Mary B and the City

posted on 08.02.10

“We’re all susceptible to it, the dread and anxiety of not knowing what’s coming. It’s pointless in the end, because all the worrying and the making of plans for things that could or could not happen, it only makes things worse. So walk your dog or take a nap. Just whatever you do, stop worrying. Because the only cure for paranoia is to be here, just as you are.”

— Grey’s Anatomy (via quote-book)

posted on 08.02.10 Shut your pie hole.

I’ve recently completed a full month on my new employer’s payroll. All things are a go – except, well, total and complete undermining of my weight loss efforts.

After adopting a solid ten pounds of unnecessary baggage over the course of a 2 month unemployment period with cheap groceries, coupled with overlapping holiday sweets binging, the New Year with a new job brought much-needed hope for my hopeless, ill-fitted jeans.

Four weeks flew by and offered a completely new industry with new jargon to learn and speak, a brand management role which is a brand new repertoire for my resume, not to mention learning a bunch of sophisticated, innovative products – a few that require just shy of a PhD to understand all the ins & outs.

But none of those newbie orientation jitters are as overwhelming or disconcerting as my inability to shed even a single ounce off my frame. I went to the gym at least 5 days a week all of January. I have “mixed up” the routine with a weekly intense spinning class that makes you hallucinate from exhaustion. I’ve incorporated some strength training with weights. I’ve added “running” to my regimen for Pete’s sake! But for the love of all things good, my mother-fing office has to host a wanna be skinny girl’s worst nightmare, at a minimum – twice a week. At my last job for almost four years, I could count on one hand the number of food-based festivities we had on an annual basis. I frowned upon our rather unsociable demeanor, but now I’d take it back in a heartbeat.

Let’s review.

January 14: Welcome lunch for MaryB, Italian restaurant.
January 21: Birthday lunch for a colleague, Chinese restaurant.
January 22: 8am Company-wide meeting, Dunkin Donuts AND brownies.
January 26: 2-hour new product meeting – to help people not fall asleep, everyone gets Snickers and peanut M&Ms at their seat.
February 3: Baby shower for a colleague, brownies & a sheet cake – the size that could feed a small nation…the kind that has a ton of icing.
February 5: SuperBowl appetizer employee contest, junk food & desserts.
February 8: An employee’s 20^th anniversary, sheet cake — the size that could feed a small nation…the kind that has a ton of icing.

HOLY SABOTAGE! I’m losing my freaking mind. Not to mention I’ve also had Mr. Big’s birthday complete with cupcakes, THREE snowed-in weekends where we passed time by cooking and consuming, and finally a SuperBowl “bring your own app” foodfest during my unclocked awake hours. I’m quite confident if I had shown up with a dish straight from the farmer’s market, I’d be voted off the party island.

Unfortunately, I have actively participated in every single one of these aforementioned calorie overload occasions, until today. The sheet cake the size of my desk can suck it. Over the weekend, I angrily decided: Enough is Enough. My mantra has always been that I have willpower…if I’m not around *it*. Meaning I’ll never make a grocery store run for the Edy’s mint chocolate chip double-churned ice cream, but if my roommate has it in stock on our freezer’s shelf, done. Hands down — my drug of choice is sugar, chocolate, and their edible cavity-producing cousins.

What’s ironic to me is, for breakfast I have a well-balanced meal, @ lunch I slowly chomp away on salads, and all day long I munch on apples and pears. Yet, somehow, we turn into them! Literally, we are what we primarily eat?

I know that once I get this access mass off my rump and can fit back into my single digit wardrobe, dabbling in the occasional dessert tray will be a non-issue. But until then, I’m offing these healthy haters by shutting my pie hole and slowing their roll who want to double mine.

posted on 06.02.10 Cougars, uncovered?

One of my favorite web sites to gush over fluff but nevertheless fabulous female fodder is thefrisky.com. During Thursday afternoon’s eat-at-my-desk-while-surfing-the-internet lunch session, a book review came across my screen — Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough. I finished the witty synopsis in record time, wiped up my drool of excitement, and penciled in a Barnes & Noble stop the following day. Not only was the primary argument controversial and subversive, but both the author and article reviewer managed to mention Sex & the City. Done and done.

