I want to do more. When I watch sports on tv, I want to play them. (Those stupid athletes make things look so easy.) On field day this year, watching over the hockey game between kids, I wanted to get in there and actually HIT THE BALL. When I've taught music to special ed kids, I wanted to keep them moving, because it clearly brought them so much joy. So yeah, when I see this neighbor in the wheelchair, it is thought-provoking to say the least.
Side note: check out this story... it's amazing. http://www.teamhoyt.com/
It's about a father and son who run marathons together. It's so awesome.
In case you're wondering, I'm totally NOT training for a marathon. I'm just DOING more physical activity. At least for a week. I should star this freaking post to remind myself on days when I don't feel like doing anything.
Here's what I've done this past week:
- Driving range
- Worked out a couple days at home with lunges, squats, sit ups, etc.
- Arm exercises using a full wine bottle :)
- Walked a few miles on a nearby trail
- Been to the pool a bunch. Finished "Inferno" and started "The Scarlet Pimpernel." Such a scholar. :)
- Got my ass kicked by Bridget at the gym
- Eaten a lot better, not perfect, but better
- Lost the five pounds I had shamefully gained. I got on the scale 3 times this morning to double check. I'm still confused.
And just so you know I'm not a completely changed person...
I met my friend Mary for happy hour at a Mexican bar. She drove, I had 3 margaritas and didn't realize how GOOFY I was until I got home. I face planted on the couch, and Mac insisted on me trying a "Burger Cookie" from Baltimore, a chocolate treat. He put a little piece in my mouth, I devoured it, and promptly fell asleep, face down. The next day, I noticed a spot on the couch, and if you know us, you know we're a little insane about our furniture. I leaned down, realized it was chocolate and almost screamed. I had obviously DROOLED part of the Burger Cookie out onto the couch. That's right. Epic fail.
Monday, June 17, 2013
The Great Outdoors
Well things have been pretty stagnant for a little while. Especially my attitude and motivation. Until today.
I just got back from Colorado, where I spent time with Mac and 6 of our best friends. The 8 of us have been doing trips almost every summer together for a little while, and a few in between summers. I've known some of these kids for 12 years now, which is pretty amazing. What's also amazing is how they still seem to like me, because my sarcastic, bratty side has been revealed more than a few times. The older I get, the bitchier I get. It's also amazing that they still talk to me as if nothing has changed. Are they really blind to the fact that I've gained 1,000 pounds? Do they even remember the younger, thinner Megan? Or do I really come off as basically the same person? Sometimes, it's hard to tell.
In case you couldn't tell, I'm also a bit self-involved and paranoid about my appearance. A few weeks ago, I went out for Mexican with a few girlfriends. I looked straight at one of them and brought up the inevitable.
M: Is my blog like the white elephant in the room?
G: What?
M: I mean, here I am, writing this stupid blog for almost 2 stupid years, and we're drinking margaritas. Hypocrite.
G: Oh, no, I don't think that at all.
M: Yeah right. Everyone probably thinks, there goes Megan, talking about wanting to lose weight again, and here we are, dipping chips into queso. (Which, ironically, when I order it, the Mexican waiter always replies, "Cheese Dip?" Um ya, did I not say it right? I'm trying to help you out here buddy by using 1 of the 2 Spanish words I know.)
G: Well, I can tell you I'm not thinking at all about you because I'm thinking about myself.
M: Huh?
G: People won't focus on you because they're too concerned with themselves.
M: << Biggest sigh of relief ever. >>
I can't tell you how great that made me feel. I believe her, and now I try not to be as paranoid. At least not when I'm with other people. I'm still incredibly self-conscious when I see pictures of myself. Isn't everyone?
Anyways, back to Colorado and why my attitude has potentially changed. I'd never been that far west in this country, and I've got to say it was just beautiful. I am so fortunate that we got to go, and I'd never seen anything like it. The Rockies make the Appalachians look like rolling hills. (Turns out Kendra was right all those years. ;) )
The first full day there we decided to hike up to Emerald Lake in Estes Park, which is part of Rocky Mountain National Park. It's almost a 4 mile hike, and in my East coast mind, I thought, ok, this will take about 2 hours. Half hour per mile. HA. What an idiot. It took FOUR HOURS. (With stopping and visiting other lakes on the way.) The elevation is about 600 feet. Now, it goes without saying that I'm not in, um, tip-top shape. I also have asthma, but I only take my inhaler when I need it, and I never take it before I need it, because it jacks me up like a 5 year old on Christmas. I had to stop a bunch on the trail. I certainly wasn't the only one though. The altitude change, mixed with enough stairs for three lighthouses, plus snow led me to take my inhaler at probably not even half a mile into the hike. The worst part? The 60 year olds that were passing our group like IT WAS NOTHING. Excuse us, we Coloradans came prepared with boots and poles, and you out-of-towners are behaving like pansies. Bend your knees and effing walk through the snow. You're blocking the path. No joke, these people are pros and probably warmed up on this trail before flying out to the base of Everest and climbing it in 2 hours.
So, I've given you the worst part. The best part? Everything. It was just breathtaking. These pictures just can't do it justice. Go now and see this amazing part of the US.
You may wonder where the stairs are that I spoke of. Or, why am I telling you it was tough for me because the trail looks so flat? That's because when walking up a hill, a hundred stairs or through a slim section of snow/mud/tree roots, the last thing Mac wanted to hear was me going, "Stop! Let me get the camera out of the backpack!" Trust me, once I got momentum going to get through certain sections, I wasn't going to stop.
So, the whole reason for my current attitude change is the "outside bug" that bit me while out there. I have always loved being outside, but man, this was awesome. The fresh air, lack of technology and exercise were a perfect combination for pure happiness. I'm no tree-hugger, but I get it. Being outside, taking in fresh air is awesome. Exercise is awesome. And for me, lack of technology is awesome. (If you know me, you know how much I detest smart phones at times. I get their place in today's world, but a few years ago, when Mac and I upgraded phones, I thought about getting one. It was the best decision not to. I don't NEED a smart phone. My work doesn't demand it, and quite frankly, if I had one of those in my hands, I'd probably be ignoring everything else around me. I'm arrogant, but not too arrogant to realize that I couldn't multitask being on a device and interacting with a human being at the same time. And if you think you can multitask your smartphone and a conversation with me, I will politely tell you how wrong you are. And to everyone who excuses themselves to answer a call, text, etc. I appreciate it. :) I will be a terrible old fogie one day, because this is how brazen I am at 30. By the way, could you turn on your GPS? I just got lost. ;) )
So, now, I want to be outside. I came home so happy and so relaxed that I want to continue it over the summer. So, here's to staying outside as much as possible during the summer. Now, who wants to go kayaking in the Potomac, paddle-boating in the Tidal Basin or hiking in Virginia? I promise I won't throw your smartphone anywhere.
I just got back from Colorado, where I spent time with Mac and 6 of our best friends. The 8 of us have been doing trips almost every summer together for a little while, and a few in between summers. I've known some of these kids for 12 years now, which is pretty amazing. What's also amazing is how they still seem to like me, because my sarcastic, bratty side has been revealed more than a few times. The older I get, the bitchier I get. It's also amazing that they still talk to me as if nothing has changed. Are they really blind to the fact that I've gained 1,000 pounds? Do they even remember the younger, thinner Megan? Or do I really come off as basically the same person? Sometimes, it's hard to tell.
In case you couldn't tell, I'm also a bit self-involved and paranoid about my appearance. A few weeks ago, I went out for Mexican with a few girlfriends. I looked straight at one of them and brought up the inevitable.
M: Is my blog like the white elephant in the room?
G: What?
M: I mean, here I am, writing this stupid blog for almost 2 stupid years, and we're drinking margaritas. Hypocrite.
G: Oh, no, I don't think that at all.
M: Yeah right. Everyone probably thinks, there goes Megan, talking about wanting to lose weight again, and here we are, dipping chips into queso. (Which, ironically, when I order it, the Mexican waiter always replies, "Cheese Dip?" Um ya, did I not say it right? I'm trying to help you out here buddy by using 1 of the 2 Spanish words I know.)
G: Well, I can tell you I'm not thinking at all about you because I'm thinking about myself.
M: Huh?
G: People won't focus on you because they're too concerned with themselves.
