tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370869732024-03-14T09:12:26.502-04:00The disastergirl chroniclesLauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-92107770134647329612013-02-05T18:25:00.001-05:002013-02-07T06:56:21.968-05:00Dead yourself!<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">
I watched a "The Walking Dead" marathon instead of the Superbowl. Sounds like I missed a lot of excitement. But look what I learned to do:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHYVmmwVPmSzi-yJstP59TUsAxDOfZTTkIQ9YBkK2jSzS0-aJCmriKzT5fRTmxLIEgw7mNam4PlbthrepuJzMbNJeazI71byRe0wDj81HwSsjV-gmrrC5X1JXNncwspT4FW8B/s1600/525568_4962754739392_782840815_n.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHYVmmwVPmSzi-yJstP59TUsAxDOfZTTkIQ9YBkK2jSzS0-aJCmriKzT5fRTmxLIEgw7mNam4PlbthrepuJzMbNJeazI71byRe0wDj81HwSsjV-gmrrC5X1JXNncwspT4FW8B/s320/525568_4962754739392_782840815_n.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
This is me as a Walker--pretty cool, huh? You can be a walker too--check it out at deadyourself.com. </div>
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Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-59464280965356311902013-01-30T19:42:00.000-05:002013-02-07T06:58:39.884-05:00To Live or Not to Live in the District: No Question<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I read with
amusement a post on Slate which noted that the Presidential motorcade </span><a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2013/01/19/obama_s_motorcade_sports_taxation_without_representation_plates.html" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">now
carries the District of Columbia’s “Taxation Without Representation” license
plates</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. For those who aren’t familiar with the issue, because the District
of Columbia is not a state, it has no voting representatives in Congress, and
thus no say in much of the policy making that goes on within its very own
borders.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Or as I like to
call it, Reason no. 457 that I live in Alexandria, and </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">not</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> the District.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">For those of you
aren’t familiar with the area, Alexandria is one of the cities in Virginia
that, along with others in Maryland, make up the larger DC metro area. I moved
to Alexandria 20 years ago today. Here are some of the things that convinced me
that while the District is a nice place to visit, I wouldn’t want to live there:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><b><i>The burglar-bar
effect</i></b>—When I was planning to move to the area, I started scanning the paper
(yes, I am <i>that</i> old) for “roommate wanted”
ads. Although my job was located in Arlington, Virginia, I thought it might be
cool to live in the District itself. But then I started seeing burglar bars
listed as a selling point and I thought, ehh, I know this is an urban area, but
maybe somewhere else would make me feel more secure? It’s not as if no one in
Alexandria has burglar bars—I have them on my basement windows because the
glass is so old and crappy—they’re just not an essential item for most
residences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><b><i>The “I’ve fallen
and I can’t get up” factor</i></b>—Emergency services in the District can sometimes be…unreliable.
No answer at 911, slow response, emergency teams responding to medical
emergencies but arriving at the wrong place and then just <i>turning around. </i>I’m not disparaging first responders, but these
things happen often enough to make me uncomfortable with the system. Alexandria
isn’t perfect, but I can say that when I called about a teenage girl who
collapsed while partying across the street from my house (around a Reliant K
car?!!), the police (followed by an ambulance) arrived as I was hanging up the
phone. Now <b>that’s</b> what I call
service.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><b><i>Marion Barry
syndrome</i></b>—Who could forget Marion “the bitch set me up” Barry? Caught on tape
while smoking crack, this (still) incredibly popular four-term mayor and
current DC council member is the most colorful—and memorable—example of the
corruption that has plagued the city’s government for decades. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><b><i>Rats. Sooo many
rats</i></b>—Enough said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><b><i>I’m just not hip
enough</i></b>—I recently read an article about how super-fun-incredible-cool the
District is. The jobs! The sexy singles! According to the article, you can tell
which neighborhoods are full of hot young things by looking at the shelves at
the local CVS, which are filled—just <i>filled</i>—with
Pedialyte (for those epic hangovers) and condoms (for, well, you know). My
local CVS is full of vitamins and anti-aging beauty products.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Terminally
un-hip or not, I’m happy with my choice. I’ll let you know how the next 20
years goes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-32578982976639584622013-01-30T16:02:00.000-05:002013-02-06T20:43:32.332-05:00Why do dogs hate computers?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My <s>boss</s> dog, Cara Mia, won’t stop barking at me. She
