Chin hair

I'm not what most people would say is "hairy." I've never had an issue with body hair, let alone facial hair and for this I am eternally grateful.

Wednesday after work, I ran into the pet store to get Baxter, my dog, a pack of new rawhide bones. I was walking the aisles looking at the variety of dog treats, toys, and other accessories available. A friendly clerk came by to ask if I needed help. I started telling her about what I needed as I was inspecting several new toys. After a minute or two of talking, I actually looked up and at her face. I had a clear reaction of surprise, I sincerely hope she did not notice. She had a full beard coming in.

Now, given, this is the San Francisco area. Seeing a drag queen, transgender individual, etc. is not uncommon just about anywhere you go. But this poor girl, was clearly a girl with a beard growing on her chin. I felt so bad for her and tried to avert my eyes. I mean it wasn't a whisker or two it was enough to make any prepubescent teen male downright jealous. She helped me find what I needed, I thanked her and walked out.

Have you ever heard of Nair, girl? There's no need to walk around like that! There are products out there to help you. I hope someone will drop you a box of that ingenius product so you can feel like a lady again.

Snot is gross

I hate when I get sick. Thanks to my business trip, I have been sick since Thursday night. I have been sneezing and coughing up crap from the depths of my nasal and chest cavities. I am tired. I just want to stop blowing my nose which is sore from all the tissue wiping and it is soooo gross. My chest hurts when I cough and my throat is raw.

Man, getting sick sucks.

Wiped out

This week I went on a business trip. All week I was in panel discussions, product reviews, and tons of little mixers. While it was fun, at some point, I just lost interest. I was jet lagged like you wouldn't believe with hardly a minute to pee or just relax. I understand these things have to be planned and productive, I just sincerely hope someone will cut the West Coast team some slack next year so we don't look like cracked out employees jonesing for their next fix.

On a side note....I got caught up on the flight delay nonsense from Florida back to San Francisco. Please, please, please, shut the hell up on the plane and be cognizant of others sitting next to you. I don't appreciate you elbowing me and shoving your ginormous fake boob into me while you try to look appetizing next to the cute boy in the aisle seat. Hello, you admitted you were 45 and married. And you smelled like GNC powdered vitamins and Charley's cheesey sub sandwiches, which I might add is sooo unappealing and somewhat counterproductive to your goal of snagging the 25 year old man with boyishly good looks.

And to the lovely gentleman on the Atlanta layover, thank you for being so darn nice and friendly. You were indeed a good looking and sweet man. Had I not decided to change into yoga pants, flip flops, and a tee shirt with a baseball cap, you might have actually been somewhat attracted to me since I would have looked human. Whatever the case, there are still some gentlemen out there willing to make someone smile when they are on the verge of a hysterical crying fit after several flight cancellations, 12 hours of sleep the whole week, and PMS. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

What is with me?!

I might have lost my mind last night. I joined eHarmony. They had a special and I thought what the hell, it's summer. I know a lot of people do it, but seriously, I just admitted I need help finding someone quality to date. I suppose admitting you have a problem or need help is the first step.

I thought I hit the bottom of the barrel when I ditched dumbass in Texas. Turns out not so much. I'm 29 and still not sure about what I want in my own life and now, I've obligated myself to 3 months of "getting to know others." Do I even know what quality in a man is any more?

At least you all will benefit from my dating hits and misses over the next few months....right?

Food guilt

I went to the gym and did my session as planned. All week I have been the ever diligent calorie counter limiting myself to about 1500-1700 calories a day as instructed by my trainer. The pounds are coming off, as is the fat apparently, when we checked my body fat percentage and weight. 2.5% decrease in body fat, 5 point decrease in BMI, 13 lbs and counting. A glorious feat in roughly 2 weeks.

I left, went to run errands, and came home. I should have been happier but for some reason, I wasn't. There's this fear that keeps creeping into my mind. It was a thought at first and, like a virus, it's quickly infected my brain. When will the loss stop? When will my body decide to stagnate again? My mind is contemplating all the what ifs and possibilities that may or may not happen should my body betray me. It's awful. What's worse is, Saturday night is my free meal. The one meal of the week I can eat a plate of whatever I choose without guilt. Maybe it's pizza or a burger and fries from some disgusting place I have been dreaming about. Whatever the case, it is my one designated meal to turn off the calorie counter and fully enjoy eating something I love but no longer allow into my diet on a regular basis.

