Thursday Thirteen - What's so great about being single?

When you're not single by choice, it's sometimes tough to remember the positive. I thought maybe a cheat-sheet would help.

• No sharing closet space.
• The bathroom is all mine.
• I get the bed all to myself.
• I can eat ice cream right from the container - even when I'm sick!
• No discussions about how to spend money.
• No mandatory family events (other than my own).
• No coordinating escape plans for the family events I do attend.
• I make all my own plans.
• I don't have to be nice to anyone if I don't feel like it.
• I don't have to watch Rocky movies.
• My cats like me best.
• No awkward, public conversations when I'm fighting with someone, but have to pretend like I'm not.
• No one has to "put me in charge;" I just am.

Have any to add?

No Words Wednesday: I love NY

Read why here!

Just like Goldilocks

I don't like to be too cold or too warm. Though I hate snow, I don't actually mind the colder temperatures of winter, because it's easier to warm up than to cool down. I just don't like it to get brutally cold. As far as summer temperatures, I'll take the extreme heat and be happy about it because we get so little summer in Upstate New York, but again, my sweet-spot is high seventies or low eighties.

When I'm inside, I think it should always be the same temperature. And it should never be humid. If I want to enjoy the outdoor weather, I should go outdoors for that. I shouldn't need a wool sweater to keep warm when I'm inside, nor should I need to be wearing my bathing suit. Room temperature is just that - and your room is the same no matter what the calendar says.

Which can be a problem for me, especially when I'm somewhere I don't control the climate. I have a very low tolerance for warm. It's more than just getting uncomfortable; I get antsy and cranky and can't concentrate or focus at all. I've been told it could be due to my thyroid condition - which is strange because the normal symptom for hypothyroidism is an intolerance for cold. Leave it to me to mess it up.

This whole "not too hot" thing can be a problem for me when I'm trying to exercise. A fact of which I was reminded yesterday as I got my workout by mowing my desperate lawn. I was reminded of how hard it is for me to stay motivated to get the exercise (and in this case, the chore) done when all I can think is, "Holy hell, I'm going to die!"

I suppose I can't do much about the intolerance; I'm like Goldilocks that way. But I can do something about my motivation when things are uncomfortable. Maybe focus on how annoyed I am by the lawnmower?

Is rape always serious?

Last month, this article caught my attention on twitter. The details of the article weren't terribly important to me; what caught my attention was the fact that the interviewee attempts to differentiate between types of rape.

Serious rape, I don't think many judges give five years for a forcible rape, the tariff is longer than that. And a serious rape where, you know, violence and an unwilling woman....

Discussing rape is such a bad idea for a man - it's right up there with talking about how tired you are from being in the hospital while your wife spent 30 hours in labor.

I think it's a bad idea, personally, to say that some rape is "serious" - which implies other forms of rape are not. A better idea (in my completely unqualified and totally irrelevant) opinion would be to redefine certain things which are called rape as something else entirely. At the same time, I think additional charges/crimes/whatever are needed in other situations.

And I think someone should give this Ken Clarke guy a twix - because he definitely needs a minute.

I get what he's saying. A man grabbing a woman - a stranger - off the street, forcing her at gun point onto the ground and violently raping her is one thing. A 20 year-old man having (consensual) sex with a 16 year-old girl is another. But both are rape.

I submit that maybe they shouldn't be.

When I was 16, I (briefly) dated a 20 year-old guy. We did not have sex, but if we had, it would have been consensual. I would have known what I was doing, and I would have been making an informed, adult decision. Would it have been a good decision? No. But by choosing not to have sex with him, I've proven that some 16 year-old girls are, in fact, capable of making a mature, rational, adult decision.

So the assumption that a girl who has sex at a young age must have been taken advantage of, must have been tricked, and couldn't have known better is false. It's also arbitrary because if that same girl had sex with a 17 year-old guy, she could be just as pregnant, or just as HIV positive, or feel just as sad and betrayed - but he did nothing wrong.

I understand that in some situations, there's more to it than that. I'm not saying there shouldn't be an "age of consent" or other laws. I'm saying that the situation isn't as cut and dry as it's treated now.

