A Blast From the Past

I've lived in my current apartment for close to 18 months, and I have at least four boxes that I have yet to unpack.  For the most part, they're full of crafts.

The past few months have been full of work.  Not only do I spend 45-50 hours at work, but then I come home and study for tests that I'm encouraged to take for - you guessed it - work.  My next test is scheduled in five days, so I've been going all out.  

Tonight I wrapped up a 642 page prep book.  Tomorrow I'll start on the nine practice exams I have yet to tackle.  However, I'm done studying for the night, which is why I decided it'd be a perfect time to do something like change the two light bulbs that burnt out earlier this week.  While digging around in my junk cabinet,* I came across one of those boxes I haven't unpacked.

What's the best way to procrastinate?  Do things that you've been meaning to do, but have been neglecting - like laundry, dishes, or unpacking a random box.

That wonderful little bankers box was full of all sorts of high school memorabilia.  We're talking student body cards, certificates of recognition, old love letters, and so, so many photos.  

Here's what I learned from my own personal time capsule: 

5)  I was a big, big freak in high school.

4)  I was convinced that I was hilarious, but I'm not so sure about it now...

3)  The mid- and late '90s were not kind - fashion wise - to small town Oregon.

2)  Over the past 15 years I've been working to shed my pack rat ways, but for some reason I've moved the junk in that box over 6,400 miles.^

1)  My streaked hair - black, blond, red, sometimes orange - didn't look so bad.

*I live in a studio and have so much junk (e.g., potting soil, pots, light bulbs, etc.) that a single drawer will never be enough.

^The number would have been higher if I hadn't stored it during the other 16,472 miles.

JD Receptionist Part Deux

As you may know, I started with my company as a temp at the front desk.  Within three months they had hired me as a permanent employee, but then I was locked into that position for a year.  I finally moved into a new position the beginning of this year, and I’m still getting used to the novel idea of working (and not messing about in NASA’s various Flickr Photostreams) during work hours.

One of our regular receptionists is currently away on her honeymoon, so they brought in a temp.  I’ve had several people tell me that I started a run of over educated people working at the front desk, because this temp also has his JD.

When I was at the front desk, I was a little embarrassed by the fact that I had my JD and I was doing an administrative job.*  No matter how bad I felt for myself, I feel a little worse for this guy.

He graduated from law school in 2010 after being kicked out for a term (his grades slipped below the minimum average), passed the bar in the spring of 2011, but didn’t pass the ethics portion of the bar (it’s a separate test that most people take during law school) until this year, so he’s been licensed to practice for about four months now.  Since then he’s had one legal job interview, so he’s seriously considering teaching English in South Korea for the next year or two – like his brother – just to have a job to start paying down his student loans.

I had never spoken to this guy before today, and I learned all of this in about ten minutes.  He may just be an over sharer or I may just be a great listener, but I couldn’t help but think of the two times that I’ve seriously over shared with people who are barely acquaintances.^  I remember the tidal waves of frustration, anger, despair, and disbelief.  I don’t miss those days.

If I’ve done the math correctly, this guy is two years younger than I.  However, he seems so, so young and I do not envy the major life changing decisions he’s about to make.

*I wasn’t embarrassed about the work or think it was below me.  (Dreams and moonbeams weren’t going to pay my bills…)  However, I was embarrassed by what I assumed other people thought of me.

^Number one was during undergrad.  I was working at 7-Eleven and the TA from one of my photography classes came in and made the mistake of asking me how I was doing.  I unloaded on him.  My dad had had a stroke two months earlier, and was still hospitalized.  I was supposed to study abroad in Greece and had already invested thousands of my Slurpee pouring, hotdog selling, and beer hawking money into what was supposed to be my first grand adventure.  I was torn between going and staying.

Law school ushered in number two.  While sitting by myself in the student lounge area, my socially awkward Legal Research TA happened upon me.  He made the mistake of asking how I was doing, and the floodgates opened.  I had just moved over 3,000 miles to the opposite coast.  I had gone from urban Portland, Oregon to rural Concord, New Hampshire.  My law school (Franklin Pierce Law Center, which is now University of New Hampshire School of Law) was one of the only two stand alone law schools in the nation (the other is the John Marshall Law School in Chicago, Illinois, which is now the last stand alone school.  Anyway, there were only about 350 students in my entire school between the JD and graduate programs.  I hated most of my classes.  The one class that I was pumped to take – Legal Writing – was crushing my will to live.  I hadn’t made any real friends, and I was SO sexually frustrated.  Again, I was torn between going and staying.

Okcupid, You’ve got a Touch of the ‘tard in You

I’ve already deactivated one account on Okcupid, but I was later talked into signing up again.

After conversations with douche bags, guys who cancel dates the day of and want to reschedule, 18-year-olds, and most recently Captain Observo* - I think I’m over it.  Again.

* Aug 4, 2012 – 9:48 p.m. he wrote:

Baby, where’d you get your body from? Tell me, where’d you get your body from? Baby, where’d you get your body from? Tell me, where’d you get your body from?  I got it from my mama I got it from my mama I got it from my mama I got it, got it, g-got it

Aug 6, 2012 – 6:05 p.m. I wrote:

I do enjoy some will.i.am.