M: << Biggest sigh of relief ever. >>
I can't tell you how great that made me feel. I believe her, and now I try not to be as paranoid. At least not when I'm with other people. I'm still incredibly self-conscious when I see pictures of myself. Isn't everyone?
Anyways, back to Colorado and why my attitude has potentially changed. I'd never been that far west in this country, and I've got to say it was just beautiful. I am so fortunate that we got to go, and I'd never seen anything like it. The Rockies make the Appalachians look like rolling hills. (Turns out Kendra was right all those years. ;) )
The first full day there we decided to hike up to Emerald Lake in Estes Park, which is part of Rocky Mountain National Park. It's almost a 4 mile hike, and in my East coast mind, I thought, ok, this will take about 2 hours. Half hour per mile. HA. What an idiot. It took FOUR HOURS. (With stopping and visiting other lakes on the way.) The elevation is about 600 feet. Now, it goes without saying that I'm not in, um, tip-top shape. I also have asthma, but I only take my inhaler when I need it, and I never take it before I need it, because it jacks me up like a 5 year old on Christmas. I had to stop a bunch on the trail. I certainly wasn't the only one though. The altitude change, mixed with enough stairs for three lighthouses, plus snow led me to take my inhaler at probably not even half a mile into the hike. The worst part? The 60 year olds that were passing our group like IT WAS NOTHING. Excuse us, we Coloradans came prepared with boots and poles, and you out-of-towners are behaving like pansies. Bend your knees and effing walk through the snow. You're blocking the path. No joke, these people are pros and probably warmed up on this trail before flying out to the base of Everest and climbing it in 2 hours.
So, I've given you the worst part. The best part? Everything. It was just breathtaking. These pictures just can't do it justice. Go now and see this amazing part of the US.
You may wonder where the stairs are that I spoke of. Or, why am I telling you it was tough for me because the trail looks so flat? That's because when walking up a hill, a hundred stairs or through a slim section of snow/mud/tree roots, the last thing Mac wanted to hear was me going, "Stop! Let me get the camera out of the backpack!" Trust me, once I got momentum going to get through certain sections, I wasn't going to stop.
So, the whole reason for my current attitude change is the "outside bug" that bit me while out there. I have always loved being outside, but man, this was awesome. The fresh air, lack of technology and exercise were a perfect combination for pure happiness. I'm no tree-hugger, but I get it. Being outside, taking in fresh air is awesome. Exercise is awesome. And for me, lack of technology is awesome. (If you know me, you know how much I detest smart phones at times. I get their place in today's world, but a few years ago, when Mac and I upgraded phones, I thought about getting one. It was the best decision not to. I don't NEED a smart phone. My work doesn't demand it, and quite frankly, if I had one of those in my hands, I'd probably be ignoring everything else around me. I'm arrogant, but not too arrogant to realize that I couldn't multitask being on a device and interacting with a human being at the same time. And if you think you can multitask your smartphone and a conversation with me, I will politely tell you how wrong you are. And to everyone who excuses themselves to answer a call, text, etc. I appreciate it. :) I will be a terrible old fogie one day, because this is how brazen I am at 30. By the way, could you turn on your GPS? I just got lost. ;) )
So, now, I want to be outside. I came home so happy and so relaxed that I want to continue it over the summer. So, here's to staying outside as much as possible during the summer. Now, who wants to go kayaking in the Potomac, paddle-boating in the Tidal Basin or hiking in Virginia? I promise I won't throw your smartphone anywhere.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Why is Abercrombie & Fitch in the news?
Well, nowadays, you can't say anything without offending someone. But, this guy, Mike Jeffries, the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch done offended A LOT OF PEOPLE. If you haven't heard of him, google him right now. Or read this article: http://www.businessinsider.com/abercrombie-wants-thin-customers-2013-5
Well, you know he's pissed off every other woman on the planet. Moms are outraged, teenagers are confused and people like myself, well, I am lucky I am comfortable with who I am, to an extent.
I shopped at Abercrombie in college. I bought size 8 jeans, and they were the most I'd ever spent on jeans. Maybe $40 or $50 a pair, and I wore them for all four years of college. Three different shades, same style. When I looked through the racks for my size, it never crossed my mind that I was sifting through the skinny sizes to get to mine. I just knew my size, and I went for it. That has never, ever bothered me. I was a size 2 for about 2 seconds, when I transitioned from The Limited Too to Gap. Again, these things did not bother me. Not then, not now.
After college, I stopped going in the store, probably because their stupid cologne seemed to attack me in the hallways of the mall, in a more offensive way than Yankee Candle. Even though I was only 22, I'm pretty sure I looked at their naked people posters and thought, wtf? Why are naked people selling clothes? That's more than backwards. I still wore the jeans I had though. Those were well worn in, and they still fit, so who cares?
I eventually accepted that I was more comfortable in a size 10, especially for teaching. That size just seemed more appropriate. Again, no big deal. I didn't start feeling upset about my weight until I was a 14/16. 12 didn't even bother me. You know what I'm grateful for though? My insecurities about my weight didn't occur until I was in a happy, stable relationship with Mac, I was a proud teacher, and I was pretty firm in my beliefs. So, at least I had a strong backbone to hold these hips up.
What if I was a teenager with weight issues and all my friends shopped at Abercrombie? What if I couldn't fit into their clothes, and every time we went to the mall, I just had to wait outside their dressing room while my skinny friends tried on clothes? Wouldn't that be awful?! I would be so hurt, confused and angry. I'd probably even resent my friends to an extent.
The thing is though, what he said about size doesn't bother me NEAR AS MUCH as what he said about "cool kids." He associates fit people with being cool and attractive. Let's be serious. We all know people who fit and break these molds. This is what bothers me... this quote right here:
“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he told the site. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."
I'm still shaking my head when I read that. What a douche canoe. Now, let me tell you some crazy valuable advice my mom gave me when I was younger.
Frannie used to talk about the "fast crowd" when Ashley and I were growing up. Nobody's names were ever mentioned, but we got the idea. Whenever Ashley or I wanted to be friends with someone who didn't really reciprocate, my mom would often bring up this idea of a "fast crowd." The fast crowd did everything before Ashley and I did. They stayed home by themselves, they got a phone in their room, a tv in their room, they had a later curfew and they were always picked first for kickball. They were the first to kiss boys, they smoked cigarettes earlier than everyone, and they were allowed to drink underage in their parents' presence. Now, by no means were Ashley and I angels. But, for the most part, we were pretty good kids. Because it was preached to us, over and over, that we don't want to be part of the "fast crowd." Those kids might not go to college, they might not have successful careers, they might look like they've been around the block a few times by the time we were 18 (Dad's line).
So, Ash and I did the best we could. And you know what? Turns out, Mom and Dad were right. Shocking. Some of those kids who were in the fast crowd didn't do so well. Most of the kids who weren't in the fast crowd... they did pretty well. Ironically, the kids who stayed after school and did activities, like band, softball, cheerleading, swimming, yearbook, RAK... I can't think of too many who veered off the path of "decency." But the kids who lingered in the parking lot and went home where there were no parents... I can't answer for them.
Lastly, I was working one summer for a neighbor. Her son, who I'd grown up with since elementary school, came in one afternoon and we started talking. I had just finished my freshman year of college, and we are the same age. He did not go away to school. (I'm not sure what reason; I'm sure he could have gone wherever he wanted to.) Anyways, he asked how Elon was treating me, and I was obviously glowing. College fit me like a glove. I absolutely loved it. When I asked him about his year, he didn't have the same look on his face. He told me his year was ok, but a lot of his friends stayed in town, and it was really boring. I think he wished he had gone away. He told me I was smart to have gone away. Now, this kid was part of the "fast crowd," but always so nice, always. I don't know what he's up to now, but I bet he is successful. He's just too good of a person not to be. But I bet it shocked him to see so many of his friends quickly go from the top of the food chain to the bottom.
ANYWAYS, the reason I've rambled. I may be overweight. I might be "uncool." (Please, as if.) As a person who went to band camp, I probably never should have walked into Abercrombie and Fitch. It appears this douche, Mike Jeffries wants the fast crowd to shop at his store. And you know what... I'm proud to not be a part of that.
And p.s. to any young girls from Wexford who I used to babysit.. you're beautiful. You always have been, you are now, and you always will be. Don't let some douchebag like this, or any other douchebag, get under your skin. You're cool in my book.