I’m now on page 98 and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There are still 200+ pages to go. It is basically a Dr. Phil-style, hardcore, in-your-face, scared-straight, whoop ass for aging women on the fast track to staying indefinitely single due to their own self-defeating choices that is based upon an assumption: no partner will ever be good enough. Now thankfully I’m in a relationship that is forecasted for a stable future, but if it doesn’t pan out, I’ll be back in the husband-finding field…fighting against boisterous 20-something competition. During my dating escapades over the last year, I saw for myself what a tiny pool of eligible men there are out there too. The picture is very grim. So let’s just say the premise of this book’s message not only has me acutely aware of the ticking clock that surrounds my uterus, but now my Mrs. eligibility age is at risk.

An honorary female friend of mine who is smart, gorgeous and has the whole package, and is also single, was a perfect candidate to co-read the published literature with me. A 1:1 book club if you will. You see, we’re two of the last few standing early 30’s women who haven’t been scooped up by a mister, yet. We both have our own stories (excuses) and reasons (failed relationships) and so the subject is a hot topic on a regular (daily) basis. Like a faithful companion, she secured her copy and we’re well on our way to dual labor of love enlightenment.

Mr. Big questioned my interest on the delicious topic(s) last night after I walked in with the ‘M word’ titled bright red book in-hand. “Are you sure it is…umm…healthy to spend this much time focused, even obsessed, with this?” I carefully and thoughtfully tried to explain that my curiosity on male/female dynamics has been and probably always will keep bookstores in business. Then informed him that besides obtaining a minor in Writing during college, I also earned one in Sociology. And concluded with the agree to disagree, “You should probably just accept it.”

While I simultaneously accept his enjoyment of video games to the likes of Madden, FIFA and some kind of human/alien war taking place in space, my hours snowed-in have been filled with fascinating stories and lessons on Settling. That word has such a horrible connotation, as it should, in theory. But what the author, Lori, dissects is how she went through her 20s, 30s and early 40s never thinking any guy was good enough. Which ultimately has left her alone, sad, and sans companionship. In short, her point is that our generation of females have set our Prince Charming standards so incredibly high (unattainable) that we’re missing a perfectly happy life with Mr. Good Enough.

That’s not to say we should “settle” for someone who doesn’t bring us happiness, but focusing more on subjective points (maturity, kindness, ability to commit) vs. objective points (age, height, how much hair he has, whether he has kids or an ex-wife).

Which leads me to my next point. While talking with a fellow early 30’s unattached fella, who will remain nameless, I questioned his stance on singlehood. Now mind you, this is right after hearing him retell his evening *hitting it* with a female. This seemingly cold, animal-like circumstance captured in conversation didn’t phase me, as I’m well aware how guys talk to each other regarding sex and hookups. But I had to ask, “So…are you single and sleeping around because you don’t want to be tied down, or is it because you just haven’t found the right girl?” His answer was firmly the latter. “I’d definitely be settled down [there is that S word again] if I found the right one…but girls these days are crazy.” I had to clarify, “What do you mean ‘these days’ — are they different now than before?” The busy bachelor explained, “Yes ladies have become more high maintenance today and you can’t make them happy.”

After chuckling a bit, I shared that the book’s subject I’ve had my nose in all afternoon preached a similar message. His next matter-of-fact statement hit me like a hangover, “Which is why we now have Cougars.”

Wow. Could it be true? Have women who simply never married because they wouldn’t curb over-exaggerated expectations in any way, shape or form, establish the infamous Cougar Club? This possible realization, and coupled fear of ever getting a membership invite, made my whiskers whimper.

posted on 05.02.10 Ex feet under.

My life continually manifests through themes. Well this last week has distinctly been focused on former flings.

First up is the Quarterback. During my 30-day dating binge in November, QB was the only one who I had any kind of quasi history with, so was consequently the only guy I shared full disclosure regarding my Mr. Big reunion. He handled my early retirement incredibly well and wished me good luck to boot. Since then we’ve kept in touch by way of texting and turns out he really, really wanted the borrowed orange Banana Republic tee back in his possession. Some people in my circle speculated he just wanted a reason to see me; I however wasn’t convinced that was the case. So I finally arranged for us to meet up on neutral territory last Thursday – the gym. Although our electronic demeanor was friendly and upbeat, the same tone didn’t quite translate in-person.

Through our prior sporadic messaging I had mentioned my 10K training* (I use that term* very loosely), knowing he’d appreciate it considering I’ve always been an anti-runner and he is an avid pavement pounder. So we chatted at the end of our individual workouts for maybe 90 seconds about my pathetic knees and amateur-level endurance, I handed him the returned apparel in a Target bag, and we said good-bye, sans hug. That aspect is what left me feeling luke warm about the experience, but considering we were both covered in sweat, any embrace probably would have been sticky…literally & metaphorically.

