You know them -- the ones that you see at stores, and you can't tell if they're pregnant or just overweight because the way their bodies are holding the extra pounds looks like it could go one way or the other. Yes. That's me.
I generally don't write about work because I don't want to lose my job, but since this is something that just happened to happen at work, and could of happened on the street or in a car, or on BART, or in the grocery store, or pretty much anywhere, I am going to write it, but only so much as to say that it happened at work and that's it.
Admittedly I've gained about 20 lbs in the past few months; I blame half of that weight on my own eating habits (I've turned into a choco-holic, a chipo-holic, and a cheeseo-holic, and quite the super snacker) and because of the medicine I'm on to combat my chronic pain. I've jumped up 2 sizes, I can't wear any of my pants that I could wear just a few months ago, and I had to go out and buy "fat" pants so I could stop squeezing my body into my size 8 jeans and, and most importantly, breath. I recognize that I'm a fatty, I'm not going to live in denial and pretend I weigh what I used to weigh (if that was the case, I'd still be wearing my size 8 pants and risking split seams and unsightly panty lines). I also bought some shirts that are springy but also to help camouflage my belly chubs.
But now I'm starting to realize that larger pants + spring shirts to hide belly chubs + protruding lower belly = unwarranted rumors that I might be pregnant.
Yes, I am that girl. The one every woman fears to be. And if I look pregnant right now, then I must be about 4-5 months along, and I would be telling everyone I know, especially people at work that I don't talk to that often -- right?
Oh, so wrong.
Me, being me (and aren't I a gem?), I freaked out and repeated that I was just fat when the pregnancy question was addressed to me by a co-worker whom I hardly talk to and who works on a different floor than me. I went from having an okay week after a very stressful one, to feeling like I'm under a microscope and realizing people were talking about me and someone started spreading some horrible rumor that I was pregnant (horrible only in the sense that it's a rumor). So yeah, me being me, and my brain being the way it is, I had a flood of thoughts come into my head, bounce around, and then it took everything for me to not vomit all the thoughts I was thinking out of my mouth.
I am trying to be more pleasant and open, you know.
From what I've heard, and if you actually want to be pregnant, planning to have a child is the greatest thing in the world. But why is it when you are pregnant or people suspect that of you, your body and personal business becomes everyone's business? Frankly, I find it rude. And embarrassing. My slightly shattered psyche (I'm still trying to recover from the years and years of self-abuse I've wielded upon myself) was ripped open like a nasty gash and all I wanted to do was run and hide. And cry. And to curse every piece of chocolate I've thrown down my gullet these past few months.
I've put this day at the top of my memory list of the most absurd things a person has said to me as they crossed that line known as common sense turns into blatant rudeness. It's right below the memory of someone telling me, "You know, you're not the nicest person, but I admire your work ethic."
I don't know what it is about me that leads people to think it's okay to say just about anything to me; perhaps my "questioning attitude" leads people to think I'm super secure and can take any word bombs thrown at me, but I have to throw it out there and tell everyone that I really don't want people's honesty unless they are someone I treasure in my life. I know, I know....very shocking.
So if I lost weight at this point, would the rumor be that I lost my non-baby? Man, what if someone saw me at a local pub, having a beer? I'd be labeled the worst mother ever! Right up there with Mrs. Spears-Federline.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Goldilocks
My husband and I were walking to the post office this morning when we saw Goldilocks. We were just passing the local strip club by work (yes, there really is one), when we noticed a person walking towards us. The first thing I noticed was the bald head, then that the person was old, short and a bit overweight. Then the goldilocks wig on top of the bald head (see below).
But the problem with this wig is that if you're older with sunspots and wrinkles, and your head is bald and rather big and round like a bowling ball, then this type of wig won't cover an entire bald head. It sorta looks like an ill-fitting viking cap on top of a head.
And if you're a man, then it's even more bizarre.
He was wearing a long skirt with nylons and ladies shoes. And the wig.
As we passed by him, I gave my husband the "did you see that, and if not, then turn around and look" eyes.
He said, "Yes, that was a man."
I told him I knew that.