Well, you know he's pissed off every other woman on the planet. Moms are outraged, teenagers are confused and people like myself, well, I am lucky I am comfortable with who I am, to an extent.
I shopped at Abercrombie in college. I bought size 8 jeans, and they were the most I'd ever spent on jeans. Maybe $40 or $50 a pair, and I wore them for all four years of college. Three different shades, same style. When I looked through the racks for my size, it never crossed my mind that I was sifting through the skinny sizes to get to mine. I just knew my size, and I went for it. That has never, ever bothered me. I was a size 2 for about 2 seconds, when I transitioned from The Limited Too to Gap. Again, these things did not bother me. Not then, not now.
After college, I stopped going in the store, probably because their stupid cologne seemed to attack me in the hallways of the mall, in a more offensive way than Yankee Candle. Even though I was only 22, I'm pretty sure I looked at their naked people posters and thought, wtf? Why are naked people selling clothes? That's more than backwards. I still wore the jeans I had though. Those were well worn in, and they still fit, so who cares?
I eventually accepted that I was more comfortable in a size 10, especially for teaching. That size just seemed more appropriate. Again, no big deal. I didn't start feeling upset about my weight until I was a 14/16. 12 didn't even bother me. You know what I'm grateful for though? My insecurities about my weight didn't occur until I was in a happy, stable relationship with Mac, I was a proud teacher, and I was pretty firm in my beliefs. So, at least I had a strong backbone to hold these hips up.
What if I was a teenager with weight issues and all my friends shopped at Abercrombie? What if I couldn't fit into their clothes, and every time we went to the mall, I just had to wait outside their dressing room while my skinny friends tried on clothes? Wouldn't that be awful?! I would be so hurt, confused and angry. I'd probably even resent my friends to an extent.
The thing is though, what he said about size doesn't bother me NEAR AS MUCH as what he said about "cool kids." He associates fit people with being cool and attractive. Let's be serious. We all know people who fit and break these molds. This is what bothers me... this quote right here:
“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he told the site. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."
I'm still shaking my head when I read that. What a douche canoe. Now, let me tell you some crazy valuable advice my mom gave me when I was younger.
Frannie used to talk about the "fast crowd" when Ashley and I were growing up. Nobody's names were ever mentioned, but we got the idea. Whenever Ashley or I wanted to be friends with someone who didn't really reciprocate, my mom would often bring up this idea of a "fast crowd." The fast crowd did everything before Ashley and I did. They stayed home by themselves, they got a phone in their room, a tv in their room, they had a later curfew and they were always picked first for kickball. They were the first to kiss boys, they smoked cigarettes earlier than everyone, and they were allowed to drink underage in their parents' presence. Now, by no means were Ashley and I angels. But, for the most part, we were pretty good kids. Because it was preached to us, over and over, that we don't want to be part of the "fast crowd." Those kids might not go to college, they might not have successful careers, they might look like they've been around the block a few times by the time we were 18 (Dad's line).
So, Ash and I did the best we could. And you know what? Turns out, Mom and Dad were right. Shocking. Some of those kids who were in the fast crowd didn't do so well. Most of the kids who weren't in the fast crowd... they did pretty well. Ironically, the kids who stayed after school and did activities, like band, softball, cheerleading, swimming, yearbook, RAK... I can't think of too many who veered off the path of "decency." But the kids who lingered in the parking lot and went home where there were no parents... I can't answer for them.
Lastly, I was working one summer for a neighbor. Her son, who I'd grown up with since elementary school, came in one afternoon and we started talking. I had just finished my freshman year of college, and we are the same age. He did not go away to school. (I'm not sure what reason; I'm sure he could have gone wherever he wanted to.) Anyways, he asked how Elon was treating me, and I was obviously glowing. College fit me like a glove. I absolutely loved it. When I asked him about his year, he didn't have the same look on his face. He told me his year was ok, but a lot of his friends stayed in town, and it was really boring. I think he wished he had gone away. He told me I was smart to have gone away. Now, this kid was part of the "fast crowd," but always so nice, always. I don't know what he's up to now, but I bet he is successful. He's just too good of a person not to be. But I bet it shocked him to see so many of his friends quickly go from the top of the food chain to the bottom.
ANYWAYS, the reason I've rambled. I may be overweight. I might be "uncool." (Please, as if.) As a person who went to band camp, I probably never should have walked into Abercrombie and Fitch. It appears this douche, Mike Jeffries wants the fast crowd to shop at his store. And you know what... I'm proud to not be a part of that.
And p.s. to any young girls from Wexford who I used to babysit.. you're beautiful. You always have been, you are now, and you always will be. Don't let some douchebag like this, or any other douchebag, get under your skin. You're cool in my book.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Like father, like daughter
I've thought about a lot of things to write, but it seemed so silly to write when I actually have nothing to update. I mean, I'm trying, but obviously not hard enough. I've gone walking, done exercise videos and hit balls at the driving range. I eat everything I should eat during the day, as far as food categories. Protein, veggies, fruits, etc. My problem is, and probably always has been snacking. I don't have just one reason for snacking... I do it for all sorts of reasons... food tastes good, I'm bored, I'm watching tv, it's in the house, emotional eating, etc. I still have every excuse in the book.
Snacking isn't genetic, but let me tell a "like father, like daughter" story.
I love my dad so much. He is a snacker. He has a technique for eating a dozen donuts in one day. He talks about sweets and pastries so much that when friends fly down from NJ, they bring sticky buns from McMillan's bakery. Seriously. When he comes up to visit us any time, he wants me to get the sugar cookies from Shoppers that have the cherries in the middle. He's pretty specific.
So, a few weeks ago, we're on the phone, my dad and I. He's asking me what's new, and I'm trying to tell him about things that he'll appreciate. He doesn't want to hear about what I wore, etc. I talk to him about dad stuff, like what kind of lawn mower Mac and I should buy, how I did ok at the driving range or what the weather's like. So, we're on the phone, and I'm tailoring my stories to him, and he just keeps saying "uh huh, uh huh, yeah, right." Dude, I know what that means. But I let it slide. Keep talking. Finish my stories, and I say, "Well that's about it, Dad." He replied, "Listen, Megan, I'm about to eat a donut, could you keep talking for a little bit?" Oof. So I keep babbling. When I tell him I've got nothing else to say, he starts to ask me about my father-in-law's neighborhood. "You know Dave's house?" Yes. "You know the stores behind that development?" Yes Dad, I lived there for two years. "Listen, is that bakery behind Dave's house there any good?" Argh. Talking to my dad that day was a lost cause. Eventually, he goes out into the garage for a cigarette and my mom gets on the phone. Before she can even get going, I tell her I feel like Dad is not listening to me when we talk on the phone, and she confirmed it. He wasn't listening to me. She told me he was distracted, because HE WAS LOOKING FOR THE DONUT and needed her help finding it. Sigh. Then she told me I better not bring him down any treats from that bakery for Easter. His love for pastries is out of control, and I am not to feed the habit. Ok. But this whole thing? This wouldn't be the last time this happened.
A few days later Dad and I are chatting it up again, and we're talking about me coming down for Easter. Decent conversation. Mom gets on the phone; she and I talk for a little bit. We're getting ready to hang up, and she says my dad forgot to tell me something. My ears perk up... this never happens. Would he talk to me about sports? His golf game? The boat? My car? Mac? "Hey Megan, listen, you remember those coconut cream eggs we used to get at Bayards Chocolate House for Easter? Yeah, they don't sell them in South Carolina, so could you look around up there for some?"
Drats. More food talk. As if I need a coconut cream easter egg with me during an 8 hour drive. I'm a SNACKER Dad. Just like you. Except your metabolism works a little differently than mine. Ahem. A lot differently. As in, I'd be 400 pounds if I ate like you do. But I still love you. :)
Snacking isn't genetic, but let me tell a "like father, like daughter" story.
I love my dad so much. He is a snacker. He has a technique for eating a dozen donuts in one day. He talks about sweets and pastries so much that when friends fly down from NJ, they bring sticky buns from McMillan's bakery. Seriously. When he comes up to visit us any time, he wants me to get the sugar cookies from Shoppers that have the cherries in the middle. He's pretty specific.