While retelling this same story to a good girl friend of mine the other day (who had met him on two occasions), she explained that right after my sudden and indefinite breakup from dating, QB searched for, found & contacted her through Facebook, asking if she could “somehow do something – I really like her.” That news threw me off. Not only that it was unexpected he’d reached out to my comrade for back-up reinforcement, but sweet he thought she could somehow impact my decision to date him. Well she obviously never attempted to do anything, let alone even tell me he did that, knowing I was focused on attempting to fix things with Mr. Big.

Next in the valiant recasting line-up has been the Artist. We never actually met in person (I had canceled our date due to unforeseen circumstances aka being swept away in a surprise limo excursion), but had i-chatted over Gmail. Ever since I told him I was getting off the singles market, he has texted a few times. The last “check in” I candidly explained that I’ve officially reunited with a former long-term relationship. Well the other day while signed in to check my email, he must have seen my screen name & started typing away. I’ve now set my account to invisible.

Then I got a friend request complemented by an email through Facebook from another guy (never even nicknamed him, that’s how insignificant he was at the time). “I don’t know why but something compelled me to search for you on here. Since I found you, figured I’d reach out and see how you’re doing.” Ugh, this is a classic example of the love/hate relationship I have with the World Wide Web. I wrote back a very brief response, purposefully not asking him any questions in hopes of not starting a running dialogue. But of course, he did anyway, “Well to tell you what I’ve been up to…”

An incredibly creepy guy from The Match also contacted me through my personal, private page – I never responded to his (multiple) winks or email requests on the actual dating site, so why does he think it’d somehow work on a social networking site? First a poke, then a friend request. Negative, Creepy McCreeperson.

Finally, Hokie and I have had a limited handful of communication over the last 6 months, most recently thru an evite to a fundraising event he is hosting. We ended on friendly terms over the summer so I have absolutely no issue with supporting a cause important to him in a public forum. Then just yesterday I noticed he mentioned my company’s #1 competitor in his Facebook status with regards to his dog. I commented and suggested using our products instead. Next thing I know, a text message is coming through asking what I’m up to. In the middle of a business day, I respond “at work” to which a quick reply reads, “Oh MaryB…I heart you.”

Lesson #1: If you participate in and/or open up communication with a former fling – they may very well take that as an opportunity to reengage. Even if you’re innocently being friendly and talking on equal playing fields, its best to just zip the lip. You think the past is buried six feet under, when in fact, exs notoriously try to come back from the dead.
Lesson #2: Even though you’ve disabled an online dating profile and canceled membership from Match.com months ago, don’t think you’re in the clear. They will find you.
Lesson #3: You will begin to resent Facebook.
Lesson #4: Despite that you’ve told ex manfriends you’re solely dating another ex manfriend, they don’t necessarily take that as truth. Or maybe they just don’t care. Be aware of their “next at bat” stance in case “at bat man” doesn’t hit a homerun.
Lesson #5: Even with your best effort, you’ll still likely manage to handle run-ins with past potential partners over par.

The original subject matter and intended climax of this blog post was going to be based around the age-old dispute, “Can you be friends with an ex?” But apparently… I’ve just answered my own question.

posted on 04.02.10

“You can’t live your life for other people. You’ve got to do what’s right for you, even if it hurts some people you love.”

— Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook)

posted on 04.02.10 Half Century.

The title had me at hello, “SECRETS TO A HAPPY MARRIAGE.” Not only am I a sucker for all things relationships — what makes them work, what makes them fail, but particuarly lessons from ones that *happily* last more than half a century. My personal favorites are marked in bold.

Betty & Louis Chernoff — married 60 years.

“We don’t read newspapers at breakfast. We talk to each other.” —Betty
“Our clocks click exactly the same. Whenever Betty wants to do something, I want to do it, too.” —Louis
“My mother and daddy got along like peaches and cream. You see that sort of example and try to do what they did.” —Betty
“We married young, but we were grounded. To make it work, you need to have a good head on your shoulders — which even some 35-year-olds don’t have.” —Louis

Ayako Kawakami & Harold “Pete” Petersen — married 53 years.

“My father always told me, ‘Marry a smart man.’ Because if I married a smart man, I would never starve.” —Ayako
“Let her go shopping. More than once, I’ve left a garage sale and gone to get my truck to carry all her antiques home. But true to Japanese tradition, we tolerate and accept every part of each other’s personalities.” —Pete
“When we just started out, Pete used to lose his temper a lot. The stress of his police job got to him. I always stayed calm, and soon he wanted to handle things like I do.” —Ayako

Stella & Ben Sonnenschein — married 51 years.