And honestly, if the man wore a real woman's wig, then he could pass for woman. Older people tend to become ambiguous as they age. I mean it's really up to you to decide if you're going to bother with make-up and curly hair.
The man made me feel sad because what if he was one of those cross-dressers who think they really look styling? And he just looked like a sad rag doll with his braids and yellow hair.
But the problem with this wig is that if you're older with sunspots and wrinkles, and your head is bald and rather big and round like a bowling ball, then this type of wig won't cover an entire bald head. It sorta looks like an ill-fitting viking cap on top of a head.
And if you're a man, then it's even more bizarre.
He was wearing a long skirt with nylons and ladies shoes. And the wig.
As we passed by him, I gave my husband the "did you see that, and if not, then turn around and look" eyes.
He said, "Yes, that was a man."
I told him I knew that.
And honestly, if the man wore a real woman's wig, then he could pass for woman. Older people tend to become ambiguous as they age. I mean it's really up to you to decide if you're going to bother with make-up and curly hair.
The man made me feel sad because what if he was one of those cross-dressers who think they really look styling? And he just looked like a sad rag doll with his braids and yellow hair.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Farmer's Market
We've been to the farmer's market in Fremont several times, and we always feel like we're getting a great deal when we're done buying our fruits and veggies. It was always easy to say that we definitely spent less money buying the food at the farmer's market than at Safeway or even Trader Joe's.
So today we went to the farmer's market at Jack London Square, assuming there would be more people selling their foods or there would be a wider variety of items to buy. We walked from one end to the next, noticing that the prices were fairly similar with each vendor. And the items were basically the same. The variety was about the same and so was the amount of vendors.
We decided to get some strawberries, cherries and some veggies. Strawberries were $2.50 a basket, then cherries were $5.00 bucks. The veggies were $3.00. Not too bad. Then my husband saw fingerling potatoes and thought they were the neatest potatoes around and he insisted he's never seen them before. The vendor saw my husband, took him for a fool, and forced a plastic bag on him.
My husband happily put fingerlings into the plastic bag, until I said to stop. He gave the bag to the vendor, who weighed it and then said, "$5.00."
Five bucks for a bunch of fingerling potatoes?
"I've never spent that much money for the amount of potatoes we bought," I told my husband as we walked away.
"Oh," he said.
Then later on we went grocery shopping, and Safeway had what would amount to about 4-5 baskets of strawberries for only $3.99. We bought one basket for $2.50. And paid $2.00 for four small red onions, which would have gotten us about 10 red onions at Safeway. I didn't look at the fingerling potatoes because I already knew we were ripped off.
And I hate to say it, but I keep thinking of the $5.00 gone for the fingerlings and that we spent about 20 bucks total at the farmer's market, paid 75 cents to park in the parking garage, not to mention the gas we used to drive to Oakland and back. Well, I'm just bitter. A very bitter Betty.
I hate thinking we were duped by the farmer's market, but I do feel that way. I'm just glad my husband didn't get all excited about the purple potatoes the fingerling potato guy was selling; we probably would have to sell our car to get out of debt.
So today we went to the farmer's market at Jack London Square, assuming there would be more people selling their foods or there would be a wider variety of items to buy. We walked from one end to the next, noticing that the prices were fairly similar with each vendor. And the items were basically the same. The variety was about the same and so was the amount of vendors.
We decided to get some strawberries, cherries and some veggies. Strawberries were $2.50 a basket, then cherries were $5.00 bucks. The veggies were $3.00. Not too bad. Then my husband saw fingerling potatoes and thought they were the neatest potatoes around and he insisted he's never seen them before. The vendor saw my husband, took him for a fool, and forced a plastic bag on him.
My husband happily put fingerlings into the plastic bag, until I said to stop. He gave the bag to the vendor, who weighed it and then said, "$5.00."
Five bucks for a bunch of fingerling potatoes?
"I've never spent that much money for the amount of potatoes we bought," I told my husband as we walked away.
"Oh," he said.