hates it when I get on the computer. It starts with a soft grring. Then comes
the paw stomping. Finally, the sharp, full-throated “woooof!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Is she feeling neglected? Perhaps she just wants my
undivided attention? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s the thing. She doesn’t seem to care what I do—as long
it’s not on the computer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reading a book? Engrossed in TV? Having an animated phone
conversation? Meh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s just the computer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And she’s not the only dog of my acquaintance to feel this
way. My beloved, but departed dog, Houdini—who would otherwise sit on the other
end of the couch, back turned to me—would suddenly feel the need to interfere
if I spent more than a few minutes on the computer. Physically interfere. I
once lost an “s” key due to a swipe of the paw. My parents’ dog, Sterling, likes to
actually block the keyboard with his body—usually his head. I’ve heard similar
tales from friends.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I wondered: what <i>is</i> it with dogs and computers? Are they
disturbed by the strange, slightly blue glow? Agitated by the
almost-imperceptible-but-vaguely-sinister humming? Or are they like little,
furry old people—confused and slightly irritated by this newfangled technology?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps. But I think that there may be deeper issues
involved. I recently came across a recent British study that claims that people
now rely on their computers far more than their dogs, and that in fact, <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2018911/No-longer-mans-best-friend-Computer-replaces-dog-faithful-companion.html">computers
have replaced dogs as man’s best friend</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Think about it—our laptops/iPhones/iPads go everywhere,
while our dogs are stuck at home. We buy our gadgets fancy “clothes,” take them
to dinner and to bed—what are our dogs supposed to think?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So
I guess I owe Cara Mia an apology. Or a computer of her own….</span></div>
Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-8441215188682968162013-01-15T19:54:00.000-05:002013-02-07T06:57:22.594-05:00Psychologists Say That Emotions Affect Weight: Millions of Women Say, Duh!!<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So, the
other day I was browsing health headlines, as I do—because in my other life I
am a struggling freelance health and medical writer—and I came across this: </span><a href="http://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2013/01/emotions-weight-loss.aspx" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Poll of Psychologists Cites Emotions As Top Obstacle to
Weight Loss</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Well, let
me just put down my pint of Ben and Jerry’s. You mean millions of us, while
sad, mad, listening to Adele, or even celebrating, may over indulge?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">C’est
vrais. (translation: “it is true”—I like to pretend I am fluent in French).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
survey of psychologists who work with weight loss issues<i> </i>says that "understanding and managing the behaviors and
emotions related to weight management,"</span> are essential to long term
dieting success.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">We know,
we know! But does it really help? Case in point:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This past
summer, spurred by a flea/dust mite crisis, I did a massive</span> <span style="font-weight: normal;">housecleaning. I'm not a hoarder (really!), I just have a lot of clutter. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Who knew I
had so much </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">stuff (and dust)</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">? I hefted boxes and bags up
and down the stairs, out to the trash, etc. And I started to lose a significant
amount of weight. Great! I needed to lose, in order to get back to a healthy
BMI, but also because I am vain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">However,
this healthy move was offset by an incredible craving for sweets. I tried to
keep them out of the house, but to my embarrassment, despite my years of
ranting about high-fructose corn syrup, I became a regular at the McDonald’s
drive-thru.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">So do I
know what emotions may have been playing a role in this sugar crisis? Um, yeah.
I think it went a bit like this:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">[Sob,sob.] Damn it, my dog
is dead, but these fricking fleas (I always gave Houdini flea prevention-these
were super fleas) are still here! [ragged breath]</i></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>And-now-they’re-attacking-me-and-my-dust-mites-are-making-me-feel-like
<a href="http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/dickens/ge/steinberg3.html">Miss
Havisham</a>-and-I’m-not, I’m-not, and-also-I-don’t-have-any-money-so-I-can’t-fix-my-house-up,
including-my-crazy-ass-slightly-crooked-and-cracking-front-walk-and-I-just-know-that-the-neighbors-and-passersby-are-pointing-and-judging.