“Ben doesn’t say, ‘I love you,’ and I don’t force him to. Instead, I appreciate it when he brings me a sandwich in bed. Especially since he hates crumbs in the sheets.” —Stella
“Don’t get angry over more than one thing at a time. People jump around from one issue to another.” —Ben
“We still kiss. We’re affectionate. But it comes naturally. It doesn’t happen for show. Sometimes we just lay down in bed and hold hands.” —Stella

June & Bill Pritchard — married 64 years.

“We don’t get in each other’s way. I don’t challenge what Bill spends. And he knows better than to touch my computer.” —June
“If June makes a decision and I’m not there or vice versa, the other follows through. We always stayed united in front of our children.” —Bill
“Bill can be very knot-headed about things. When we have our spats, we each speak our mind and then we go on our way. We don’t always expect everything to be resolved or to change the other person’s mind.” —June
“She always liked my legs, so I still wear shorts!” —Bill

Imogene & Elmer Edwards — married 55 years.

“Never stop courting. We always try to see each other the way we did in our early days, even though I sure look different from that girl he married!” —Imogene
“We like to hit the road. We’re not stuck in monotony. We’ve sailed down the Nile and got aboard a camel.” —Elmer
“Elmer always takes my hand and leads me across the parking lot like I’m his girl and he’s taking care of me.” —Imogene
“I take Imogene’s hand and help her walk because otherwise she’s liable to
fall down.” —Elmer

Macon & Jim McDavid — married 51 years.

“In every family, someone’s got to drive the bus. But sometimes you change positions. You say, ‘OK, this is not my thing after all. It’s your turn to drive.’ All our marriage, Jim took care of our checkbooks. Then, three years ago, I realized I had these wonderful math skills and could do them easier than he could.” —Macon
“You’ve got to be able to trust your spouse. If she passes me the ball, I try to run with it. And if I pass her the ball, she does the same.” —Jim
“Jim loves to talk, so by now I’ve heard most of his stories. But they’re all good ones, so I still happily listen. And as for me? Jim thinks I can do just about anything.” —Macon

posted on 27.01.10 Evian.

Despite the Safe Drinking Water Act legislation, the public water system becomes contaminated across the United States of America approximately twice a year. Large quantities of females are impacted by becoming knocked up and/or acquire a diamond embedded within a shiny wearable accessory. This consistent, annual theme takes place every winter and again in late spring.

There has to be some kind of link between the cold, harsh conditions of January that lead people to want to a) stay inside, underneath warm covers…on top of each other, and/or b) kick off the New Year with a monumental life-merging initiative. As well as a connection between a) the warm, bright rays of vitamin D coming from sunshine in June that lead people to plant their own seeds inside an organic belly-shaped garden, and/or b) natural serotonin levels peaking from longer days which means more time outside, more exercise, creating more endorphins leading to blooming relationships being taken to the next level.

I can count on both hands as well as both feet the number of people currently preggers and recently engaged that I personally know. Right on schedule.

Sometimes it doesn’t faze me, sometimes it does.

Last year at this time, for example, Mr. Big & I had just broken up. And literally two days later, one of his closest friends who had dated someone a fraction of the time we had, took each other as fiancés. I was crushed. Not because I wasn’t happy for their happiness, but because I wanted what they had.

A year later, I’m in a very unique, yet familiar place. Everything has come 360. Back with my man friend, but still checking Single on my tax returns. Yet we could qualify as having a Common Law Marriage, as someone recently pointed out to me. I wholeheartedly know now that the best strategy is to gently reintegrate ourselves into the crevices of our daily lives again before sprinting down a petal-covered aisle, but I’m also so ready to *feel* like an adult.

I thank God for giving me youthful genes; people do not believe that I’m 30-years-old. A baby face is something I’ll never complain about. But that outer Johnson & Johnson persona masks my emotional state.

I don’t want to bar hop every weekend, or every other weekend for that matter. I don’t want to have a same sex roommate anymore. I don’t want to pay rent, or contribute to someone’s mortgage. I don’t want to worry about my fertility being in jeopardy in only a few short years. I don’t want to have to say good night to my partner over the phone. I don’t want to schedule seeing each other in the super short increments of time in between work/gym/sleep/traveling. I do want the government’s financial benefits of being married. I do want to have some substance to contribute among colleagues who only seem to yap about husbands and babies. I do want to host dinner parties among our coupled friends in a furnished dining room. I do want to decorate a new house together. I do want to grocery shop together, and co-carry bags back from the car. I do want to make two-person meals and not have to package 3 days worth of leftovers in Tupperware. I do want a backyard. I do want a dog. I do want a dog playing in the backyard. I do want to have yard sales. I do want to wake up next to my love every morning. I do want to fall asleep next to my sidekick every night.