So, a few weeks ago, we're on the phone, my dad and I. He's asking me what's new, and I'm trying to tell him about things that he'll appreciate. He doesn't want to hear about what I wore, etc. I talk to him about dad stuff, like what kind of lawn mower Mac and I should buy, how I did ok at the driving range or what the weather's like. So, we're on the phone, and I'm tailoring my stories to him, and he just keeps saying "uh huh, uh huh, yeah, right." Dude, I know what that means. But I let it slide. Keep talking. Finish my stories, and I say, "Well that's about it, Dad." He replied, "Listen, Megan, I'm about to eat a donut, could you keep talking for a little bit?" Oof. So I keep babbling. When I tell him I've got nothing else to say, he starts to ask me about my father-in-law's neighborhood. "You know Dave's house?" Yes. "You know the stores behind that development?" Yes Dad, I lived there for two years. "Listen, is that bakery behind Dave's house there any good?" Argh. Talking to my dad that day was a lost cause. Eventually, he goes out into the garage for a cigarette and my mom gets on the phone. Before she can even get going, I tell her I feel like Dad is not listening to me when we talk on the phone, and she confirmed it. He wasn't listening to me. She told me he was distracted, because HE WAS LOOKING FOR THE DONUT and needed her help finding it. Sigh. Then she told me I better not bring him down any treats from that bakery for Easter. His love for pastries is out of control, and I am not to feed the habit. Ok. But this whole thing? This wouldn't be the last time this happened.
A few days later Dad and I are chatting it up again, and we're talking about me coming down for Easter. Decent conversation. Mom gets on the phone; she and I talk for a little bit. We're getting ready to hang up, and she says my dad forgot to tell me something. My ears perk up... this never happens. Would he talk to me about sports? His golf game? The boat? My car? Mac? "Hey Megan, listen, you remember those coconut cream eggs we used to get at Bayards Chocolate House for Easter? Yeah, they don't sell them in South Carolina, so could you look around up there for some?"
Drats. More food talk. As if I need a coconut cream easter egg with me during an 8 hour drive. I'm a SNACKER Dad. Just like you. Except your metabolism works a little differently than mine. Ahem. A lot differently. As in, I'd be 400 pounds if I ate like you do. But I still love you. :)
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The pocket test and the Easter dress
Well, I officially lost two pounds at my school's biggest loser challenge, although my scale stays the same. I also shattered someone's dream when I told her that the results weren't real. The nurse told me I lost 4 pounds, which would be great, if she hadn't had us all weigh with our shoes on the first time. So I took off my Danskos, which I had worn the first day, and they weighed 2 pounds. Ergo, I only lost two pounds. Well, this poor other teacher weighed her shoes, and discovered she had only lost 7 pounds instead of 9. I sure did burst her bubble. Oops.
Anyways, the pocket test.
There are at least two males (who shall remain nameless for protection) who created a "pocket test" almost ten years ago. According to one of the guys though, he alone came up with it while standing in line at a sandwich shop in college. The pocket test is a non-verbal test on how back pockets fit a girl's derriere.
Here is how you pass the test:
- Jeans are preferred. Test will not work as well with dress pants or khakis.
- Jeans should always have back pockets.
- Jeans should not be bedazzled.
- No faux, half or tiny pockets. A hand should be able to fit down into the pocket.
- Size of derriere doesn't necessarily matter, but how it is shaped does.
- A "shelf" of some sort is preferred.
- Entire pocket should fit on the cheek. No sagging.
- Typically, the bottom of the pocket will be at the bottom of the cheek.
- Do not have a flat bottom. You will fail if you have a flat bottom.
Here is your quiz... which of these pictures passes the test?
A
B
C
D
The answer is......................
D.
Next, the Easter dress. Sometimes fitting into clothes one year after I've worn them feels like a victory for me, since I had so many years of just gaining weight. So for Easter, I am wearing the same dress I wore last year, and I am actually very excited about it. Success, if you will.
Happy Easter and dear bunny, please bring spring!
p.s. You have no idea how many bad images I had to sift through on google before selecting those four options.
Anyways, the pocket test.
There are at least two males (who shall remain nameless for protection) who created a "pocket test" almost ten years ago. According to one of the guys though, he alone came up with it while standing in line at a sandwich shop in college. The pocket test is a non-verbal test on how back pockets fit a girl's derriere.
Here is how you pass the test:
- Jeans are preferred. Test will not work as well with dress pants or khakis.
- Jeans should always have back pockets.
- Jeans should not be bedazzled.
- No faux, half or tiny pockets. A hand should be able to fit down into the pocket.
- Size of derriere doesn't necessarily matter, but how it is shaped does.
- A "shelf" of some sort is preferred.
- Entire pocket should fit on the cheek. No sagging.
- Typically, the bottom of the pocket will be at the bottom of the cheek.
- Do not have a flat bottom. You will fail if you have a flat bottom.
Here is your quiz... which of these pictures passes the test?
A
B
C
D
The answer is......................
D.
Next, the Easter dress. Sometimes fitting into clothes one year after I've worn them feels like a victory for me, since I had so many years of just gaining weight. So for Easter, I am wearing the same dress I wore last year, and I am actually very excited about it. Success, if you will.
Happy Easter and dear bunny, please bring spring!
p.s. You have no idea how many bad images I had to sift through on google before selecting those four options.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Random
I am somewhat random. Scatterbrained. I bring up things at awkward moments, I disclaim and justify EVERYTHING, and I often have very quirky thoughts running through my head. (re: nesting doll bridesmaid reference a few posts ago)
So this post will contain some more of my random thoughts pertaining to my insulation.
1. If we lived in olden times, I'd be considered wealthy, and all those skinny bitches would be considered poor. ;)
2. The "waif" look of 90s models (and some current ones) scares me, and it's hard for me to look at them. I wonder if it's hard for them to look at me.
3. The other night I walked into REI. When I'm in there, I envision myself as a tree-hugging cyclist who likes to camp, hike, run, kayak and swim. I always leave inspired to do all those things at ONE time.
4. The huge problem with walking into REI is that it is next to the Chinese restaurant, and I had fifteen minutes to waste until my crab rangoon was ready. Huge fail. I should have thrown out the crab rangoon and bought a pair of hiking boots, a backpack and a tent.
5. I miss swimming a lot.
6. I've had a couple people ask me to do 5Ks between now and summer. I'm kind of excited, but a little intimidated too.
7. I am "hippy." During my first year of teaching I was teaching a 7th grade class how to mark time, which means marching in place. We were prepping for the Christmas parade. One girl, in all seriousness, asked me if when they marched, should their hips swing back and forth like mine? I told her no, but just wait. One day they would.
8. I can still touch my toes, which I credit to doing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with little kids.
9. When I walk in heels, I scare myself and anyone around me. To say I'm a "heavy walker" is putting it nicely. I walk like a damn elephant.
10. My dad is an excellent golf coach. He is very patient, and he explains everything really well. Several years ago, we were at the driving range (one of my favorite places), and he kept telling me I was "lifting up." No shit, I missed the ball. Of course I lifted up. He had me move closer to the ball (I was learning with my new clubs, and I had originally practiced with his, which were too tall, but they were better than Frannie's, which are seriously cut down). I moved closer. I had a lot of trouble keeping my arms straight. He kept telling me, "Megan, you've got to straighten your arms." I kept telling him I couldn't. We went back and forth for a few minutes before I flipped, yelling, "I can't straighten my arms anymore, Dad! My chest is in the way!" He walked away and smoked a cigarette.
11. I keep fighting with the same three pounds and it's pissing me off. :)
So this post will contain some more of my random thoughts pertaining to my insulation.
1. If we lived in olden times, I'd be considered wealthy, and all those skinny bitches would be considered poor. ;)
2. The "waif" look of 90s models (and some current ones) scares me, and it's hard for me to look at them. I wonder if it's hard for them to look at me.
3. The other night I walked into REI. When I'm in there, I envision myself as a tree-hugging cyclist who likes to camp, hike, run, kayak and swim. I always leave inspired to do all those things at ONE time.
4. The huge problem with walking into REI is that it is next to the Chinese restaurant, and I had fifteen minutes to waste until my crab rangoon was ready. Huge fail. I should have thrown out the crab rangoon and bought a pair of hiking boots, a backpack and a tent.