[sniffle, deep breath in]</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Or
something like that….</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Psychologists
say that treatment with techniques such as <a href="http://psychcentral.com/lib/2007/in-depth-cognitive-behavioral-therapy/all/1/">cognitive
behavioral therapy</a> (CBT) can help (Therapy! But I’m already <i>in</i> therapy.)</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Seriously,
though. There are some truly traumatic experiences—such<br /> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">as being abused
or a survivor of violent crime—that can lead to overeating. Body image, stress,
depression or just life can also get in the way. So therapy is nothing to scoff
at.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">It’s good
to hear the message that’s it’s not just about self-control. But I’d like to
hear a little bit more about societal factors that contribute to poor body
image and self-punishing overeating. Like the omnipresent messages that tell women
they should all look like this:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3roMT5BXW_Ge9IO5erQZn0Afs5-4gPdk5eoFgg0HZuXyHmCMyVjr839X_nwyYrSDd590a7WgkxvSIgRW0h2weLL899Fr0qpmAwFKnbU9ewJJTB33gE8Sdy5otb2nPoD9PPBA0/s1600/MilanoCollectionDead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3roMT5BXW_Ge9IO5erQZn0Afs5-4gPdk5eoFgg0HZuXyHmCMyVjr839X_nwyYrSDd590a7WgkxvSIgRW0h2weLL899Fr0qpmAwFKnbU9ewJJTB33gE8Sdy5otb2nPoD9PPBA0/s320/MilanoCollectionDead.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">To quote a
friend of mine: “I’m just sayin’”</span></span><br />
<h2 style="line-height: 15.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<o:p></o:p></h2>
Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-40018692735684723412010-09-11T09:32:00.000-04:002013-02-02T08:01:04.553-05:009 Years Ago Today....<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">...I was sitting on my stoop, relaxing and drinking coffee as Houdini played in the yard. It was peaceful--the neighborhood was in weekday-quiet mode and rush hour on route 1 was beginning to slow. I lingered under that perfect blue sky, not yet knowing that September 11, 2001 had irrevocably become "9/11."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Much has and will continue to be written about that day. I won't pretend to have any particularly profound observations to make. But today, nine years later, these are my thoughts:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
It's another clear blue day--pleasant but no match for that cerulean blue I can still see in my mind's eye. (I'm sure that the character of that sky--it's shade and brilliance--has been embellished in my mind by time, but that's how I remember it.) I am again on the stoop, drinking coffee. But where is the peace? All is noise. Yard tools are wielded. Traffic whizzes by, drivers on their way to...?</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet on this morning, <span style="font-weight: bold;">this</span> 9/11, it somehow fits. I am reminded that despite all those we have lost--and continue to lose--time moves on. <span style="font-style: italic;">We</span> move on. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Because I can see something else from my perch. Neighbors returning from the farmers' market. Dogs walking their people (don't kid yourself, it's true). Bicycles passing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
And me? I skip down the steps to talk to a friend from two doors down as she passes by with her daughter, on the way to the park.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Because although clear blue Tuesdays in September still give me pause--the Apocalypse has not come.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Yes, Bin Laden is still in his cave. The "War on Terror" still rages. Al Qaeda cells continue to pop up everywhere, like mushrooms in shit. <span style="font-style: italic;">But we're still here </span>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
Can there be any better memorial than that?</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-91591063478105588262010-07-19T12:52:00.000-04:002013-02-02T08:01:41.360-05:00This is 40: Or How I Spent My (Incredibly Long) Summer Vacation<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On July 31, 2009—29 days before my 40th birthday—I walked away from my job. Period. No new job lined up, no clear idea of what to do next and only the flimsiest of plans for supporting myself. Just a need to step off the ledge—not to go “splat,” but as a leap of faith. I could see it in my mind's eye—the wind in my hair, arms wide open. Freedom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had been depressed for <span style="font-weight: bold;">5</span> years. 5. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I had had it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“This is 40,” Bono would announce every morning in the months leading up to my birthday (I had chosen to wake up to the live version of the song “40” on my iPod).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes. This IS 40. And what was 40 going to be? What was the rest of my life going to be? A series of crippling bouts of the depression that had gutted my ability to write, left me unable to enjoy a good glass of wine or much of anything else and made me so apathetic that I settled for a view from 15 feet away instead of PUSHING MY WAY TO THE FRONT OF THE CATWALK AT THE U2 show?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eff that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">40 would be remission. The rest of my life would, hopefully, be mostly whatever I wanted it to be. There would be ups and downs, and probably a few minor bouts of depression (it's a lifelong illness), but I refused to be paralyzed anymore. I wasn't going to stay in a job that was supposed to help me recover, but had ground me down instead. Screw the Puritan work ethic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I walked away. It was either that or lose my shit and be locked up for murder OR end up in the hospital. Even money on whether it would be the cardiac or the psych ward.