It has never been about planning a wedding. In fact, it is quite the opposite for me. I have very little interest in the actual D-day details (which I fully blame on my myriad of past RSVP nuptial receptions) that I may have to begin drinking a bottle of bride juice when my time comes to get the stuff in my system. The glorified day-long party is just a symbol. For me, it has always been about incorporating my best friend into my daily life, period. No, I’m not quite ready to push strollers around and swap my Coach purse for a diaper bag. But I am ready to have a guest room that could easily be converted to a changing station if necessary. (For the record, I will likely get a Coach diaper bag. Yes - they exist).

Despite being one of the last few standing from my high school and college comrades to have absolutely no strings attached by way of marital contracts or offspring, [caveat: many of those former classmates have already gotten divorced… so I recognize that the grass isn’t necessarily always greener over there] I have and continue to put my trust in God that His timing is perfect, and that He’ll lead me to my husband. Obviously my wish is to take Big’s last name, but that too is TBD.

In the interim, while I patiently wait for love and life to sort itself out — hydrating with filtered, bottled water will continue to be my drink of choice.

posted on 26.01.10

“I don’t judge others. I say if you feel good with what you’re doing, let your freak flag fly.”

— Sarah Jessica Parker

posted on 26.01.10 True blood.

The older I get, the more and more I care about helping others. As simplistic as that sounds, the desire to think outside serving myself has become palpable. The evolution has gone from caring about my self-fulfilling prophecy to get a college education and climb the corporate ladder, to focusing on friends & family – taking time to let them each know through words and actions how important they are to me on a regular basis, to eventually wanting to help strangers.

Last week while reading a women’s magazine on the treadmill, something I’ve done countless times in an attempt to keep my mind occupied instead of focusing on the muscle pains, one particular story resonated with me. So much so, I was not only wiping my sweat, but wiping my tears. Over the years through various magazine articles, TV news specials, documentaries, based-on-a-true-story movies etc., I’ve had my fair share of heartstring jerking reactions to these tragic stories and ultimately tuck them away inside my “I’m so blessed” box.

But not this time. This time I ripped out the page with a call-to-action scrolled across the bottom.

The story in a nut shell: A young girl named Katie in college attempted to donate blood while walking through campus, but her iron count was too low so didn’t qualify. The neighboring booth waved her over…to become a bone marrow donor. Not knowing what it really entailed or the ramifications, she signed the dotted line. Six months later she was called — another young lady, 22-year-old Anna, 2,000 miles away was fighting Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML). Chemotherapy wouldn’t be enough to save her. Katie was a perfect match for Anna.

By the end of the article, I learned that the actual donation process isn’t quite as bad as I originally thought (painful drilling of the bone). Turns out donating marrow for adults is best done through extracting blood cells intravenously from the arm, like giving plasma. If the transplant takes, with the help of some meds, the recipient’s blood-making stem cells are replaced with the donor’s, which become new, healthy blood cells for the rest of the patient’s life. By the time it hit newsstands, Anna was cancer-free 18 months and she even got to meet the selfless, sweet, complete stranger that changed her life.

Every five minutes, someone is diagnosed with blood cancer, such as leukemia and lymphoma. Every ten minutes, blood cancer takes a life. Currently only 3 in 10 patients will find a matching donor that could save their lives.

I thought, “Why can’t I do that too? I’m healthy. I don’t have any diseases. I’ve got good blood.” So I registered online under the Be a Match list, which will remain active until I’m 61-years-old. Now I wait for my cheek-swabbing kit to come in the mail, and see if somehow, someway, someday, I can help save a life.

Ironically enough, I don’t know what my blood type is, nor have I ever donated blood. Until yesterday. I had just finished a grueling Spin class and as I was walking out of the gym, anxious to get home and watch the train wreck of a show The Bachelor, I spotted a Virginia Blood Services poster by the exit. What do you know…donations were right outside in the parking lot, thanks to their mobile unit. I knew what I had to do. One hour later, I walked away with an engraved VBS silver keychain, an awesome pink florescent arm bandage, and one less pint of blood in me. My official donator’s card will come in the mail soon…I can’t help but wonder if my cell type will match my personality type: A.

