So I’m on this lifelong quest to be a better person and all, right? And I’m doing okay, except that sometimes it’s really hard not to cry about things and just run home and hide in my bed. But there are certain things that make it easier, like having a great husband and family and also living in a place where I get to see birds and bunnies every day, and owning my very own coffee maker, with which I can produce that glorious nectar, thereby sustaining my existence.

But some days, coffee isn’t enough. Yesterday was one of those days.

Yesterday, I arrived at work to find that my job share person had done none of the basic day to day tasks we each take care of during our shifts. Apparently, he has been given other, more fun tasks, and I am to do all of the crap tasks. Is this sanctioned by my bosses? Why, yes, it is. Is it because he has more education than me? Nope. He has less. More experience? Actually, he has way less experience than me in those matters. Years and years less. Is it because he asked to do those things and I didn’t? Nope, not that, either. I asked about it a few weeks ago and was told that they’d have me do those things in a while.

What, pray tell, could be the reason this young man, with less education, experience, and time on the job is given the higher-level tasks to complete, whilst I, a middle-aged woman with better qualifications across the board is left to do all of the crap work? Hmmm. Let’s think here.

Yep. He’s a boy.

It’s so blatant that our other administrative area co-worker noticed, and so did our new associate. I just love it. It’s demoralizing, demeaning, AND I get to pick up extra work. On top of the extra work he was hired to help with, which he’s not doing, so I’m stuck with even more.

So I’m complaining about it here on my blog, since that will accomplish exactly nothing.

Sexism is alive and well, folks. And some of us need our jobs too much to risk complaining about it, and have therefore become part of the problem. 

And that’s my week in a nutshell. Nice.

I’m trying really hard to kind of Marie Kondo my closet. Kind of. A little.

There are probably forty shirts in there, and I know I only wear around twenty of them regularly, and then there are another few that are for dressy things, and then one or two that I love but they only fit me during rare periods of shrinkification. So I feel like the other ten or so shirts should probably go.

And then I have a day where I lose my mind and decide to wear one of the shirts I never wear.

It’s bad. Really, really bad. But I do it anyway.

And then I stand in there and think, “I should just get rid of this shirtlike nightmare, once and for all.” But I hesitate because then what if I don’t have enough shirts and I go through a ten week phase of being unable to do laundry and I develop horrendous armpit sweat that renders all of my other shirts unwearable so it’s either keep those bad shirts that looked good that one time in Old Navy under the special lighting that doesn’t let you see bra bulges, see-through spots, or the fact that when you sit down, the entire shirt will suddenly become one size smaller, but only in the arms, so you’re reduced to either sitting in your chair but incapable of arm motion, or standing for the entire day. (Old Navy, shame on you and your dressing room lighting that makes me buy those shirts. It’s all your fault.)

It’s the same fear that makes me pack ten pairs of underwear for a two day trip, because I may suddenly start peeing my pants all day long. Except with shirts.

At any rate, that’s where I’m at with that. I got rid of two shirts yesterday that I’ve had for about ten years, and are now so thin that I can completely see everything through them, but I pretend that it’s just me, because they’re comfortable and I like the colors. But no more. They are in my donation pile. Along with my pink pony dress which I love and wore about fifty times before getting ink on it and realizing that it does, indeed, make me look pregnant.

Oh, Marie Kondo, your process makes me even more neurotic. Waiting for the sparky joy part. Not there yet.

Well, we officially have no kitchen. It’s gone. My husband tore all of the cabinets out this weekend, and our new ones are being made, so there it is.

It’s not so bad right now, though, because he also put up some work tables and a little utility sink, and our refrigerator is still there so we’re not living out of coolers. Which is good, because we have about a month to go.

Why do we do this? Oh yeah, this kitchen was pretty gross.

I mean, it was clean and all, but there were so many mystery stains on the insides of the cupboards that I had just resigned myself to accepting (I decided they were iced tea....it seemed to be a good color match, even though the spray patterns would definitely point toward something carbonated). And the counter had huge corner seams which would not stay together anymore, no matter how much my husband shimmed them up, so yep. It’s time.

It’s weird to think that three years ago, we had just finished our new kitchen in the old house, and now we’re doing it again. This one is easier, though, because we aren’t doing the entire house. There’s no floor fixing or anything.

Still, though. Only three years and we’re doing this again. What is wrong with us?

Why do I bother asking? I totally know....we are THOSE people. The ones who need a project and like to have something to fix, even when it means no free weekends,  no sleeping in, and no extra money for vacations, etc., because it always goes into the house. Ha ha ha we are nuts.

At any rate, it’s on now. The house is a dusty mess, there’s kitchen stuff everywhere, and we’re just accepting the chaos. Or, he’s accepting it, and I’m trying to figure out ways to clean around it so my brain doesn’t explode because dust makes me lose my mind.