The word "rape" is used way too often. In cases like these, and in cases where a guy is an easy target (maybe a wealthy athlete with a lot to lose). It's become so watered down, that women who really are victims of this heinous crime are ignored and set aside.

Rape is always serious. Some rape might be more severe physically, but the feeling of helplessness, fear, abandonment, loss of control and being set aside and judged by others is always there. Those emotional scars don't heal the same as a physical injury.

What's the solution? I wish I knew. Too bad there isn't a way to outlaw ignorance.

I hate being sick

It seems as I get older, being sick takes a greater toll on me. It also seems that when I catch germs from kids, they really knock me down for the count. I think kids have stronger, more resilient germs than the rest of the world. Someone should really study that.

I've been sick this week. (Think it's a coincidence I was here on Friday?) I've barely made it to work, and I really hope there weren't any bills that needed to be paid, because I didn't do much else - including find a blog for Follow Friday.

Good news, though. There are some vacation posts up over at OTE, and I'm finding a bunch of new blogs - so there will be some in the future.

As soon as I get me some soup. Who wants to bring me some?

Source

Parents' love - and birthdays

Though I have a pretty awesome dad, one thing we never did when I was a little kid was birthday parties. That doesn't mean I didn't get gifts - I did. I just think my dad preferred to spend the money on extra gifts, rather than a party. It avoided the headaches of planning, I was still happy, and my grandmother still got to make me a cake. It didn't bother my friends' parents because when their parties came around, I still showed up (with gift in tow).

All sorts of win for everyone.

But I know a few parents who go all out. They try to find a fun place to have a party, with decorations and goody bags and fun activities. Bowling, bouncy-bounce, pool parties... The list goes on.

But not too many parents would go to the lengths my cousins did this past weekend. Not even Harry Potter fans themselves, when their son asked for a Harry Potter themed party - they promised it would happen.

And did it happen.

This party promised to be so epic, I had two grown adults, neither of whom have children, ask if they could travel with me to attend. I was there (sans children, obvs) and it did not disappoint. Now, I would have gone anyway - because I love this kid - but as a Harry Potter fan, I was truly impressed with the detail and effort mom and dad put into this night. 

They are the parents everyone should strive to be. If I were to ever be a parent - they'd be my role models.

Here are few pictures, to give you an idea of just how much fun my Friday night was.

The invitation - much like the letters Hogwarts students receive.

On the door to the house....
(I made that!)

The Great Hall - dinner was Muggle Mac n' Cheese and Dragon Nuggets. 

Potions Class

Ollivander's Wand Shop

Qudditch. Yes, Bill made a Quidditch field.

Sorting hat - complete with a fabulous
voice, provided by a hilarious friend!

No Words Wednesday: Dad's Day Love

Before the game.

Play ball!!

Natural beauty

"There's no such thing as natural beauty." Truvy, Steel Magnolias

I came across this article on Yahoo Shine the other day. At the number one spot on the list of ten beauty moves men (supposedly) like? "When you bare it all" - aka, don't wear any makeup.

I always find that funny, considering men love women like Eva Mendes, Halle Berry and Heather Locklear. None of whom are ever seen without makeup - and each of whom has made money as a spokeswoman for a make-up company. But what do I know, anyway?


Any-who, the article says that the average woman spends nearly $200/year on makeup. I shared that on twitter, asking, "Who are the women spending less than $200?"

Not me. That's for sure.

But I got replies from several women who spend way less. Several said that if we included skin-care in that tally, they would probably be a little closer to $200, but on makeup alone - no way. A couple even said that if we were talking makeup alone, their total would be $0 (or close to it).

I think that's great. I think it's absolutely fabulous when a woman is secure enough to not waste money on things like foundation, eye-liner or shadow, or blush. Even better is when a woman knows her own beauty and doesn't need things like hair color, perfume, nail polish, concealer, mascara, or lip-gloss.

I believe that the most attractive accessory that any woman can wear is her own self-confidence. I just happen to need a little help when it comes to confidence in my appearance. I went through a stage where I didn't wear makeup - of course, I was in my early twenties, thin(ish) and engaged. Confidence (at least in my appearance) was less of an issue back then.