Then later on we went grocery shopping, and Safeway had what would amount to about 4-5 baskets of strawberries for only $3.99. We bought one basket for $2.50. And paid $2.00 for four small red onions, which would have gotten us about 10 red onions at Safeway. I didn't look at the fingerling potatoes because I already knew we were ripped off.
And I hate to say it, but I keep thinking of the $5.00 gone for the fingerlings and that we spent about 20 bucks total at the farmer's market, paid 75 cents to park in the parking garage, not to mention the gas we used to drive to Oakland and back. Well, I'm just bitter. A very bitter Betty.
I hate thinking we were duped by the farmer's market, but I do feel that way. I'm just glad my husband didn't get all excited about the purple potatoes the fingerling potato guy was selling; we probably would have to sell our car to get out of debt.
Passport
We got our passports yesterday. My husband looks like he's a big fatty, although I told him it's because the lady taking the picture was evil and short and it's her fault for doing that to him. I look even more psychotic than I remembered, and my husband got a good, jolly laugh when I opened my envelope to see how bad my picture really was.
So now this means we really are going to the UK. Man do I have a lot of planning to do.
So now this means we really are going to the UK. Man do I have a lot of planning to do.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Reversed manners.
I was educated this week about manners. Apparently how I learned them was incorrect.
I left work early on Wednesday, so I took BART at a time when there aren't that many people. The Fremont train was an 8-car train, which is unusual for that time of day. I was the first in a line of a couple people. The Pittsburgh-Baypoint train was the next train to arrive.
As I usually do when I'm in line and the train is not the one I want to be on, I moved to the right so that anyone behind me could get on without being confused why I wasn't moving. Two people who were behind me got on the train. I was reading, so I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me, when suddenly someone bashed into me. I looked up and saw a man with two bags strapped to his body walking onto the train.
I was a bit more perturbed that day than I usually am when this happens, more so because the station was pretty much empty, and getting around just me shouldn't have been a huge issue. So I said, while looking into the train, "Excuse you."
See, I come from a world where, if someone is in your way and you need to get by them, you would say "Excuse me" and then proceed. Even better, I learned from my five years as a bookstore employee who had to walk in front of plenty of people who were scanning shelves for books, that one should say "Excuse me" when walking in front of them. It's called being polite.
But something must have changed and no one gave me the memo apparently. I'm supposed to have eyes in the back of my head and know when someone is rushing to bypass me, and if I get smacked with a bag, then so be it and it's my fault and I owe the person and apology.
The man who bashed into me jumped into the doorway and said, "Well, you were in the way, get out of the way and I wouldn't have hit you!"
I said, "You could have gone around me."
He said, "I did go around you, but you were in the way!"
I said, "You're such a gentle-man."
He repeated again that it was my fault.
I repeated he was a gentle-man. Then I called him an arsehole (gotta work on the British slang, I tell you).
I mean, come on...how was this my fault? I told my husband about it because he stayed home from work that day to disassemble our toilet (oh yes, not only did we paint the bathroom walls, put up a new towel rack, light fixture and mirror -- we went all out and bought a new toilet. Okay, I'm lying. We had to buy it due to an unforeseen encounter with the toilet tank and the new handle that we were putting on it -- toilets are darn fragile.).
"What was the guy?" he asked me.
"He was white," I said.
"There you go," he said.
"So if I tell you something like what I just told you, you think of a white person?"
"Yup," he told me.
(That was just a side story on how weird my husband can be.)
So from now on, when someone bashes into me, pushes me down, or tries to strangle me (like last year on BART), I will tell them, "Excuse me." It's not their fault for being nutty or in a rush or that I'm in their way. Darn me for being alive.
I left work early on Wednesday, so I took BART at a time when there aren't that many people. The Fremont train was an 8-car train, which is unusual for that time of day. I was the first in a line of a couple people. The Pittsburgh-Baypoint train was the next train to arrive.
As I usually do when I'm in line and the train is not the one I want to be on, I moved to the right so that anyone behind me could get on without being confused why I wasn't moving. Two people who were behind me got on the train. I was reading, so I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me, when suddenly someone bashed into me. I looked up and saw a man with two bags strapped to his body walking onto the train.