Surely, this would be enough to make anyone who loves food as much as I do, feel ecstatic. But it didn't. In fact, I felt guilty. I had baked chicken with broccoli and brown rice for lunch. I had a protein shake a few hours later to kill the hunger. Dinner time had long since passed. And still, I sat in my house debating whether I should even get whatever it is I might want...for HOURS. I finally threw on my jeans, grabbed my wallet, and headed to the car. I want a burger and fries from someplace. This will be my free meal and that's all there is to it.

I got it. I plated it. I sat down and ate it trying to savor the flavors to no avail. The guilt washed over me in waves that could have made Hurricane Katrina look like a tropical storm. I mean honestly, who feels this guilty about eating a fucking burger and fries?! The answer is I do. 30 minutes after the fact I feel as if my thighs have exploded and my stomach has grown to the size of a woman carrying an 8 month old fetus. I'm not sure why I feel such guilt. It's just food. Or maybe it's not. I don't know that I've ever felt this strangely about food. I don't like this and it scares me. Does the food torture ever stop?

Spin anyone?

Monday evening my trainer texted with session times for the week. You going to come in tomorrow to work out she asked. I told her yep, I got yoga tomorrow night. Hey, Ben is teaching spin tomorrow. You should come. It will be fun. I'm doing it too.

What the hell. I figured it was a cycling class and everyone looked like they got a good workout. I said yes, blocked out my session times and went to bed a little later.

The next day I get there and the class is packed. Only bikes in the back remained. I meandered thru the maze and picked a bike. The stuffy room was small enough to give any decent person claustraphobia. A girl if front of me kindly helped adjust my bike so I didn't look like a retard when the class finally started. I sat and awaited the unknown.

Let's see...how can I describe this. It was like sitting in front of the sauna steamer with a pole jammed up your ass for roughly an hour. Yes...that about describes it. The bike seat was so small. Given my hefty assets, I wanted to die everytime I sat on the seat. To avoid this, I ridiculously did the standing cycles uphill, downhill, sprints, etc. This, as you might guess, made my legs burn intensely. A few times, I had to adjust the resistance for fear I might fall off since my legs were practically jello at that point.

When the class was FINALLY over, I looked down at my shirt. I looked as if I had been a contestant in a wet tshirt contest. I was soaked all the way to my leggings just beyond my hips. Christ. That is outrageous.

Fast forward to last night. My ass is so sore, my legs are jello, and I am still exhausted. I go to yoga and it helps. I even get to sit next to a new hot guy who smiles and offers to take my mat back to the supply area. Suh-weet.

This morning I went to my session ready for some serious pain. She kindly walked me to the scale and asked me to jump on. Fear crept thru my body. Damn it. I feel like a little kid when I get on one. Will I be lighter or fatter? Did that cheeseburger stick to my thighs after all? She looked down at the scale again and adjusted her eyes. Oh my God, she whispered. I opened my eyes after I realized I had them tightly shut.

"What?" I asked barely able to breathe. "Did I gain more weight...Damn it!"

"Um, girl, you just lost 10 lbs in a week."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Look down! See for yourself."

Plain as day, the scale did not lie. 10 lbs indeed.


I guess that means I'm going back to spin. Damn.

Nutritional nightmare

I have been seeing the trainer for 1 week. I can deal with the sore body and the grueling workouts. I can deal with tracking the food I eat. What I cannot deal with is tracking the calories and nutritional information. I hate it. I have not been able to breathe without wincing from sore muscles but tracking the nutritional information is more like ripping the flesh from my bones without anesthesia. I hate it.

There must be something wrong with me if this is what I hate the most. I get that I will always be one of those girls for which "watching my weight" will be a lifetime vigil. I just don't understand why I need to track every calorie and gram of sugar and protein. Nevertheless, I promised I would do it until our next session this week. 464 calories, 13.5g of protein, 7.25g of fat, 93.1g of carbs, and 47.1g of sugar into the day roughly translates into BITTER.

Damn myself all over the place.

A rare treat

My crazy neighbor that stalks me occassionally has one positive attribute. She plays the piano. Every Saturday afternoon, she gets on her piano and plays a variety of Charlie Chaplin melodies, classical riffs, and some improvised tunes. Somehow as the notes bellow thru the ceiling and waft down onto the balcony even Baxter can't help but relax in the sun as the music fills the apartment. I'm sure it bugs people to hear the music for hours on Saturday and even Sunday afternoons, but I find it calming and even a treat of sorts for someone like me, who thoroughly enjoys music in all its forms.

Who knew crazy Asian neighbor with slighly creepy eyes was so musically gifted? I prefer to enjoy from a distance and within the safety of my own home.

She's still crazy people. Don't let the music fool you.