I think it's okay to need help with your self-confidence. The truth is, it's not good to get it from what other people think, anyway. That's not self-esteem, because you're not getting it from yourself. You have to find a way to like who you are, and be proud to hold your head high.

Because truly natural beauty only comes from loving you.

I'll be posting my absolute, favorite, Sephora must-haves, probably in August, after the birthday fairy brings me some Sephora goodies next month.

Be afraid

I'm sort of a scaredy-cat. Case-in-Point:

• For a long time, I was afraid to have a car with automatic windows, because of how easy it would be to get trapped if the car was submerged in water. Because that happens all the time. 
• I'm basically convinced that if I ever took a cruise, the ship would either get stuck on a sand-bar, and I'd have to eat Spam for a week - or a giant, thought-to-be-extinct sea creature would swallow it whole. 
• It took X all the power, will and trickery he could come up with to get me on a plane - because I was convinced the thing would crash the minute I set foot. 
• I once insisted on setting the house alarm to keep Freddy and Jason from getting me in my sleep. Because if two psycho killers, one who has come back from the dead multiple times and another who invades dreams, were to set their sights on me, of course the house alarm would be helpful.

Whatever. I never claimed to be normal.

Some of my fears are based in reality - and just manifest themselves in really weird ways. Other fears have absolutely no basis whatsoever. The thing is, I do my best not to let them take over my life. I work through them when I can, accept them when I must and make a joke about them always.

Except snakes. I. Hate. Snakes. And I have no idea why. 

I have always said that if I ever had a snake problem at my house (which is in the city; snakes aren't exactly prevalent) I'd just sell the thing. And I would. And when I say problem, I mean there's one tiny, non-venomous garden snake living in the yard. To me, that's the equivalent of the Amityville Horror. (By the way - I freaked out when I found out that movie was based on a true story. Freaked. Out.)

So, when I found this article on the Times Union website, I nearly cried. And I did, in fact, have nightmares that night. When I retweeted the article saying I'd move or set the place on fire - I wasn't kidding. 

So that's my worst fear. What's yours? (Rational or otherwise - we're all friends here.)

Two wrongs don't make a right

A while back, I submitted a guest post to one of my favorite blogs, Chin Musik (we've talked about it before).

I submitted it on May 3, so the timing was right for the topic - but it didn't work out as a guest-post for the blog. I thought I'd share it here today, and take the opportunity to remind you that if you've never checked out Chin Musik - you really should. You can follow the blog, and its author Randy Howard, on facebook here, and on twitter here.

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The village where I grew up is small. There’s one school (k-8); there were fifteen kids on the stage when I graduated in 1988. So when I say everyone knows everyone – it’s for real.

In some ways, it’s great; all your friends are close by and there’s always someone looking out for you. In other ways – it sucks. Everyone is the same – so if you’re not like them, you stick out like a sore thumb.

For a long time, I was that sore thumb.

In the fourth grade, our teacher repeated a saying to us over and over again. “Two wrongs don't make a right.” I didn’t really understand; but she said it so often, it stuck with me, anyway.

A few years later, a new girl joined our class. She wasn’t like everyone else – at all. The other girls made fun of her – and for once, left me alone. Did I join in? I’m sure I did. At the very least, I was so relieved not to be on the receiving end that I didn’t do anything to stop them.

Our class trip that year was to an amusement park. Towards the end of the day, I found the new girl on a bench, in tears. She really wanted to go on a ride, but had no one to go with, and she was afraid to go alone. So I went with her.

Suddenly – I understood. The bullying, the nastiness – it sucked. It was wrong of other kids to treat me that way – and I couldn’t make it right by treating someone else the same. You can’t solve a bullying problem by becoming a bully.  

In order to make things right – you have to do the right thing.

Nearly 3,000 people were murdered in the attacks on September 11, 2001. Even worse – people took to the streets in celebration of death. They killed the American spirit – they taught us our way was flawed, and that was their victory.