5. I miss swimming a lot.
6. I've had a couple people ask me to do 5Ks between now and summer. I'm kind of excited, but a little intimidated too.
7. I am "hippy." During my first year of teaching I was teaching a 7th grade class how to mark time, which means marching in place. We were prepping for the Christmas parade. One girl, in all seriousness, asked me if when they marched, should their hips swing back and forth like mine? I told her no, but just wait. One day they would.
8. I can still touch my toes, which I credit to doing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with little kids.
9. When I walk in heels, I scare myself and anyone around me. To say I'm a "heavy walker" is putting it nicely. I walk like a damn elephant.
10. My dad is an excellent golf coach. He is very patient, and he explains everything really well. Several years ago, we were at the driving range (one of my favorite places), and he kept telling me I was "lifting up." No shit, I missed the ball. Of course I lifted up. He had me move closer to the ball (I was learning with my new clubs, and I had originally practiced with his, which were too tall, but they were better than Frannie's, which are seriously cut down). I moved closer. I had a lot of trouble keeping my arms straight. He kept telling me, "Megan, you've got to straighten your arms." I kept telling him I couldn't. We went back and forth for a few minutes before I flipped, yelling, "I can't straighten my arms anymore, Dad! My chest is in the way!" He walked away and smoked a cigarette.
11. I keep fighting with the same three pounds and it's pissing me off. :)
Saturday, February 23, 2013
When boys should be quiet.
Oh, this is a touchy post to write. I actually asked Mac's permission to write it, since he is a big part of it, and I want to respect him. Usually if I do a post about someone else, I'll ask their permission. It just seems appropriate.
Speaking of appropriate, if you read this, consider it a lesson of what NOT TO SAY to a female.
Last Saturday, Mac and I were at the mall, exchanging a few items. I went into VS to replace a bra, and while I was in there, I decided to look for some skivvies. (I'm totally blushing as I write this.) Well, VS is a great place for people of all sizes on top. Everything from a 32AA to a 40DDD they seem to have. The bottom half of a female... not so much. Not to mention... I've taken a pole. 5/5 women say VS's underwear runs small. Ok, no big deal. Go a size up. Except they basically stop at a large for the bottom. Basically, they're saying that you can be Dolly Parton. Um, most people aren't shaped like that. And I was already a little frustrated, as I kept seeing thongs that were "one size fits all." Seriously? I don't buy that, for ONE SECOND. Scarves can be one size fits all. Not thongs.
So I go meet Mac as he's coming out of Gamestop, where he was trading games in. I tell him about this, and say that it's just a little frustrating for me, because I actually think I'm somewhat proportioned. Not desirable proportions, but they're kind of even. Well, Mac, being the helpful husband that he is, decided to be, um, helpful.
Mac: Why don't you try shopping at like, Lane Bryant or something?
Megan; Jaw drops.
**Uncomfortable silence, but Mac doesn't know it's uncomfortable.**
Megan: Um, no. I don't really think I need to shop there. That's a store for bigger women, and I'm not quite there, I don't think.
Mac: Oh, look, I just think their models are really hot.
Megan: Then why do you have a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar hanging in the laundry room instead of a Lane Bryant catalog?
Mac: They're just meatier, and that's sexy!
Megan: Mac, those models are a size 8, that's considered a plus size model, which is bs. Again, I do not think I need to shop there. VS should have a bottom that can "match" the top.
Mac: Well, where does Kim Kardashian shop for underwear?
**I am thinking where the @!@#%#@%#@$^#$% are you going with this?**
Megan: Excuse me? (Mac is petrified of these two words, he knows it means trouble.)
Mac: Well, she has a sizely ass, so where does she get her underwear?
Megan: Please do not compare me to Kim Kardashian. Her curves from the front are good, but she's not proportionate.
Mac: Well, isn't she like a super model?
Megan: Um, no. She is trashy.
Mac: Oh, well can I say Jlo?
Megan: Yes, JLo and Beyonce are always acceptable.
The rest is a little bit of a blur. We left the mall, where may I remind you that I did NOT create a scene, and went home. I was pretty quiet, which men should know... women are always scariest when they're quiet. Quiet is NOT GOOD. Naturally, to beat a dead horse, I had to try to explain to Mac how he unknowingly insulted me. He just didn't understand, and kept thinking that Lane Bryant is comparable to Casual Male Big and Tall. Allow me to tell you, it is not. I wasn't necessarily mad at him, I was just kind of shocked. Again, unknowingly, he didn't realize the damage he'd done.
I've since told other females about this, and fortunately, most of them backed me up with their reactions. I don't think they were lying just to make me feel good either. They were genuinely shocked that a) Mac suggested this, b) I didn't strike him and c) I didn't run away crying.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with shopping at Lane Bryant. They have lots of clothes, and allow women who have fuller figures to dress professionally. Their models are gorgeous. Nothing wrong with the store, at ALL. I just do not want to shop there, and it is a very, very personal opinion. The biggest problem I have with this whole situation, is that Mac didn't just suggest I go up a size, he suggested I go up a STORE. And trust me, boys: Girls never want to go up a size. Even a girl who's a size 2 may not want to buy a size 4. So, please don't even suggest going up a size. We don't want to hear that nonsense.
I feel like if I went to Lane Bryant it would be admitting defeat. It would be me giving up on the clothes in my closet, the clothes from my favorite stores (Gap, Banana, Loft and Target), and I'd be giving IN to buying bigger clothes. I am technically not a big boned person. I'm not tall. I'm just overweight. While that's bad, it hasn't stopped me from shopping at my favorite stores. And I don't want to give up on my favorite stores, or the sizes I'd like to be.
** I proofread this aloud to Mac, as he's afraid of how his character will look. He interrupted a couple of times, defending himself. I told him to please be quiet. Men: Should you find yourself in such a situation, please be quiet.
** My weight was the same on Friday, but when I went to weigh in with the school nurse for our biggest loser competition, she told me I had lost a pound and a half. Alrighty then.
** My sincerest apologies if I have offended anyone with this post. It was hard for me to write, as it's such a touchy subject. All of the statements in it are my opinions, not judgments.
Speaking of appropriate, if you read this, consider it a lesson of what NOT TO SAY to a female.
Last Saturday, Mac and I were at the mall, exchanging a few items. I went into VS to replace a bra, and while I was in there, I decided to look for some skivvies. (I'm totally blushing as I write this.) Well, VS is a great place for people of all sizes on top. Everything from a 32AA to a 40DDD they seem to have. The bottom half of a female... not so much. Not to mention... I've taken a pole. 5/5 women say VS's underwear runs small. Ok, no big deal. Go a size up. Except they basically stop at a large for the bottom. Basically, they're saying that you can be Dolly Parton. Um, most people aren't shaped like that. And I was already a little frustrated, as I kept seeing thongs that were "one size fits all." Seriously? I don't buy that, for ONE SECOND. Scarves can be one size fits all. Not thongs.
So I go meet Mac as he's coming out of Gamestop, where he was trading games in. I tell him about this, and say that it's just a little frustrating for me, because I actually think I'm somewhat proportioned. Not desirable proportions, but they're kind of even. Well, Mac, being the helpful husband that he is, decided to be, um, helpful.
Mac: Why don't you try shopping at like, Lane Bryant or something?
Megan; Jaw drops.
**Uncomfortable silence, but Mac doesn't know it's uncomfortable.**
Megan: Um, no. I don't really think I need to shop there. That's a store for bigger women, and I'm not quite there, I don't think.
Mac: Oh, look, I just think their models are really hot.
Megan: Then why do you have a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar hanging in the laundry room instead of a Lane Bryant catalog?
Mac: They're just meatier, and that's sexy!
Megan: Mac, those models are a size 8, that's considered a plus size model, which is bs. Again, I do not think I need to shop there. VS should have a bottom that can "match" the top.
Mac: Well, where does Kim Kardashian shop for underwear?
**I am thinking where the @!@#%#@%#@$^#$% are you going with this?**
Megan: Excuse me? (Mac is petrified of these two words, he knows it means trouble.)
Mac: Well, she has a sizely ass, so where does she get her underwear?
Megan: Please do not compare me to Kim Kardashian. Her curves from the front are good, but she's not proportionate.
Mac: Well, isn't she like a super model?
Megan: Um, no. She is trashy.
Mac: Oh, well can I say Jlo?
Megan: Yes, JLo and Beyonce are always acceptable.