Aug 6, 2012 – 8:51 p.m. he wrote:

So can I get a name, I find you attractive and would like to chat if interested... Plus you are stacked...   :P

Aug 10, 2012 – 10:52 p.m. he wrote:

Sadness...

Biggest Loser Weeks Seven and Eight

Week Seven - I spent the entire week studying for a securities exam.  The exam was the morning of my weekly weigh in.  Thanks to the exam - I hardly slept the night before and I couldn't eat the morning of, and BAM!  I lost 3.5 pounds.

Week Eight - It was like I couldn't avoid delicious, delicious food.  Around the corner from work is a train sushi restaurant that I may be obsessed with,* and on Saturday I hung out with a few friends and ate everything under the sun.  I gained a pound.

In short, we're looking at a net loss of 10.4 pounds.

Today over sushi, a coworker shared a little bit of her crazy weekend with me - her house was broken into.  She's a little shaken up, but luckily nothing was stolen and she is now the proud owner of a home security system.  It brought up to topic of how vulnerable women can feel at times.  Then she asked if I carried pepper spray.

I don't.^

It wasn't until I opened my mouth - and found myself saying, "I just assume that people won't mess with me" - that I realized I've always considered my size a form of protection.

The belief in this unjustified form of armor stems from a single thought.

Who would want to rape a fat girl?~

Somewhere between California and Philly rolls I had an aha moment.  I've known for a long, long time that eating is one of my coping mechanisms, but it wasn't until today that I realized I also use my weight as a soft, jiggly security blanket.

I've been using this subconscious self soothing tool for the better part of 30 years.  I can only hope that I'm ready to move on without it.

I am so, so ready to move on without it.



* I go at least once a week.  Apparently, that's too much, because today one of the sushi chefs gave me a philly roll before I had the opportunity to ask for it.

I told him that I loved him.


^ I used to walk to work before 6 a.m.  I've traveled alone domestically and internationally.  I slept on a beach outside of Dublin, and had a drunk local wake me up to ask for my lemonade.  And, considering the fact that my college boyfriend crossed the street to avoid transients and carried brass knuckles if he had to walk across campus at night - I'm surprised he never gave me pepper spray.


~ What the what, right?

It's like I had a stroke and didn't remember a single thing from any one of my 11 Women Studies classes.  Rape isn't sizeist.  Hell, it's not even sexist.

Rape is about power and control.

Biggest Loser Weeks Five and Six

Yes, I know it's cheating by writing about two weeks at one time, but that's just how I roll.

Week Five

I lost another two pounds and was so sure of myself that I made a mixed berry cobbler for dessert on Thursday night.  This thing had fresh fruit, rolled oats, whole wheat flour, Splenda Brown Sugar Blend, and margarine. AND, I paired it with Arctic Zero Ice Cream, which has only 136 calories per pint.

A good dessert decision, right?

It might have been if I hadn't consumed the entire thing.  I mean, I didn't eat the entire cobbler or pint of ice cream in one sitting.  Plus, I was going to the gym at least five days a week - I even ended up going twice one day to hit up two different classes.  But, my food decisions were bad.  Very, very bad.

I had the cobbler for breakfast on Saturday, and did it again on Sunday.

Week Six

I knew the weigh in was going to be bad, so I picked my clothing based on which items would add the least amount of weight.  I ended up in a summer dress and peep toe flats.

It rained all day, and a gust of wind almost blew my skirt up.  Twice.

Despite my best efforts to out smart the scale, I gained a pound.

For those of you who are following along at home - that's a net loss of eight pounds.  The weight isn't exactly melting off like I had hoped, but I'll take a slow loss over no loss.

Biggest Loser Week Four

The good news is that I've lost over seven pounds over the past few weeks.

The bad news is that I've started compulsively thinking, talking, and even dreaming about food - especially when it comes the food I'm trying to avoid.

Last week, I couldn't stop talking about quiche.  It was all about how I wanted to be elbow deep in cheese and fluffy, fluffy eggs, but it needed to be surrounded by a buttery, flaky crust.  Frittatas weren't going to cut it.  And, most importantly, I wanted to eat the entire thing.

Earlier this week it was pizza.  I couldn't stop talking about it - thick, buttery crust, spicy sauce, delicious cheese and wonderfully fresh toppings.  And, big surprise, I wanted all of it.


This process has taught me that my inner fat kid is a bit of a bitch, especially when I'm starving her.  She REALLY does not like to share.

It all Started with a Skinny Mustache

I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea to go to a medical provider located in Portland's Pearl District.  Oh, that's right - I'm lazy and that particular optometrist office is five blocks from work AND in network.

Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment.  Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night  hasn't significantly improved  in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.

Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.

In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.

An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear.  I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.

All I wanted was my annual eye exam.  They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today.  It was a bad visit from the start. 

Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy.  I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.

I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in.  That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.

The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.

It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam.  And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.

So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.

Hey, a girl can dream.


*A la Austin Scarlett

^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.