I was a bit more perturbed that day than I usually am when this happens, more so because the station was pretty much empty, and getting around just me shouldn't have been a huge issue. So I said, while looking into the train, "Excuse you."
See, I come from a world where, if someone is in your way and you need to get by them, you would say "Excuse me" and then proceed. Even better, I learned from my five years as a bookstore employee who had to walk in front of plenty of people who were scanning shelves for books, that one should say "Excuse me" when walking in front of them. It's called being polite.
But something must have changed and no one gave me the memo apparently. I'm supposed to have eyes in the back of my head and know when someone is rushing to bypass me, and if I get smacked with a bag, then so be it and it's my fault and I owe the person and apology.
The man who bashed into me jumped into the doorway and said, "Well, you were in the way, get out of the way and I wouldn't have hit you!"
I said, "You could have gone around me."
He said, "I did go around you, but you were in the way!"
I said, "You're such a gentle-man."
He repeated again that it was my fault.
I repeated he was a gentle-man. Then I called him an arsehole (gotta work on the British slang, I tell you).
I mean, come on...how was this my fault? I told my husband about it because he stayed home from work that day to disassemble our toilet (oh yes, not only did we paint the bathroom walls, put up a new towel rack, light fixture and mirror -- we went all out and bought a new toilet. Okay, I'm lying. We had to buy it due to an unforeseen encounter with the toilet tank and the new handle that we were putting on it -- toilets are darn fragile.).
"What was the guy?" he asked me.
"He was white," I said.
"There you go," he said.
"So if I tell you something like what I just told you, you think of a white person?"
"Yup," he told me.
(That was just a side story on how weird my husband can be.)
So from now on, when someone bashes into me, pushes me down, or tries to strangle me (like last year on BART), I will tell them, "Excuse me." It's not their fault for being nutty or in a rush or that I'm in their way. Darn me for being alive.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Advertising
I'm advertising my jewelry today. So if you see me, take a look at my arm. And then go to my web page and buy some of my jewelry!!!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Spider + me + car = potential disaster!
Everyone who really knows me knows that I absolutely hate spiders: big, small, hairy, black, brown, clear, doesn't matter -- I don't like them.
I do like fake spiders for some reason. But that's not the point.
Yesterday was like any other day, a day without spiders and screaming -- until I sat down in our car. I am an iPod hog, and my hubby and I pretty much listen to my iPod exclusively when we're in the car together. So the first thing I usually do when I get in the car is plug in my iPod. For some reason I didn't feel like doing it yesterday.
I was just thinking that I should change the radio station, when I realized my hubby was staring at the dashboard where the radio dials were, so that made me really look, and that was when I lost it. A medium-sized clearish brown spider had tucked itself into the CD player slot -- which meant my husband couldn't kill it right away.
I sat in fear, periodically screaming, while envisioning the spider flying out of the CD slot and onto my head where it would bite me and I would die. My husband was trying to eject a CD so the spider would be pushed out with the CD, but the CD player wasn't cooperating with him. I finally couldn't take it anymore (my fear does wonders to my imagination), and I got out of the car and closed the door and waited until he killed the spider.
Luckily, we weren't moving.
This morning we got into the car and took off to the BART station.
Oh, I forgot to mention. I have super spider sense, and I can spot one a mile away WITH NO GLASSES/CONTACTS in or see them in my peripheral vision at any given time. I often stop whatever I'm doing (talking, walking, brushing my hair, throwing a rock, doesn't matter), point and start screaming. My spider sense never fails me.
So there we were in the car this morning when I noticed something dangling on the review mirror and of course on my side. Yes, another one of our 8-legged pals. I started to scream, which freaked out my husband who was trying to drive. He grabbed tissue out of his front pocket and tried to squish the little spider devil while not running red lights or crashing the car. I continued to scream because I again envisioned this spider jumping from the review mirror, onto my head and biting me with its fangs. My husband told me to shut up and finally squished it. Squished it DEAD.
I told him I don't want to be in his car anymore since it's obviously filled with spiders. If I see another one on the way home, I'm going to get his car fumigated.