What I learned from literature while trying to ignore the clear bag filling up (I admire everyone in the medical field for their tolerance of broken flesh & excreting liquids): One pint of blood can save up to three lives! Someone needs blood every two seconds. About 1 in 7 people entering a hospital need blood. There is no substitute for human blood.

I’m thrilled to now be a lifeline, literally, for others in need. What I find delicious is that it all comes full circle: Just one more incentive to take care of me, inside and out, so that I may be of service to others through healthy, true blood.

Speaking of, to humor myself in search of a silver lining, I humbly stepped on the scale this morning, thinking for sure I would see a subtle shift. In addition to busting my ass these last few weeks trying to dissolve dozens of Christmas cookies super glued to my thighs, I discovered that blood makes up about 7 percent of our body’s weight.

However, apparently not even siphoning bodily fluid directly out of my system will budge the unreasonably selfish pounds. *Hopefully* in time, the Law of Karma will play in my favor and lose the excessive mass while purposefully shedding a few pints.

posted on 25.01.10 Cupid's Heyday.

As part of my new gig’s responsibilities, I manage all PR efforts for the company. But instead of simply waiting for inquiries to pop up & react, I’ve proactively joined an online group where reporters from around the country send their story ideas and do a mass call-out for credible sources and/or consumers to interview. Simply genius. Apparently the idea started out as a Facebook page and morphed into a 100,000+ following — now it functions as a self-sustaining site. This outlet allows seamless and fast communicate for the media to lock down experts in various fields and simultaneously gives companies near effortless publicity.

I couldn’t help but notice during today’s feed that a large majority of story ideas are dabbling in a particular timely arena.

“Love at First Site Plane Stories” – “Unusual Marriage Proposals” – “Valentine’s Day Gifts for Pets” – “Need Expert to Discuss Desire & Sexuality” – “Amazing Engagements & Proposals” – “Outlandish Wedding Proposals” – “Couple activity ideas for Valentine’s Day” – “Valentine’s Day engagements” and the requests go on and on.

God help me. February 14 is right around the corner. Cupid’s back with vengeance.

Here’s the thing. I love me a solid romantic gesture. Especially when they’re least expected. Especially when they’re original, thoughtful, meaningful and/or sincere. Especially when they’re “just because.” But I cannot stand cheesy, overt television commercials concocted from 10 different jeweler businesses, all depicting a perfect picturesque clip straight out of a movie. I wish, for once, one of these shops would step outside the faux script and show a real, relatable story. Because let’s face it – we’re not dumb enough to believe that *that* is how it really plays out. If there is one thing I’ve learned in marketing to today’s consumers it is that we’re smart cookies, and, we don’t like to be treated like idiots.

The media has managed to saturate our minds with purchase-inducing ideas, brought to you by paying sponsors, in an evil plot disguised by bows to push cash out of our pockets, completely striping away the whole point of its significance. Not to mention giving us gals even more reason(s) to hold our men accountable and open up room for error, and disappointment, if they don’t come through to the likes of these ads. I’d personally rather have a guy surprise me any day of the week with a sweet message, an unexpected homecooked meal, flowers for no reason at all, or an impromptu drive-by ColdStone just for being me, rather than a mechanical agenda pushed by advertising on a predetermined set day.

Those silly 30 second scenes are already terribly obnoxious. And now, leveraging the trusty Valentine holiday will only exacerbate my already extreme levels of nauseousness when it goes to gifting precious metals.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve celebrated the annual occasion many times over since my youth, including the exchange of heart-shaped cards, chocolate truffles, long-stemmed red roses, table-for-2 dinners among other cookie cutter initiatives. But I honor love day in and day out and don’t need a merchandising display to prompt my participation; the for-profit promotions have really gotten out of hand. Nothing feels authentic anymore. What happened to handmade greetings, poems, and personalized sentiments?

While I delicately step off my ruby red Soap Box, let the record show that I am more than happy to claim a Valentine this calendar year. RSVPing to “Singles Awareness Day” is a party I’m happy to miss.

posted on 20.01.10 Runner's Medium.

Since I made a pact to complete a 10K with my mini me friend 15 days ago in t-minus 2 months, I rapidly made strides for periods of 30-40 minutes on 8 different occasions, ranging from 2-3 miles. Now I’m waiting for my trophy in the mail. Seriously.

This is an epic feat. For me, anyway.