And that’s what’s happening in our neck of the woods. So there you go!

Fat-positive post coming up here. You’ve been warned.

So I took myself off of my diet this year because, well, I’ve been on a diet since I was 8 and it wasn’t doing me any good. Oh, and did I mention that I noticed that if I was doing what I was doing and I was skinny, it would’ve been an eating disorder? Because yep. Totally. Obsessing, eating nothing, exercising way too hard, and all for nothing. Nothing. My metabolism basically stopped. Yay.

At any rate, I stopped dieting and started thinking about being healthy and putting good food in my body that would keep it running optimally and help me to feel better. And I actually lost a little weight, not a ton, but it’s a process. And I’m working on not obsessing about weight anyway, because that’s a big part of the problem.

So last night at rehearsal, I was sitting next to this lady who tells me every year how she does this intermittent fasting thing (tried it, didn’t work), and how I should try it because it’s much easier at my age and if I don’t take care of my weight now, I’ll be sorry. I know she means well, but every year I try not to sit next to her because it just makes me crazy. But this year, well , this year she’s feeling a little, hmm...different. Yes, I’m a little smaller than I was last year, and yes, she’s a little larger than last year,  but she’s also fasting 18 hours a day. And seems kind of miserable because it’s not doing anything. So she tells me about it, and tells me her age and all of this stuff, and I’m thinking that if I’m starving myself 18 hours a day when I’m in my 70s, that is going to be extremely depressing.

So after rehearsal, I got in my car and was driving home, and I realized that labeling ourselves as “fat” is just another way we are grouping ourselves into tiny little clumps, instead of recognizing the fact that we’re all human. That’s it. And we have different characteristics, but we let “fat” take up so much space in our lives. As though it’s the be-all end-all of existence.

And it’s just not.

I’m fat, but I’m also tall, and I’m smart, and I’m strong, and I’m pretty darn healthy. I’m so many different adjectives that may or may not have a negative connotation at this point in time, that could just as well be positive in another circumstance, I have other women tell me all the time that they’d love to have my height, or my curly hair. Well, I’ve always wished I was tiny, and I think straight hair is much easier to deal with. Probably because I don’t have it.

The point is, why does that one adjective in its many forms take up so much of our personality profile? And people spend their entire lives trying to get rid of it, when they could be concentrating on being healthy (physically AND emotionally), and get better results and feel better inside.

People are dying from dieting. They’re killing themselves, and they’re hurting their own hearts, and they’re doing things to make their bodies work in ways they were never designed to work. It’s really an awful thing.

I’m not saying not to eat healthy and exercise. Bodies need good-quality fuel, and they need to move. But maybe the reasoning behind it matters. Maybe if you hate your body and starve it and do exercise in a way that makes it hurt, that’s not as helpful as you’d think.

Maybe recognize the fact that all bodies have fat, and all bodies have bone, and all bodies have muscle, and your body is a wonderful machine JUST THE WAY IT IS. Take care of it and treat it the way you would treat a mansion or the most expensive car in the world. It’s not replaceable. If you mistreat it, you can’t get a new one, and eating some nice vegetables and healthy, less processed things is a heck of a lot cheaper and easier than going to the doctor or being in the hospital.

Being kind to yourself isn’t something that comes naturally to a lot of us. Many of us feel like we need to whip these bodies into shape as a sort of punishment for not lookin the way we think we should look. But we can’t think like that. If you want to get in shape, that’s awesome! Your body will love the exercise, and you’ll probably end up a lot healthier. Just don’t do it as a punishment; you didn’t do anything wrong, and , if you did, you probably can’t exercise it away.

So, I guess the point of all of this is that I realized that maybe, after all, I’m on the right track for me. Dieting is just not a way I want to live anymore. Self-loathing is not a state of mind in which I feel like I need to spend time anymore. It’s probably going to take a while to get used to that, but I think it’s important.

Dramatic drive home, right?

Last night I realized that my husband and I went and had a baby and didn’t even notice it. A bird baby.

This sounds a little cuckoo.

Well, maybe that’s okay. We are a little weird. At any rate, we have this cockatiel, and we love her like crazy. And buy her all the toys and treats and do training stuff and all that. Which I think keeps us in normal pet parent mode. Last night, though, we shifted into this place which was much more like people with a human baby times, and I don’t know where that puts us now, but it’s a little embarrassing.

This kid demands love and adoration ALL DAY. Guilt trips included if we don’t comply. And birds aren’t like dogs. If you give them food they don’t like, they will quite seriously starve themselves until they die. They’re weirdos like that. This girl will not eat if she doesn’t like where you put her bowl, and she has an issue with climbing down her ladder to get to her food.