On May 1, 2011, Americans took to the streets and the internet in celebration of a death. We cheered and sang songs; we even made t-shirts. The most wanted, most evil of all the terrorists is dead! It’s finally right!

Or had we become the bully? Did we become the wrong we were looking to right?

Thursday Thirteen: My Dad

I suppose Father's Day means something different to me than it does to others. My parents divorced when I was little - which isn't unusual. What is unusual is the fact that it wasn't my mother who raised me; it was my father. He enlisted the help of some absolutely fabulous women - but at the end of the day, it was all my dad.

It's a running joke (in which I participate) that I am a spoiled-rotten daddy's girl. I am - and I'm not gonna lie, I like it that way. But it's not lost on me just how lucky I am to have the dad I do - and I don't ever take that for granted. My dad is my hero - literally. He stepped up to raise a little girl all by himself, even though I'm sure that was never in his plans.

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He had to show up - for dance recitals, plays, concerts, parent-teacher conferences, birthday parties, doctor appointments, etc., etc. And show up he did - I don't think he ever missed a one.

He always had to look out for me. He couldn't live the life of a single guy in his 30's because he had me. But I never, ever felt like he resented that.

My dad and one of his grand-cats.

When I wanted to find a home for a cat, my dad took him in. And now they're the best of friends.

He can fix my computer. He can help me pay people to do other things that neither of us know how to do. This means that, really - dad is the only guy I need.

He paid for my wedding....

....but never once made me feel like a failure after my marriage fell apart.

He saved, and saved, and saved....and I've never paid a dime on a student loan.

He spoiled me rotten growing up. I never wanted for anything, and got everything I ever wanted for Christmas and birthdays....

....Until I turned 16, and told my dad I "needed" a car. He said, "No, what you 'need' is a job."

He never let me win at board games when I was little, and he never let me play games that were beneath my age or intelligence.

He read to me every night, until I was old enough to read to him. Then he listened.

He respected my privacy, and never once went into my bedroom or read my diary.

He gave me freedom and latitude to make responsible, adult choices and to form my own opinions. He respected me when I did so, even if he didn't agree.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!!

I wouldn't be the person I am today without you.

No Words Wednesday: Pride

I didn't take any photos at Albany Pride - er, largely because I couldn't be there. So I'm sharing some links to photos taken by folks who were.

Times Union

If you're so inclined, contact your local New York State Assembly and Senate Representatives and remind them that civil rights need to be protected - for all New Yorkers.

Do you yahoo or google?

For years after we (we being X and I) got our first computer (thanks, Dad), we shared an email. It was an nycap.rr.com address, through our ISP. X did the whole outlook thing, and for years - and years - that was how we got our email.

When that wasn't going to work anymore (re: divorce), I had to come up with my own email solution. For a while, that email was mine alone, since it was still being delivered to the account at the house, and the computer set up hadn't change.

I knew it would though, and in anticipation of that, I set up a gmail account.

The thing was - and I'm just being honest - I didn't like gmail at that time. It's set up was...confusing to me, probably because, for better or worse, I was accustomed to outlook.

Then another problem disaster challenge presented itself: online dating. I'd meet guys through a site, and want to move communication off that site to somewhere more convenient - but I learned pretty fast I didn't want random men cluttering up my gmail.

Enter yahoo - which, it turned out, was much more appealing to me. It's interface was more like outlook, I could chat right from the inbox, and everyone did the same thing I did (used yahoo as their "I'm not really sure I want to 'know' you" account). So, yahoo stuck.

Recently, yahoo released a beta version of it's new email format, and I switched over. I do love it - it will keep tabs on my friends who are online in facebook and yahoo, and I can chat right from my inbox. I can view facebook and twitter updates, and I can update my yahoo status - and send it right to those other social networking sites at the same time.

One problem....because this is an update, and I work in a technological vacuum, I can't use yahoo at work anymore. Well, I can - from my phone. Not especially convenient.

So, I turned to old, reliable gmail to save the day.

Yahoo is soooo last century.

I started emailing friends from that account during the day, instead of yahoo. I've started using gchat more often - and it turns out, it works really, really well, even on my work browser - which I'm pretty sure is the same one Wilma used to chat with Betty.

