What would you do it someone called your sister fat, or your mother ugly? How mad would you get if someone ranted about how stupid your girlfriend was? Would you tell them to stop being so hateful, that their rude insults were disgusting? Would you maybe even threaten to take them outside and beat them to a pulp? Even though you may never hear it, odds are, at least one woman you know is called these names on a pretty regular basis.
And the person doing the name-calling? Is herself.
I wrote a post recently about skewed self-perception, which sparked discussion among my friends and I and got me thinking about how I see myself and present myself. It also got me paying attention to how often my friends and I insult ourselves. It amazes me that I hear women earnestly insulting themselves, but any praise they give themselves is sarcastic.
Why do we do this? If someone insulted my mom, my sister, or my best friend, I’d call them out and make them regret even thinking something negative about such a wonderful person. Yet if they say something about themselves, like “Oh, I’m so fat”, “Oh, my *insert body part here* is so big”, I try and tell them it’s not true, but I don’t take offense the way I would if someone else was saying it about them. And, completely honestly, I have called myself names in the past that are far worse than anything I would ever call someone else.
This can’t be okay.
It makes me sad that we are so hard on ourselves. We live in a society where singing your own praises makes your arrogant, but it’s perfectly acceptable to call yourself names. Why is that? What’s wrong with saying, “I’m smart, and my hair is soft, and I’m wonderful”? We all have things that make us awesome, and I really think it’s important to know what I like about myself and to focus on those things.
Something needs to change. I think we need to create a society for ourselves in which it’s super unacceptable to say mean things about ourselves, where it’s just as appalling as saying something rude ourselves as it is to insult about someone else. If I say, “Wow, I’m looking rather like a cow today,” I want the person next to me to get mad and chew me out and say, “What the hell is wrong with you? How could you say something so awful about such an amazing person?? Shame on you!!”.
I’m not saying bust out the rose-colored glasses and convince yourself that you can do no wrong. I have faults, I have flaws. Some of them I’m okay with and some of them I am working on. But there’s a difference between knowing you’ve got a quirk and owning it and being just plain mean to yourself. I know that my singing is enough to make paint peel off walls and that drawing straight lines is just not in my genetic make-up. But I rule at way more things than I suck at. The older I get, the better I know who I am and what I want and the prouder I am of me.
I think that’s a step in the right direction.

“I still see myself as a size six,” my size-zero Zumba instructor, Nancy, says. A few of us are chatting after class, while trying to convince a particularly fit girl that she’s got muscle tone. In Zumba, we call it ‘dent patrol’ – when we check ourselves out in the mirror to see the nicely cut lines of muscle that we’re forming when we sweat and push ourselves through workouts. In spite of our enthusiastic comments, Fit Girl insists she’s not toned, but chubby. That’s when Nancy tells us that in spite of the fact that she’s lost fat and gained tons of muscle, she still thinks of herself how she used to be.
I know amazing-looking women who absolutely do not see how they really look. It’s like some people see themselves in a skewed manner, like their brains morph what they see in the mirror into some stretched-out, blown-up version of what’s really there. Funhouse Mirror Syndrome?
Whenever someone tells me that I’m thin, I try not to say something terrible about myself, but I don’t see what they see at all. I’ve gotten to a point where I genuinely enjoy exercise, and friends have told me that despite no change on the scale, they see huge change in me.
So why can’t I see it?
We’ve all watched talk shows where the guests, pretty thin girls, sit in the chairs and weep because they see themselves as fat and ugly. I’ve seen exercises where women are asked to sketch their life-size silhouettes on paper, then stand against said paper while someone traces their outlines. The outlines are much smaller than the self-drawn sketches. Not to mention, time and time again, my prettier, thinner friends have stuck their butts into mirrors, declared, “I’m so huge!” and made faces at themselves.
Part of it is that our brains apparently have a hard time adjusting to what we are now, versus what we once were. I’ve known people who had gastric bypass and lost tons of weight, but still couldn’t wrap their heads around their new figures. Losing weight may change your body, but it doesn’t necessarily change how you picture yourself…and the faster weight is lost, the more skewed perception is.
So, ok, not having a realistic view of myself may not mean I’m messed up in the head, but it IS frustrating. What my Zumba instructor told us last night is that the best way to conquer this issue, or at least keep it in check, is to be as healthy as possible. This means eating healthy, doing good things for both mental and physical health (yay dancing at Zumba!) and trying to create a positive overall feeling of self. Yes, outward appearance is important to us, but we’re more likely to favor our outsides if we feel like we’re living life in a good, healthy way.
So here’s to living healthy and feeling good inside and out.And hopefully, this will help ease the Funhouse Mirror symptoms.