A month or so ago, I was riding my exercise bike and she figured out the ladder. We have had this play gym since Christmas, so it’s been quite a while, but she doesn’t like going backwards down the ladder, so when she gets hungry, she will sit at the edge of her upper perch and sadly tweet at me until I move her down. I have tried ignoring her, but she will do it for hours and then not eat, and then dramatically throw herself off of the entire thing onto the floor and go hide under the coffee table. But when I’m on the bike she knows I won’t get off to move her so she tried and figured it out. And then climbed up and down three more times because she was proud.

Of course, by the next day, she completely forgot how to do it and hasn’t done it again since,  no matter how strict I am with not putting her down, and how many times we try training tricks. Nothing has worked.

Three weeks ago, I had surgery so I was at home recovering for two weeks, and we had all-day training time. Nope. She wasn’t having any. She wanted to be held and petted all day, and that was pretty much it. She’s really snuggly and sweet when she isn’t angry and trying to rip off your face.

Then I went back to work a week ago, and the kid was mad. So, so mad. Wouldn’t let me hold her. Screamed at me whenever she was out. Basically just acted like a jerk for three or four days.

And then we got her some new toys and that helped put us back to normal.

So, last night we finally got some dinner and were watching TV, and the baby was up on the top bar of her gym, as normal, grooming her favorite toy and chattering to her bell. And then, all of a sudden, with no warning, she tilted her head funny and looked at the ladder. She got all quiet so I was looking over to see what she was doing. And then I nudged my husband and he looked over. And then.....believe me, it was as majestic as it sounds.....she grabbed the top rung of the ladder and headed down and started eating out of her dish. Like it was no big deal.

And we were clapping and saying “Yay! Big girl!” for ages.

And I knew we had stepped into a weird area.

So now I feel like I need to start wearing Mom jeans and carrying around fruit leather and baby wipes in my purse. Which needs to be larger and more sensible. And my husband needs to start saying, “Hot enough for ya?” to complete strangers.

New territory. Kind of creepy.

Another month. Wow, I’m good at this, right? Maybe less good, but it’s still crazy, so that’s okay. I give myself permission to slowly and completely lose my mind.

I might as well. It’s going to go any minute now.

So we’re getting ready to completely gut and remodel the kitchen. It’s time. The cabinet doors are barely hanging on, half of the storage is unusable, and there’s no way two people can cook in there together, which is how we roll. Whoever built this house decided to use the cheapest possible cabinet bases, and a really good quality door. Who does that? The insides are falling apart and can’t support the big heavy oak doors. Also, the particleboard inside is all warpy and weird, and it’s stained and gross-looking from years of renters who were obviously just really really icky. They’re clean now, though, because I own bleach.

We packed everything up and moved it into the former TV room, which is now the dining room, because the former dining room will be part of the kitchen when we’re done. It’s like musical chairs,  but with much more rooms and much less fun. It’ll be nice, though. The cupboards will be torn out this weekend, and the cabinet builder comes the weekend after that to do the final measurements.

Oh, and I’m having surgery on Wednesday.

Good call, right? I just felt like if I was going to feel like poop anyway, I might as well have a nice kitchen to look forward to. Not like I’ll be doing any cooking for a bit, at any rate. And the surgery was supposed to be two weeks ago, but I got bumped because they forgot that the facility would be closed during the week of July 4th, so everybody got pushed out. Lame.

So, wish us luck, and feel free to come bust out a cabinet or two if you’re in the neighborhood, ha ha. Just kidding. I think my husband deserves to take a sledgehammer to those things. I would love to, but I will have to let him have all of the fun. They really are the worst cabinets in the world.

Okay, I know. It’s been a month. In my defense, it’s been super crazy.

Here we go, though. I have something to say, and I’m not afraid to say it. On my blog. Which is read by like three people.

What is up with the targeted advertising? Mine must be broken, because I swear they think I’m an older single man with no friends and a deep love of violent video games and trash TV.

This morning, I got ads for about ten TV shows (the only show I watch that’s actually on right now is Jeopardy!) that are mostly about women wrestling with each other, except for the few that were about
cooking for one. I got an ad for a microwave egg cooker for one, a meal service for single people and a video game that had many, many boobies in it.

Wow. So many misses.

Advertisers: Show me some bird food and/or toys, weird gadgets for baking and canning, curly hair products that will make my hair look more like a model’s hair and less like the wig they used in several local productions of Annie. Oh, and more cheese ads, please. I do love me some cheese.

Should I have to tell them? Aren’t the computers just supposed to figure that stuff out now, since we’re being overtaken by robots? Geez.

Yep. You waited a month for this.