The rest is a little bit of a blur. We left the mall, where may I remind you that I did NOT create a scene, and went home. I was pretty quiet, which men should know... women are always scariest when they're quiet. Quiet is NOT GOOD. Naturally, to beat a dead horse, I had to try to explain to Mac how he unknowingly insulted me. He just didn't understand, and kept thinking that Lane Bryant is comparable to Casual Male Big and Tall. Allow me to tell you, it is not. I wasn't necessarily mad at him, I was just kind of shocked. Again, unknowingly, he didn't realize the damage he'd done.
I've since told other females about this, and fortunately, most of them backed me up with their reactions. I don't think they were lying just to make me feel good either. They were genuinely shocked that a) Mac suggested this, b) I didn't strike him and c) I didn't run away crying.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with shopping at Lane Bryant. They have lots of clothes, and allow women who have fuller figures to dress professionally. Their models are gorgeous. Nothing wrong with the store, at ALL. I just do not want to shop there, and it is a very, very personal opinion. The biggest problem I have with this whole situation, is that Mac didn't just suggest I go up a size, he suggested I go up a STORE. And trust me, boys: Girls never want to go up a size. Even a girl who's a size 2 may not want to buy a size 4. So, please don't even suggest going up a size. We don't want to hear that nonsense.
I feel like if I went to Lane Bryant it would be admitting defeat. It would be me giving up on the clothes in my closet, the clothes from my favorite stores (Gap, Banana, Loft and Target), and I'd be giving IN to buying bigger clothes. I am technically not a big boned person. I'm not tall. I'm just overweight. While that's bad, it hasn't stopped me from shopping at my favorite stores. And I don't want to give up on my favorite stores, or the sizes I'd like to be.
** I proofread this aloud to Mac, as he's afraid of how his character will look. He interrupted a couple of times, defending himself. I told him to please be quiet. Men: Should you find yourself in such a situation, please be quiet.
** My weight was the same on Friday, but when I went to weigh in with the school nurse for our biggest loser competition, she told me I had lost a pound and a half. Alrighty then.
** My sincerest apologies if I have offended anyone with this post. It was hard for me to write, as it's such a touchy subject. All of the statements in it are my opinions, not judgments.
Friday, February 15, 2013
I broke my fall.
My weight's been fluctuating, but I listed my weight on Wednesday, bc that's what I think it actually is. We are doing a Biggest Loser contest at school, and according to the nurse's records, I lost weight. It's a nice confirmation, even though the first time I weighed with shoes on and the second time I weighed with shoes off. I think I lost weight regardless of the shoes.
Anyways, this post is about how I broke my fall.
The day was Thursday, February 14, 2013. A great, chilly night for a Valentine's Day date. After meeting in the parking lot at Columbia Mall, exchanging presents, and seeing the ultimate romantic movie ("A Good Day to Die Hard"), Mac and I were walking to our cars. Two people obviously in love, crossing the street outside of all the restaurants and the theater. Well, you know I had to make this beautiful moment even better, so naturally, I did. Unbeknownst to me, there was a sizely hole in the sidewalk, and it sent me tumbling backwards. I waved my arms backwards, like opposite butterfly, and went boom, boom and boom. I fell on my tush, shoved my right palm down behind me, and my spine rolled back on the pavement, with the head lightly touching the ground. "Shit!!!"
I laid there, very confused as to what happened. Mac came right down to my face, saying, "Baby, are you ok?" Four guys standing outside Champps asked if I was ok. I kept cursing at myself, and I apologized profusely, to everyone and no one in particular. My lovely lady hump was in pain. My hand hurt a lot, but it wasn't bleeding. Mac pulled me up, and I pointed to the hole in the sidewalk, as if to say it wasn't my fault. I wasn't drunk! I wasn't in heels! This is absurd! I shouldn't have fallen!
We drove home to continue our romantic evening by ordering Mama Lucia's pizza and watching the Caps game. I realized something on the way home. I broke my fall. No, literally, I broke my own fall. I don't drink milk, so I can't blame good bones on that. I can blame my padding. Actually, I should thank my padding. If I wasn't so, um, "voluptuous" (ha), I could have probably done some real damage. My tush is bruised and so is my hand, but I'm 100% ok. No broken bones, no sprains or strains, nothing. Except of course embarrassment, and completely shock and confusion to falling down, on my butt on Valentine's Day.
So, Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone. I hope your day was as romantic as mine, and I hope your body is as good to you and mine is to me.
Anyways, this post is about how I broke my fall.
The day was Thursday, February 14, 2013. A great, chilly night for a Valentine's Day date. After meeting in the parking lot at Columbia Mall, exchanging presents, and seeing the ultimate romantic movie ("A Good Day to Die Hard"), Mac and I were walking to our cars. Two people obviously in love, crossing the street outside of all the restaurants and the theater. Well, you know I had to make this beautiful moment even better, so naturally, I did. Unbeknownst to me, there was a sizely hole in the sidewalk, and it sent me tumbling backwards. I waved my arms backwards, like opposite butterfly, and went boom, boom and boom. I fell on my tush, shoved my right palm down behind me, and my spine rolled back on the pavement, with the head lightly touching the ground. "Shit!!!"
I laid there, very confused as to what happened. Mac came right down to my face, saying, "Baby, are you ok?" Four guys standing outside Champps asked if I was ok. I kept cursing at myself, and I apologized profusely, to everyone and no one in particular. My lovely lady hump was in pain. My hand hurt a lot, but it wasn't bleeding. Mac pulled me up, and I pointed to the hole in the sidewalk, as if to say it wasn't my fault. I wasn't drunk! I wasn't in heels! This is absurd! I shouldn't have fallen!
We drove home to continue our romantic evening by ordering Mama Lucia's pizza and watching the Caps game. I realized something on the way home. I broke my fall. No, literally, I broke my own fall. I don't drink milk, so I can't blame good bones on that. I can blame my padding. Actually, I should thank my padding. If I wasn't so, um, "voluptuous" (ha), I could have probably done some real damage. My tush is bruised and so is my hand, but I'm 100% ok. No broken bones, no sprains or strains, nothing. Except of course embarrassment, and completely shock and confusion to falling down, on my butt on Valentine's Day.
So, Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone. I hope your day was as romantic as mine, and I hope your body is as good to you and mine is to me.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Fast Food
disclaimer: This post has a very graphic picture and graphic details in it. Suitable for strong stomachs.
When I was little, my mom would take us to McDonalds every once in a while for a treat. It was a huge treat, and I always got a kids meal, with mcnuggets, and then we'd go to the playground. I even went to birthday parties at McDonalds, and no one seemed to mind or judge the fact that we were eating fast food. It was a treat. And if you ask my mom, she thinks the food was made better back then. I tend to agree with her. At any rate, it was very seldom. That's the only fast food that I can really remember eating as a child.
Occasionally on Friday nights we'd order pizza as a family, or my dad would bring home stromboli from Philly. Nom nom. We didn't eat out much at all, we almost always ate at the kitchen table, and nights like these were considered treats.
After I graduated from Elon, I ate more fast food than I'd care to admit. It was easy, it was on my way home from work, and it was cheap. The flavor was there. The quality was not. I still got the same meal from McDonalds. Chicken nuggets, fries and sweet and sour sauce. Every once in a while, I'd bite into a nugget and get something that didn't quite feel like chicken. A couple times, I'd stop going because I knew what I was eating wasn't good. I'm by no means a "clean eater," but I also don't like mystery meat. I eat processed foods (mac and cheese), but these occasional bites would throw me off of the fast food chain. I'd go back, a few months later, and love the flavor again. Let me remind you though: the quality was not there. The fries, well I think those are tough to mess up. The nugget quality wasn't there.
I even started reading "Fast Food Nation," which people swore would make you stop eating fast food. Yeah, it seemed gross, for sure, but I didn't finish the book. I wasn't in a particularly good place emotionally while reading the book, so I'm sure that stopped me from finishing it. I was having trouble concentrating. At any rate, something eventually took away my love for the nugget about two years ago. A picture went viral, and I haven't eaten a nugget since. Haven't eaten at Taco Bell. Had KFC once. Chick fil A a few times. (I like to think the quality is better.) I can count the times I've had McDonalds fries on one hand in the past two years. This is the picture that did it.