As it turns out - the interface is a little different - or maybe it's just different than I remember. In any case, it's easier to keep track of emails, to sort them, and of course gmail's storage is practically endless. I'm still having trouble with how a "conversation" is saved - but I'm getting used to that.

Importing contacts is, naturally, easy (hey, it's freaking google) and all my most important friends have a gmail account. So I can totally save yahoo for sign-ins and petitions and free online accounts.

And all the cooties.

Fight fire with fire

I used to be the type of gal who was motivated by other people's opinions. My decisions were largely based on what others thought was best, and what they thought of me.

I, apparently, am starting to get over that hang up. I must have happened when I became undeniably single and was forced to really look myself in the mirror, figure out what I liked and what I didn't, and started making changes. Suddenly - there weren't opinions other than my own - and that became my new motivation.

This, I have found, is a good news/bad news story.

Of course, it's very healthy to live for yourself, on your own terms, and not worry what others think. But I was really hoping that by blogging about my fitness goals, I would find motivation to actually go to the darn gym. I thought if I added a level of accountability, by having to "face" you guys, I'd do it.

Not so. Apparently, my strive for self-esteem has started to work, and I'm actually happy with myself. Go figure. So while that's good news, it turns out, I'm not influenced by fear of judgment, ridicule or criticism. I need a different motivator to get me to the gym.

However, as luck would have it, I have found one: Annoyance.

Annoyed with my job. Annoyed with finances. Annoyed with family drama. Annoyed with men. That would normally make me want to hide under the covers with a pound of dark chocolate.

Not this time. This time, I decided I'd try something new. They say exercise can fight off depression - and since I knew that a string of oh-so-bad crap in life can bring on a bought for me, I thought I'd fight fire with fire this time.

So I did. And - I can't even believe I'm writing this - it's actually working. Who knew?

I will still eat movie popcorn. I still need to flip the ratio on my water/diet soda intake. I will always like chocolate, and cheese and bread. But I have discovered a few healthy eating tips, and managed to incorporate those into my diet. I have definitely stepped up the exercise in a way that's manageable and beneficial for me.

Will I lose weight? I have no idea. Remember, the scale is broken - and that's not the goal, anyway. Will I get healthier?

I think I already am.

Follow Friday Fun: Curvy Girl Chic

Through the magic of twitter, I found this absolutely fabulous blog called Curvy Girl Chic. The author's name is Allison, and though I've only just "found" (met?) her - she seems super-cool and super-fun. And she has fabulous taste.


The About section of Curvy Girl Chic describes Allison as a "shopaholic / fashionista with a love for city-edge-meets-cali-chic clothing and amazing fashion finds!" If I were going to have a girl-crush on any person, I think Allison would be the one.

Allison describes her blog as "a photo-heavy blog full of daily outfit posts, product reviews, trend, shopping, and designer spotlights, as well as a little discourse about current events in the fatshion community!"

Fatshion? Yes, it's love.

But don't take my word for it. Head over and check out Curvy Girl Chic. Here are links to some of my favorite posts.

you look like summer

pop pop pop (I want this whole outfit)

Washed out

rare birds

You can also find Curvy Girl Chic on twitter, facebook, tumblr and blog lovin.

Check her out, whether you're a curvy girl or not. She has lovely taste, some good tips, and she seems pretty cool, too.

Thursday Thirteen - Reasons why men are happier

I got this email the other day, and though I've seen it before, I thought some of these were just so funny that I wanted to share. The actual email is much longer - I'm only sharing the best. Because you're worth it. You're welcome.

Men are such happy people. What do you expect?

• Your last name stays put
• Chocolate is just another snack
• The world is your urinal
• Wrinkles add character
• Three pairs of shoes is more than enough
• You almost never have strap problems in public
• Your underwear is $8.95 for a three pack
• You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look
• You only have to shave your face and neck
• You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes
• One mood all the time
• A five day vacation requires one suitcase
• You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness

No Words Wednesday: Just sayin'....