I’ve always Hated, with a capital H, running. Even as a tween playing travel soccer and having to run laps at practice, hated it. Running 1 whole mile in gym class, hated it. Over the years, sporadically self-inflicting hazing to my body to ‘give it a shot’ on the treadmill at the gym because everyone else is doing it and not collapsing, hated it. The only thing even remotely close to the sport that I regularly do is running to stores who are having clearance sales.

A proud Walker who has reaped multiple benefits, I’ve never understood why people put their bodies through the high-impact brutality of running. Even Wikipedia eludes to the simple math equation — Running uses more energy than walking to travel the same distance. Therefore, running is less efficient than walking in terms of calories expended per unit distance, though it is faster. Well that is something I can’t argue — getting the madness over quicker is A-OK in my book. Have you ever watched someone run, in place? Sometimes it is hard not to stare, they look so silly. And now, I’m one of them.

My first mistake was running 3 miles on day 1, and then doing it again on day 2. I was fairly certain I would need a double knee replacement after that silly decision. My rationale was the fact I got through it once, why can’t I do it again…not realizing my body wasn’t used to the punishment and hated me for it. Then after speaking with my roommate who is of the long-distance species and has a half marathon under her belt, advised me to not run as far (at this point) and not run consecutively back-to-back. So I’ve cut back my distance a bit and chopped up the spurts throughout the week.

When a new colleague learned of my 10K participation, and somewhat regular exercise routine, he called me an Athlete. For some reason that label didn’t sit well with my mind. I don’t classify, identify or relate to what that means. Sure maybe through my puberty years I could kick around that term, but certainly not today. Another classification I cannot and probably will never accept is being a Runner. I’m forcing myself to try it out. And who knows…maybe, just maybe after Race Day, I will continue trotting along assuming my endurance increases over time.

Since decreasing my speed (and caring less about what my “time” is), the experience isn’t exactly excruciating anymore. Furthermore, yesterday after having a very long day mentally & emotionally and stopping short of scalping myself, I openly took to the treadmill. I zoned out, didn’t pay much attention to the running meter (which I typically watch like a hawk, counting down til “it’s over”), and when it was done, I literally felt better. Though not rocket science, exercising really does release anxiety and tension. But particuarly running — perhaps because it is so repetitive and methotical. You also seem to metaphorically go to another place. I was able to reset my priority meter, take (several) deep breaths, and remember what is important by temporarily disengaging from my noisy life.

I won’t go as far to say I experienced the infamous Runner’s High, maybe more of a Runner’s Medium. Nor do I ever plan on going a long enough distance that requires protecting my nipples from shafing…but I’m ever so slightly beginning to understand why humans partake in pavement pounding. I think physically running is very closely linked to emotionally running. If we can lace up our sneakers, and travel into a space within our minds where all of our troubles seem so far away, then it makes perfect sense why sporting a pair of New Balances literally brings on a greater sense of balance.

posted on 20.01.10

“You don’t love someone because they’re perfect, you love someone in spite that they’re not.”

posted on 19.01.10 R-word.

Life has been jam-packed, hence my lack of entries lately. Although truthfully I have at least 14 blog posts boiling over in my brain, but haven’t had time to download them digitally.

The new job (which is going beautifully) has me fully maximizing my intellectual threshold capacity day after day — and am completely exhausted come sundown, am attempting to frequent the gym on a regular basis, diligently managing my nutrition in hopes of fitting back into 80% of my pants, participating in a social league’s dodgeball team, fostering friendships, crafting [insert any kind of high-level thinking piece of written work] for friends, among other activities. Oh oh, and how could I forget…reestablishing a healthy and meaningful romantic relationship that comes with supersize amounts of baggage in the meantime.

Despite the fact that day-to-day often feels like a crazy circus, keeping perspective in check on the regular is always high on my priority list. I’ve experienced far too many tragedies among loved ones to possibly wake up each morning not being unbelievably thankful. For that reason — I also find it incredibly gratifying to give back. If it were up to me, I’d be a professional volunteer to show my gratitude. But sadly, that compassionate career won’t pay my car note or grocery tab. So whenever possible in my 9-5 position, I do try to work for companies who ultimately have a greater good, preferably, have a client roster of non-profits. My current pro-pet gig will allow me to tap into the local SPCA. But beyond that, I don’t see much opportunity to work with the less fortunate. [Since writing this paragraph, a company-wide email was sent asking for donations to help victims in Haiti. I stand corrected…]

That’s why when my sorority’s alumnae chapter presented a chance to get in front of our national philanthropy on a local level, the Special Olympics, I shot back my RSVP with the quickness.