Articles all over the web slammed McDonalds for using THAT to make nuggets, hamburgers, etc. Is it true? I can't prove it. But whoever sent that picture out got the job done. I haven't eaten a nugget since. And real life experience with the mystery meat in the mcnuggets left me confidant. No more meat from McDonalds. I would tell anyone to stop eating the meat from that place. The picture scarred me, and I think I'm better for it.
Again, I do not strive to eat organically, I snack on processed foods, I clearly don't have a perfect diet, but at least I'm not eating pink slime.
When I was little, my mom would take us to McDonalds every once in a while for a treat. It was a huge treat, and I always got a kids meal, with mcnuggets, and then we'd go to the playground. I even went to birthday parties at McDonalds, and no one seemed to mind or judge the fact that we were eating fast food. It was a treat. And if you ask my mom, she thinks the food was made better back then. I tend to agree with her. At any rate, it was very seldom. That's the only fast food that I can really remember eating as a child.
Occasionally on Friday nights we'd order pizza as a family, or my dad would bring home stromboli from Philly. Nom nom. We didn't eat out much at all, we almost always ate at the kitchen table, and nights like these were considered treats.
After I graduated from Elon, I ate more fast food than I'd care to admit. It was easy, it was on my way home from work, and it was cheap. The flavor was there. The quality was not. I still got the same meal from McDonalds. Chicken nuggets, fries and sweet and sour sauce. Every once in a while, I'd bite into a nugget and get something that didn't quite feel like chicken. A couple times, I'd stop going because I knew what I was eating wasn't good. I'm by no means a "clean eater," but I also don't like mystery meat. I eat processed foods (mac and cheese), but these occasional bites would throw me off of the fast food chain. I'd go back, a few months later, and love the flavor again. Let me remind you though: the quality was not there. The fries, well I think those are tough to mess up. The nugget quality wasn't there.
I even started reading "Fast Food Nation," which people swore would make you stop eating fast food. Yeah, it seemed gross, for sure, but I didn't finish the book. I wasn't in a particularly good place emotionally while reading the book, so I'm sure that stopped me from finishing it. I was having trouble concentrating. At any rate, something eventually took away my love for the nugget about two years ago. A picture went viral, and I haven't eaten a nugget since. Haven't eaten at Taco Bell. Had KFC once. Chick fil A a few times. (I like to think the quality is better.) I can count the times I've had McDonalds fries on one hand in the past two years. This is the picture that did it.
Articles all over the web slammed McDonalds for using THAT to make nuggets, hamburgers, etc. Is it true? I can't prove it. But whoever sent that picture out got the job done. I haven't eaten a nugget since. And real life experience with the mystery meat in the mcnuggets left me confidant. No more meat from McDonalds. I would tell anyone to stop eating the meat from that place. The picture scarred me, and I think I'm better for it.
Again, I do not strive to eat organically, I snack on processed foods, I clearly don't have a perfect diet, but at least I'm not eating pink slime.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Insulation
I'm pretty sure the title of this blog speaks for itself. I'd like to think my extra layers of skin keep me warmer than some skinny chick. That's what I tell myself, joking. 20% truth to jokes though, that's the word on the street. Really though, I don't think that's how it works. I'm not some animal in the arctic layered with fur. :)
When it's cold out, I have a hard time eating well. I want warm, comfort foods. I've been racking my brain for warm snack foods, warm, healthy snacks, and the only thing I could think of was edamame. I love fruit, but it's cold! I love raw veggies, but they're cold! And I wouldn't normally heat up veggies for a snack, bc heating up veggies implies a side dish for dinner, if that makes sense. Recommendations are of course welcome.
Plus, I eat out of boredom. Right now, as I'm typing this, I can't eat bc my hands are occupied. I think that sounds pretty sad. I'm also an emotional eater, so if things become somewhat challenging, I eat.
Anyways, back to the insulation. I am also uncomfortable because some of my clothes are starting to not be "loose." I was enjoying losing weight, and once things fit or got snug again, I became uncomfortable. So now I'm cold, overweight and uncomfortable. Fatastic. Because I'm uncomfortable and cold, I come home and want pjs, hoodies and uggs.
I went for a couple walks this week and felt very good about them. Bundled up and dealt with it. Next week, my plan is to double the walks, eat less comfort food and keep myself occupied. :)
Sorry this post was kind of all over the place. That's kind of how I've been lately. :)
When it's cold out, I have a hard time eating well. I want warm, comfort foods. I've been racking my brain for warm snack foods, warm, healthy snacks, and the only thing I could think of was edamame. I love fruit, but it's cold! I love raw veggies, but they're cold! And I wouldn't normally heat up veggies for a snack, bc heating up veggies implies a side dish for dinner, if that makes sense. Recommendations are of course welcome.
Plus, I eat out of boredom. Right now, as I'm typing this, I can't eat bc my hands are occupied. I think that sounds pretty sad. I'm also an emotional eater, so if things become somewhat challenging, I eat.
Anyways, back to the insulation. I am also uncomfortable because some of my clothes are starting to not be "loose." I was enjoying losing weight, and once things fit or got snug again, I became uncomfortable. So now I'm cold, overweight and uncomfortable. Fatastic. Because I'm uncomfortable and cold, I come home and want pjs, hoodies and uggs.
I went for a couple walks this week and felt very good about them. Bundled up and dealt with it. Next week, my plan is to double the walks, eat less comfort food and keep myself occupied. :)
Sorry this post was kind of all over the place. That's kind of how I've been lately. :)
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Bridesmaids
I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm a grown up. I'm not supposed to compare myself to other women. And, usually, I don't. Sure, I'm envious of other's figures and strengths, but I don't usually growl/groan at other people with fabulous figures.
Until recently.
Ashley, my beautiful younger sister and best friend got engaged to her boyfriend of 4 years, Andrew who is an awesome person. They are a hilarious couple, and I'm so excited for them. He will make a very handsome groom, and she looks exotic in sweats, so looking good on their wedding day should be a piece of cake for her.
And of course the whole process/day is about them. I am well aware it's not about me. I don't want it to be, it's not supposed to be, and I won't make it about me.
However, Ashley has several close friends that will be bridesmaids. Oh, they're just awesome and lovely and perfect. They'll make you cry from laughing so hard, and it's like a constant SNL skit hanging out with even one of them, let alone all 6 of them. There is just one tiny problem with them.
They all look like models. And one of them actually IS a model.
These girls are STUNNING. Even without makeup. They're the types of people who can walk in heels all night long and make it look easy. (I take heels off after an hour of looking like an ass.) They rock simple or elaborate jewelry, while I rock my wedding rings and my two cartilage earrings that don't come out easily. Sometimes I wear earrings and sometimes I wear my "K" necklace from Mac. When I go out, I wear more. I try. These girls can all wear a bikini, will all get checked out on the beach and have beautiful personalities to go with their beautiful faces and figures.
Basically, I'm really lucky that I get to have fun with such a great group of girls. They are drama-free (I think :) ), and they'd do anything for you. Ashley is in great hands.
I am also lucky that I have a year and a couple months until the wedding. You see, bridesmaids usually wear dresses. Many times, matching dresses. That's cool; I did the same thing to my bridesmaids. But you see, if you were to put all of Ashley's girls in the gowns today, all of us would look good. However, I'd block them. Maybe not the model, as she is clearly taller than me. But all of the others, you wouldn't be able to see them if I stood in front of them.
I then imagined the 7 of us as nesting dolls, the ones that fit inside each other. I'm the big one. I can house all the others. By the wedding, I hope to not be the queen nesting doll. No need to house other women. (So weird.)
So, occasionally when I'm having a weak moment, I'm thinking I'll read this post, and look at their pics on fb, or text them, encouraging them to um, bulk up. (They're not figure-less either, trust me.) Ok, maybe I'm not a total grown up. :) I'm being a little silly.
And just in case your doubting me, check this out.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, who's the girl who looks like a model?
Megan: That's one of Ashley's best friends, and she is a model. She did our make up.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, who's the girl in the electric blue pumps?
Megan: That's one of Ashley's best friends from college.
Guest: She looks like walking sex.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, are all those kids Ashley's friends?
Megan: The beautiful ones who look like they're having the time of their lives and teaching everyone a lesson on the dance floor? Yeah, that's them. She picks well.
Scene: New Ale House in Columbia this past weekend
Megan: Karen, you don't understand these bridesmaids I'm going to be standing next to. I need to get my act together.
Karen: Oh yes I do. I remember them. ALL of them. Yikes. Good luck with that. Call me if you need support.