Women who know their place

From an email:

Barbara Walters, of 20/20, did a story on gender roles in Kabul, Afghanistan several years before the Afghan conflict. She noted that women customarily walked five paces behind their husbands.

Ms. Walters returned to Kabul after the conflict, and observed that women still walked behind their husbands. Despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem happy to maintain the old custom.

Ms. Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked, 'Why do you now seem happy with a custom that you once tried so desperately to change?'

The woman looked Ms Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation said, “Land mines.”

Moral of the story? No matter what language you speak or where you go:

Behind every man, there is a smart woman!

I swear....

I think I was about 16 the first time I really swore (like s**t or f**k), mostly as an experiment, just to see how it felt. Of course, I never swore in front of my father, or other adults. I couldn't swear at school, and I didn't really bother at work because though my coworkers wouldn't care, there were customers.

The end result? I don't really swear much. It happens now and again - usually when I am really angry or really flabbergasted by something. If I swear, it's for emphasis or to make a point. You'll rarely see it in my writing. Mostly, it happens in traffic.

...unless they do it right.

Want to know where I learned the words? You'll laugh - my grandmother (Nanny, we called her). She was something else; smart, funny and sharp. Nanny didn't take, er, crap from anybody and she was most definitely in charge.

But in her day, a lady didn't swear. Really, women didn't speak out of turn at all - but like I said, Nanny was sharp. She was a little ahead of her peers. Sure, her role was very traditional, and she did all the cooking and cleaning and pretty much all the child-raising for my dad and uncles. But she was also the only female in my family allowed at the poker table during family reunions.

So, at her 75th birthday, Nanny stood up and announced that, from then on, she was going to say whatever words she wanted. She was 75, and felt she'd earned that right.

Still, Nanny used the words sparingly (especially the f-word). When she did swear, Nanny would get this look in her eye that said, "I know I'm doing something wrong, but I'm so excited be getting away with it." That look made it impossible to do anything other than giggle.

So, while I guess I learned the words from Nanny - I also learned that a real lady doesn't use them unless she really needs them.

When did you start using "those" words?

Friday Five: Things about me

No Follow Friday Fun blog recommendation today - unless you want to count this link to the How About We... dating blog.

How about we... is a dating site that centers around picking a date activity. Users suggest a date (how about we....go to a museum, or how about we....go fly a kite) and other users gauge their interest based on the suggestion, rather than the person looks, age, interests, etc.

It's a cool idea. Once I created an account, I started getting weekly emails with date suggestions, all of which seem to be from Brooklyn. I accept this as confirmation that either the site is still growing, or they need a lesson in the geography of New York State.

There was an interesting topic on the site a couple of weeks ago - a blog titled 5 Things You Should Know Before You Consider Dating Me. It got me thinking - if I was going to give someone a heads up, what would I tell him? So, here's a Friday Five to make you laugh.

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No AC?!? Ugh, when's dinner?

I refuse to live without central air conditioning. Humidity is not my friend - and I get cranky when I'm uncomfortable. 

I have terrible arthritis in my knees. If you're thinking, "She's walking so slow!" you're right. Either leave me behind, or build extra time into your planning. Why are we walking everywhere, anyway?!

Some surprises I like, others I don't Surprise flowers? I like. Surprise party, meaning I didn't know and therefore didn't wear my cute outfit? I dislike. Here's the catch: I expect you to know the difference.

Hunger affects me the same as heat and humidity - cranky, unless it's controlled. So, basically - I like to be comfortable. 

Of course my closet doesn't look
like this. It's not nearly that organized.

I love my shoes, and closet space is precious to me. Yes, I need all five seven ten pairs of black heels, and no, it is not open for debate. 

I have some fine qualities, too. If I can think of five, I'll share those next week.

What would be on your list?

Thursday Thirteen - Universal truths

Time for me to share some more chain-email wisdom.

There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.


I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.


The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.


I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.


I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.


You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.


Was learning cursive really necessary?


There is great need for a sarcasm font.


I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.


Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.


I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.


Bad decisions make good stories.


"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever.

No Words Wednesday: Memorial Day is for planting