As a collegian, on only a handful of occasions, I was able to work hands-on with the Olympians around the state. From what I remember back in college, it was powerful, humbling, and amazing.

Also during my 4-year pursuit to obtain a Bachelors, I vividly remember a scene where the word ‘gay’ was used in my presence (in a derogatory manner) and a (unbeknownst to me at the time) gay man nipped that usage in the bud to the offender. I don’t know why that particular experience resonates with me til this day, but I feel the exact same way about the word “retarded.” Witnessing that dialogue moved me so much, likely because it isn’t often that someone who actually is ‘gay’ or ‘retarded’ gets to tell someone to their face, “Hey, buddy, that word offends me. Do you mind not using it?”

Last night I attended an informational session on how to get involved with Area 6, the Special Olympics local chapter in the city. Turns out it is super easy to help out, and I can’t wait. We heard from a Global Ambassador (and proud Olympian) who told his story on how the SO has touched him personally. What really pulled at my heart strings was the message that we’re all alike; we all want to win, we all have challenges to overcome, we all enjoy camaraderie and competition. But what makes these Olympians far more special than us is, they’ll hold hands while crossing the finish line, or wait for their friend to catch up to them before continuing, or give their opponents a hug at the end of the game.

Besides showing up at practices, games and meets, another opportunity appeared to put my skill sets to use. The organization is launching a new campaign at a grassroots level called Spread the Word to End the Word. As soon as I read it, I knew exactly which word they were referring to. I’m so excited that they’re building this initiative and believe it will gain traction as more and more advocates speak up. I’ve personally been ’spreading the word’ for over a decade now, whenever hearing the expression…”maybe you should reconsider not using that term, as you never know who you’re speaking to and if they have a loved one who is intellectually disable.” And every single time, the person looks at me with an ‘ah ha’ stare. I happen to have a cousin who falls into that category, and a dear friend who has a daughter with down syndrome. In Virginia alone, there are 80,000 people with intellectual disabilities.

So I ask you to take a pledge today, to give people with intellectual disabilities respect and the acceptance they deserve. Stop using the R-word, stop those who use it in front of you, disable negative stereotypes and stand up for these very special people.

posted on 18.01.10

posted on 12.01.10 Raise the woof.

I got a job. I got a job. I got a job!

Excuse my incessant tail wagging but when life arrives on your doorstep in a big bow, it is hard to resist. My new position & new people who I will be spending most of my waking hours with are fantastic.

But before I get ahead of myself, do you want the good news or bad news? Ok bad it is.

I tacked on 10 more minutes to my commute, for a grand total of 30. Have I mentioned how much I loathe driving?
I inherited an extra toll booth, for a grand total of 3 each way. Quantifying that cost, I’m looking at almost $25 each week just to participate at work. Have I told you how broke I am?
I downgraded from a MAC laptop to an archaic PC desktop. I won’t even entertain the silly TV commercials, there is no question which computer system is supreme.
I moved from a corner office with (many) windows, full equipped with a company-provided plant, to a desolate corner cubicle. Dreadful.

Now for the good.

My role is couture, to fit my creative curves. Just how I like it. Not sure how I’ve managed to pull this off, but every job I’ve ever had has been custom designed for my skill sets and interests. Not only do I get to stay within my comfort zone and finagle in public relations and viral marketing, but I’m also expanding my wing span to include brand management…something I’ve never done. My products range from established heavy hitters already in market to brand spankin’ new ones I’ll help birth in the delivery room.
Did I mention these products are within the pet industry? I love love love animals. Grew up with a Boston Terrier and my insides haven’t been right after losing Molly. I melt on sight at four-legged friends.
The building is gigantic with a production facility, warehouse and office space… the perfect equation to feel barren and cold. But oh no, that isn’t the case, because it has furry friends in every nook and cranny. Employees bring their pets to work. Not only does that make for much more eventful trips down hallways, but it is efficient since product testing takes place on the regular.
My job security is sky high. This business and the industry itself are doing very well. Even though the economy is in a sad state, consumers continue to treat their pets like their own children.

Speaking of, the beau and I have been yapping about adopting a pup for years now, but can never decide on a breed. We both bark out our individual argument for varying paw sizes. Ultimately, backyard space or lack there of, has always been the deciding factor. Sooner or later, a duel petship will take place, but I’m thinking sooner given my new daytime gig. And besides, I’m not ready to produce a 2-legged offspring, so a cutie patootie canine will have to suffice for now instead.