(Thanks Karen, for understanding.)
So, check back on the blog and on my facebook for wedding festivities, so that you can feast your eyes on the eye candy that is my sister's wedding party.
And lastly, I lost three pounds. Mucho thanks to Gina for introducing me to an awesome salad... mixed greens, goat cheese, walnuts and vinaigrette dressing. I've been eating it almost everyday for lunch, and I so look forward to it. Not to mention, I feel good after eating it.
Until recently.
Ashley, my beautiful younger sister and best friend got engaged to her boyfriend of 4 years, Andrew who is an awesome person. They are a hilarious couple, and I'm so excited for them. He will make a very handsome groom, and she looks exotic in sweats, so looking good on their wedding day should be a piece of cake for her.
And of course the whole process/day is about them. I am well aware it's not about me. I don't want it to be, it's not supposed to be, and I won't make it about me.
However, Ashley has several close friends that will be bridesmaids. Oh, they're just awesome and lovely and perfect. They'll make you cry from laughing so hard, and it's like a constant SNL skit hanging out with even one of them, let alone all 6 of them. There is just one tiny problem with them.
They all look like models. And one of them actually IS a model.
These girls are STUNNING. Even without makeup. They're the types of people who can walk in heels all night long and make it look easy. (I take heels off after an hour of looking like an ass.) They rock simple or elaborate jewelry, while I rock my wedding rings and my two cartilage earrings that don't come out easily. Sometimes I wear earrings and sometimes I wear my "K" necklace from Mac. When I go out, I wear more. I try. These girls can all wear a bikini, will all get checked out on the beach and have beautiful personalities to go with their beautiful faces and figures.
Basically, I'm really lucky that I get to have fun with such a great group of girls. They are drama-free (I think :) ), and they'd do anything for you. Ashley is in great hands.
I am also lucky that I have a year and a couple months until the wedding. You see, bridesmaids usually wear dresses. Many times, matching dresses. That's cool; I did the same thing to my bridesmaids. But you see, if you were to put all of Ashley's girls in the gowns today, all of us would look good. However, I'd block them. Maybe not the model, as she is clearly taller than me. But all of the others, you wouldn't be able to see them if I stood in front of them.
I then imagined the 7 of us as nesting dolls, the ones that fit inside each other. I'm the big one. I can house all the others. By the wedding, I hope to not be the queen nesting doll. No need to house other women. (So weird.)
So, occasionally when I'm having a weak moment, I'm thinking I'll read this post, and look at their pics on fb, or text them, encouraging them to um, bulk up. (They're not figure-less either, trust me.) Ok, maybe I'm not a total grown up. :) I'm being a little silly.
And just in case your doubting me, check this out.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, who's the girl who looks like a model?
Megan: That's one of Ashley's best friends, and she is a model. She did our make up.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, who's the girl in the electric blue pumps?
Megan: That's one of Ashley's best friends from college.
Guest: She looks like walking sex.
Scene: Mac's and my wedding
Guest: Megan, are all those kids Ashley's friends?
Megan: The beautiful ones who look like they're having the time of their lives and teaching everyone a lesson on the dance floor? Yeah, that's them. She picks well.
Scene: New Ale House in Columbia this past weekend
Megan: Karen, you don't understand these bridesmaids I'm going to be standing next to. I need to get my act together.
Karen: Oh yes I do. I remember them. ALL of them. Yikes. Good luck with that. Call me if you need support.
(Thanks Karen, for understanding.)
So, check back on the blog and on my facebook for wedding festivities, so that you can feast your eyes on the eye candy that is my sister's wedding party.
And lastly, I lost three pounds. Mucho thanks to Gina for introducing me to an awesome salad... mixed greens, goat cheese, walnuts and vinaigrette dressing. I've been eating it almost everyday for lunch, and I so look forward to it. Not to mention, I feel good after eating it.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Sorry.
I apologize ALL the time. I'm often yelled at for doing it. Such a conversation goes like this:
Me: Sorry for blah blah blah....
You: It's ok.
Me: Ok, just wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry.
You: Got it. Stop saying sorry.
Me: Ok. Sorry.
You: Death glare.
Me: For saying sorry. I'm sorry for saying sorry.
You: Haven't blinked.
Me: Ok, now I'm finished.
Ask about half of my friends and they'll tell you about this.
So this post is one HUGE apology. If you don't want to hear/read me say sorry, kindly close this window. In advance, I'm sorry for all the sorrys I'm about to say.
I'm sorry I stopped writing for 2 1/2 months.
I'm sorry I kind of gave up.
I'm sorry that I worked so hard only to make it bad.
I'm sorry if you felt motivated by me, and not having this to read caused you to eat McNuggets. I NEVER want you to eat McNuggets.
I'm sorry if you suggested things to me and felt like I didn't take them. I did.
I'm sorry if you supported me and felt like I didn't appreciate it. I do.
I'm sorry if you felt invested in this blog and then felt let down. I did/do too.
I'm sorry if you've ever cringed while looking at me or seeing my weight on the side. I have too.
I'm sorry if you listened to me and feel like I ignored you. I didn't.
I'm sorry if I yelled at you.
I'm sorry if I was mean to you because I was truly upset with myself.
I'm sorry if you had to deal with my negativity.
Ok, now please understand this. I am well aware of how crazy the above apologies are. WELL AWARE. However, I also mean them.
I also am sorry to myself. Not feeling sorry for myself; that's different. I'm sorry I gave up a little bit and way over-indulged during the holidays. True to form, 20 to 20 hindsight. Shouldn't have eaten this, shouldn't have drank that, should have run there, etc.
I'm back to trying. I've got several reasons, and I'll continue to post about them. I was really hoping that this over-weight thing would just be a phase in my life. Well, maybe it will have been, but I think maintaining healthy eating and work out options will be a life-long job. I think a part of me hoped that wasn't and wouldn't be true. But it is. How can it not be? Anything worth having is worth working for. So, I'll work for this. I'll work for a better weight, a happier mentality and stronger muscles. I'll work for a better life. It's worth it.
p.s. Sorry if you're annoyed that I posted this. :) Just kidding! (Kind of.)
Me: Sorry for blah blah blah....
You: It's ok.
Me: Ok, just wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry.
You: Got it. Stop saying sorry.
Me: Ok. Sorry.
You: Death glare.
Me: For saying sorry. I'm sorry for saying sorry.
You: Haven't blinked.
Me: Ok, now I'm finished.
Ask about half of my friends and they'll tell you about this.
So this post is one HUGE apology. If you don't want to hear/read me say sorry, kindly close this window. In advance, I'm sorry for all the sorrys I'm about to say.
I'm sorry I stopped writing for 2 1/2 months.
I'm sorry I kind of gave up.
I'm sorry that I worked so hard only to make it bad.
I'm sorry if you felt motivated by me, and not having this to read caused you to eat McNuggets. I NEVER want you to eat McNuggets.
I'm sorry if you suggested things to me and felt like I didn't take them. I did.
I'm sorry if you supported me and felt like I didn't appreciate it. I do.
I'm sorry if you felt invested in this blog and then felt let down. I did/do too.
I'm sorry if you've ever cringed while looking at me or seeing my weight on the side. I have too.
I'm sorry if you listened to me and feel like I ignored you. I didn't.
I'm sorry if I yelled at you.
I'm sorry if I was mean to you because I was truly upset with myself.
I'm sorry if you had to deal with my negativity.
Ok, now please understand this. I am well aware of how crazy the above apologies are. WELL AWARE. However, I also mean them.
I also am sorry to myself. Not feeling sorry for myself; that's different. I'm sorry I gave up a little bit and way over-indulged during the holidays. True to form, 20 to 20 hindsight. Shouldn't have eaten this, shouldn't have drank that, should have run there, etc.
I'm back to trying. I've got several reasons, and I'll continue to post about them. I was really hoping that this over-weight thing would just be a phase in my life. Well, maybe it will have been, but I think maintaining healthy eating and work out options will be a life-long job. I think a part of me hoped that wasn't and wouldn't be true. But it is. How can it not be? Anything worth having is worth working for. So, I'll work for this. I'll work for a better weight, a happier mentality and stronger muscles. I'll work for a better life. It's worth it.
p.s. Sorry if you're annoyed that I posted this. :) Just kidding! (Kind of.)
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