When the cat’s away, the mice will play. And when someone on my team goes on vacation, they get pranked.

It’s become sort of a tradition to have some sort of shenanigans awaiting anyone who is returning from vacation. I’ve had rice in my drawer and Saran wrap around every item in my cubicle, and last week, we filled a coworker’s cubicle up with balloons.

Next week, my coworker Ryen will be going to Hawaii. I had what I thought was a genius idea: turn his cubicle into island paradise (complete with beach sand) so that when he returned to work he could pretend he was still on Maui. On lunch, Bob and I visited a local party supply store to see what we could get to put the prank in motion. We found limitless island-esque items that would be perfect for a luau, but the decorations proved to be expensive.

After looking around awhile, we decided that this was NOT going to be a worthwhile prank due to cost (breathe your sigh of relief, Ryen). We wandered around the store for awhile, trying to come up with an idea that wouldn’t be so financially tasking, but didn’t really come up with much.

And that’s when I saw them.

Tucked in a corner of the store were all these display setups. It looked like photography sets in a studio. We guessed that the equipment must be for rent to use as props at dances and weddings and such. For some reason, I was struck with a sudden desire to pose in the different displays. It felt like cheating, like using a backdrop meant for paying customers and getting myself photographed for free, but I did it anyway. Handing over my iPhone, I posed next to the sets while Bob snapped pictures of me.

This one made me think of a school dance:

This one was more wedding-y:

We left the store empty-handed, but I had my fantastic photos safely stored on my phone.

I don’t know if we’ll actually pull a prank on Ryen or not. The whole thing seems to have lost its appeal to me. The hijinks are expected now. Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel and give up pranking for good.

You know, unless I get a really great idea before he comes back to work.

I get up and get ready for work, happy because it’s not only Friday, but it’s payday Friday. AND it’s my last day of having to get up and go to the office, since after all, by this time tomorrow I’ll be the world’s newest half-billionaire.

Right??

That’s right, the Mega Millions jackpot is at a record-high $540 million and lotto fever has hit. Despite the fact that you’re about fifty times more likely to be struck by lightning than to win the prize, people are lining up to buy tickets to try to get those lucky numbers.

After tax, you’re looking at a take-home of about $253 million, lump sum. That’s 28 million Twinkies’ worth of money!! (No, I am not going to buy Twinkies. Just sayin’, you could buy a lot of Twinkies.) But since the odds are definitely NOT in our favor, why do so many people play?

We were talking about the Mega Millions at work the other day. Everyone pretty much had the same dream: to  have financial security for ourselves and our families, to secure nice homes and devote our time to charity work and good deeds. No one really wanted a flying car, or a mansion, just peace of mind.

I think that’s the thing that most people are really out to find when they play the lotto: peace of mind. It’s not that I want to sit around in my ‘Cribs’-esque mansion and not do anything all day. There’s a lot I want to do, if only I had the time: finish school in a subject that interests me, volunteer, travel. I want to make sure that my family and I are secure financially so that none of us ever have to worry. And yes, I do want to have adventures and travel.

I imagine having a nice house (not a gigantic mansion) that Paul and I design. I want nice, reliable cars to drive, and I don’t think I’d give up my current car for quite awhile since it’s brand new. And I want to know at the end of each day that the roof over my head is paid for and I don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen in my life that might jeopardize my ability to pay my bills. I want to feel secure and safe, with no worries about basic survival. I never want to be faced with worrying about where I’m working, how much money I’m making, and if it’ll all still be there tomorrow.

Of course, I also want the luxuries that a fortune would provide, especially the luxury of deciding for myself how I want to spend my time. Used to be, people could plan and save for retirement and know that their days of going off to the office every day were limited, that when they were older they could relax and enjoy the fruits of their labors. When I started working for Verizon eight and a half years ago, I figured that would be me. I could put in my thirty years and retire. Now, in the current climate and economy, I have no idea if that dream is realistic anymore. I don’t feel that retirement is guaranteed for me, and I definitely don’t feel that I can attain it in the originally-planned thirty years. All my forethought and planning will more than likely NOT secure me the goal I’d made for myself, not through fault of my own, but just because the world’s a different place now.