I do like fake spiders for some reason. But that's not the point.
Yesterday was like any other day, a day without spiders and screaming -- until I sat down in our car. I am an iPod hog, and my hubby and I pretty much listen to my iPod exclusively when we're in the car together. So the first thing I usually do when I get in the car is plug in my iPod. For some reason I didn't feel like doing it yesterday.
I was just thinking that I should change the radio station, when I realized my hubby was staring at the dashboard where the radio dials were, so that made me really look, and that was when I lost it. A medium-sized clearish brown spider had tucked itself into the CD player slot -- which meant my husband couldn't kill it right away.
I sat in fear, periodically screaming, while envisioning the spider flying out of the CD slot and onto my head where it would bite me and I would die. My husband was trying to eject a CD so the spider would be pushed out with the CD, but the CD player wasn't cooperating with him. I finally couldn't take it anymore (my fear does wonders to my imagination), and I got out of the car and closed the door and waited until he killed the spider.
Luckily, we weren't moving.
This morning we got into the car and took off to the BART station.
Oh, I forgot to mention. I have super spider sense, and I can spot one a mile away WITH NO GLASSES/CONTACTS in or see them in my peripheral vision at any given time. I often stop whatever I'm doing (talking, walking, brushing my hair, throwing a rock, doesn't matter), point and start screaming. My spider sense never fails me.
So there we were in the car this morning when I noticed something dangling on the review mirror and of course on my side. Yes, another one of our 8-legged pals. I started to scream, which freaked out my husband who was trying to drive. He grabbed tissue out of his front pocket and tried to squish the little spider devil while not running red lights or crashing the car. I continued to scream because I again envisioned this spider jumping from the review mirror, onto my head and biting me with its fangs. My husband told me to shut up and finally squished it. Squished it DEAD.
I told him I don't want to be in his car anymore since it's obviously filled with spiders. If I see another one on the way home, I'm going to get his car fumigated.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Is it the good weather?
Thanks to my dad, our mirror is finally up. It looks great. I love my mirror.
Another thing we managed to do -- we painted the bathroom! I started the renovation project Friday evening by taking everything out of the bathroom, including the mirror. I was told over and over to be careful with the mirror, it's going to bad, etc., etc., so I had my work gloves on and goggles over my glasses. The mirror just came off the wall without much of a fight.
Unfortunately, this was our first experience with semi-gloss paint, and while I think we did a good job, the blue tape we used to tape off the door jamb, floor base, etc., has decided it wants to take off the paint with it. And since the paint has latex in it, it's coming off in gummy chunks. So now I have to fix that.
AND -- My hubby changed our light fixture in our bathroom hallway! It looks very nice. Goodbye Madison Avenue light fixture! We're through with you!
I'm thinking it's the nice weather that's getting us moving. But if that's the case, why would we want to waste good weather days inside? And all the bad weather days we just lazed around.
Another thing we managed to do -- we painted the bathroom! I started the renovation project Friday evening by taking everything out of the bathroom, including the mirror. I was told over and over to be careful with the mirror, it's going to bad, etc., etc., so I had my work gloves on and goggles over my glasses. The mirror just came off the wall without much of a fight.
Unfortunately, this was our first experience with semi-gloss paint, and while I think we did a good job, the blue tape we used to tape off the door jamb, floor base, etc., has decided it wants to take off the paint with it. And since the paint has latex in it, it's coming off in gummy chunks. So now I have to fix that.
AND -- My hubby changed our light fixture in our bathroom hallway! It looks very nice. Goodbye Madison Avenue light fixture! We're through with you!
I'm thinking it's the nice weather that's getting us moving. But if that's the case, why would we want to waste good weather days inside? And all the bad weather days we just lazed around.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Friendster
One of my good friends had introduced me to the web site Friendster about a year ago. I decided to sign up for some reason. I tend to sign up to those web sites where you can maybe find people you used to know either to get in touch with them again or read about their lives, with a giggle stuck in your throat because you're doing waaaay better than they are and you didn't like them anyway.