So I have my ticket and I’m waiting for the magic moment tonight when all my dreams will become a reality and I will be financially secure for the rest of my days. After all, if someone’s going to win this, it might as well be me!

Over the last year, I’ve been trying to get out of my comfort zone and try new things. This wasn’t easy for me, since I’m a creature of habit and love routine. And, change terrifies me, I confess. But I got tired of being afraid of doing something different, because I want to be the sort of person who is open to anything, ready for adventure.

I’ve done some pretty awesome things since deciding not to let fear hold me back…trying (and loving!) Zumba, jumping out of an airplane….and last Saturday, I ran my first 5k. I’d always looked at people who ran races sort of longingly, thinking how cool it would be to be able to do that. But I wasn’t a runner. In high school gym, I couldn’t even run the mile every Wednesday. I’d start out with the best of intentions, trotting my way around the track for the first lap before walking the rest, but it never even occurred to me that I might be able to run the whole thing. So I never even tried.

So in February, when my friend Kristy said to me, “Let’s run the St. Patrick’s Day Dash!” I agreed despite my worry that I’d make an ass out of myself because I can’t run. Instead of focusing on past failures, I calculated the amount of time before the race and made a plan to prepare for it. The first night I tried running, I decided that I was going to run the full distance, a full 3.1 miles. I was going to prove to myself that it was possible. And I was slow, I was tired, but I did it.

Running got easier with each week that I did it, and before long I was breezing through two miles.

The race was last weekend, which turned out to be a cold and rainy morning. The St. Patrick’s Day Dash is an annual event in Seattle, and it’s packed. At the beginning of the race, I couldn’t really run, just kind of bobbed up and down as I moved slowly forward through a huge crowd of people. Once the crowd thinned, we were able to really run.

Kristy and I finished in 44 minutes 34 seconds…pretty good in my opinion, especially since the actual distance we ran was more like 3.8 miles, so over a 5k. Not only am I really proud of myself for being able to complete it, I’m looking forward to finding another 5k to run soon.

I started off training for this race hating running, but being pushed forward by my goal of completing the race. Now I see running more as both a challenge and an accomplishment, something I can do and feel good about myself for doing.

Post-race, my friends and I celebrated and toasted each other with a beer at the Irishmen…at about 11am! Hey, it was St. Patrick’s Day after all!

This weekend has been all about cleanliness and orginization. Yesterday, I cleaned the house from top to bottom while Paul worked in the garage, ripping down the flimsy old shelving on the walls and replacing it with much better shelves he built. I finally have hope that someday my car can live in the garage.

So this morning I finally decided I couldn’t stand the chaos anymore and cleaned out my purse. Although I knew it was going to be a mess, I had no idea just how much stuff I’d managed to stash in a medium-sized Coach bag.

I found:

My wallet
My sunglasses
My work badge
Two checkbooks for two different bank accounts
A planner from 2011
A notepad
Two Macy’s gift cards
A TJ Maxx gift card
A Barnes N Noble Gift Card
Appointment reminder cards for my next hair and dentist appointments
One mitten
A CWA pin
A Frontier pin
A little travel size box of floss
Ear drops
Xanax
Ibuprofen
Two lipsticks
Nail clippers
Three tubes of lip gloss
A hairbush
My iPod
Two packs of gum
Five pens
A towlette from Famous Dave’s
A compact
My camera
Green body glitter
Seven bracelets
Two necklaces
Two hair clips
My car keys
Six pairs of earrings
Three earrings with no mates
Ear drops
$2.03 in change
Two pieces of two different pairs of sunglasses that have broken
Nine mints/hard candies
A small plunger for administering medicine to cats
An empty container for Qtips
A small tube of lotion
A chip clip
Some gum wrappers and misc. trash
A refund check from overpayment on our old landline phone that I haven’t cashed yet
A coupon for free oatmeal at Starbucks

I cleaned everything out and put a  lot of stuff away. I’m thinking a good reward for my hard work should be a new purse as incentive to keep things tidy.

Anyone want to gift a new Coach purse? Anyone?

I’ll never forget the Valentine’s Day when I was fourteen. My family had just moved back to the High Desert after a couple years away, and I’d only been at my new high school for about six weeks. Although I’d grown up in the same town, I’d quickly discovered that people change a lot from age twelve to age fourteen and I wasn’t reconnecting with my middle school friends as well as I’d expected. Anyway, I didn’t have many classes with kids I knew.