So I signed up to Friendster. I have one friend on Friendster. Yes, that's correct, the one who introduced me to Friendster. I'm very pathetic.
My friend was looking up an ex-boyfriend of hers, which made me think of an ex-boyfriend of mine (I still find it awkward to say that since I've been in a relationship with my hubby for 12 or 13 years). So I looked him up, and low and behold, there he was.
I read his bio, realized nothing had changed, and that he's not married, which is no surprise to me (he had commitment issues....well, I was only 18 at the time, I wouldn't have committed to me either, but hindsight is 20/20).
The other day I started looking up people again, and so I went back to his page. It said he's in my extended network, and since I only have one friend, I found that very interesting. I looked at how we were linked up, checking out different people's pages, wondering if I ever met them at some point. A few searches later, I decided I was done snooping and closed out the site.
A few days after that, I received a friendly Friendster email saying that I can now see who has looked at my page. Yeah, right...I thought. Usually you have to pay for something like that. So I read the email closely, saw nothing about having to pay, and clicked on the link.
That was when my heart stopped.
If I could see who was looking at my page, then that means my ex-boyfriend can see that I looked at his page.
Talk about feeling like a complete boob. Here I am, married for almost 7 years, in a relationship for 12 or 13 years, and looking up an ex-boyfriend who could easily see that I looked him up. Luckily for me, the only two people that have looked at my page is some person/thing named "Business" and some guy named Joel. And from my recollection, Joel is a friend of my ex-boyfriend.
These types of services should cost money! That way I can be pretty sure no one can find me out when I'm snooping!
So I signed up to Friendster. I have one friend on Friendster. Yes, that's correct, the one who introduced me to Friendster. I'm very pathetic.
My friend was looking up an ex-boyfriend of hers, which made me think of an ex-boyfriend of mine (I still find it awkward to say that since I've been in a relationship with my hubby for 12 or 13 years). So I looked him up, and low and behold, there he was.
I read his bio, realized nothing had changed, and that he's not married, which is no surprise to me (he had commitment issues....well, I was only 18 at the time, I wouldn't have committed to me either, but hindsight is 20/20).
The other day I started looking up people again, and so I went back to his page. It said he's in my extended network, and since I only have one friend, I found that very interesting. I looked at how we were linked up, checking out different people's pages, wondering if I ever met them at some point. A few searches later, I decided I was done snooping and closed out the site.
A few days after that, I received a friendly Friendster email saying that I can now see who has looked at my page. Yeah, right...I thought. Usually you have to pay for something like that. So I read the email closely, saw nothing about having to pay, and clicked on the link.
That was when my heart stopped.
If I could see who was looking at my page, then that means my ex-boyfriend can see that I looked at his page.
Talk about feeling like a complete boob. Here I am, married for almost 7 years, in a relationship for 12 or 13 years, and looking up an ex-boyfriend who could easily see that I looked him up. Luckily for me, the only two people that have looked at my page is some person/thing named "Business" and some guy named Joel. And from my recollection, Joel is a friend of my ex-boyfriend.
These types of services should cost money! That way I can be pretty sure no one can find me out when I'm snooping!
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Another Oliver post
Man, if Oliver knew how much of an impression he made on me....
One last thing about my fabulous teacher Oliver. When people were obviously confused, instead of saying the standard, "Do you have a question?" Oliver would say, "Can you form a question?"
I heard him saying that, but I changed it in my head because I thought it was the most bizarre way of asking people if they were confused and needed help. When he asked me that, I knew it was true that he was saying that. I said I was just totally lost.
I should have said, "I can. But you need to read my mind and figure out what it is, oh Oliver of the project management wisdom."
One last thing about my fabulous teacher Oliver. When people were obviously confused, instead of saying the standard, "Do you have a question?" Oliver would say, "Can you form a question?"
I heard him saying that, but I changed it in my head because I thought it was the most bizarre way of asking people if they were confused and needed help. When he asked me that, I knew it was true that he was saying that. I said I was just totally lost.
I should have said, "I can. But you need to read my mind and figure out what it is, oh Oliver of the project management wisdom."
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