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I gave myself the month of August “off”--a birthday present to myself and the first step in my recovery plan. I figured by September, I'd be posting to my new health blog and working towards some perfect new job opportunity. Which would come along in just a few months. And I'd be all better!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ha! said my brain. I have my OWN time line. My body agreed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was kind of like being in psychological traction. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is an analogy that has only recently occurred to me. My descriptive powers had left the building. So I had a hard time explaining to people why sending one email could wipe me out for the rest of the day. Or how I could really only leave the house to get the necessities: drugs (prescription!), books and food. It wasn't agoraphobia or laziness. I just had no energy. At all. Really. People were sympathetic and nobody close to me really pushed, but they were puzzled and concerned. And my brain was so scrambled that I once found myself trying to explain it to my dad this way:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Imagine that you have a broken leg and a sprained wrist, with your arm in a sling on one side of your body...no wait, wait, I mean that your arm is on the OPPOSITE side of your body, like your crutch arm right? So you can't really <span style="font-style: italic;">use</span> a crutch because of the sling and stuff and I guess you could hop on your good leg, but then you couldn't balance....Anyway, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">technically</span> possible to move, but not really?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think the best analogy might be the sense of profound fatigue that chemotherapy patients often describe. I wouldn't presume to know what it's like to go through chemo, but what I've heard about the energy drain resonates. Actually, the whole idea of depression as a cancer of the soul resonates. But that's a topic for another time...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However you describe it, it often took all my strength to get out for an integral part of <span style="font-weight: bold;">my</span> treatment: therapy and contact with friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The essential power of cupcakes, really bubbly bubble baths, re-watching all of the past seasons of “Lost,” and sitting out in the sun with Houdini (indeed any time with Houdini) also cannot be discounted. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of it inextricably intertwined with time. Time to rest, to heal. A clock I could not set. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here I am, almost one year later. This is the first time I have found it in me to sit down and really write. Recovery is ongoing. A return to the work world (temping) is imminent. But I think I may yet have a few more thoughts about the year that was “40.” A short series of posts, perhaps. So stay tuned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">40 has been nothing like what I pictured at 20, 30 or even 35. But I think it was exactly what I needed.</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-91746928438360374882009-01-08T11:37:00.000-05:002013-02-02T08:02:23.139-05:00Et tu pater?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I’m talking to my dad on the phone recently, and sans seqway he says, “did you see…what’s, he’s name, Dr. Goo, Gu…” (my dad is not good with languages).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />“Dr. Gupta?” I say.<br /><br />“Yeah, he was on Good Morning America talking about how two glasses of wine or more for women can cause problems.”<br /><br />And I say, “Yes, I’m familiar with the research [hello, I’m a health writer!], and actually it’s interesting how different news outlets chose to present the research—alcohol BAD (<a href="http://www.caring4heart.com/go/arrhythmia/news?NewsItemId=20081202elin024.xml">irregular heartbeat risk with too much wine!</a>) or alcohol OK (l<a href="http://newswise.com/articles/view/546918/">ight drinking poses no heart risk to women</a>).”<br /><br />Besides, I don’t make a habit of drinking more than two glasses a wine a night. I won’t say I’ve never had more than two at a sitting, but it’s not common…” <o:p></o:p> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Still, it’s something to think about,” Dad says.<br /><br />What I don't say is this: “Oh, Dad, not you too!!” <o:p></o:p> </span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You see, for years, my mom has waged a not so subtle war against wine. My wine. To be fair, Mom has reason to be cautious about alcohol. My grandfather and at least three of his six siblings were alcoholics. So Mom has seen the havoc it can wreak. We even did a little two-person intervention with my grandfather once. So, I get it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />But biology doesn’t have to be destiny, Mom! I didn’t even start drinking until I was 19, remember? I was a band geek! In my early college years, instead of going to keggers I played Pictionary!<br /><br />And even when I started drinking, it was pretty tame. Instead of swigging Mad Dog , I slummed by sipping from jugs of three-dollar Gallo Chablis (future wine snob alert). And drinking some concoction served from a garbage can? What is that about? Grain alcohol? Do I look like I want to go blind?<br /><br />Granted, I did eventually discover shots of tequila. And that did lead to an unfortunate incident in which I induced a friend to do a shot of tequila after sharing a bottle of wine, causing her to vomit in the middle of a crowded bar. But hey, I did NOT tell her to drink the unsolicited spearmint schnapps shots presented to us by some random dude. And she is totally a barfer.<br /><br />And we were also 23.<br /><br />I mean really, Mom doesn’t regularly drink, but alcohol has passed her lips without undue incident.<br /><br />As for me, I don’t drink when I’m depressed, don’t drink much during the week, don’t have a history of blacking out or even drunk-dialing, and when I drink too much, I end up on the floor, not some alley somewhere. And yes, red wine gives me migraines sometimes, but what is life without risk?<br /><br />But Mom still comes up with not so subtle anti-wine/alcohol messages like these: <br /><br />“You’d probably lose weight if you cut out the wine. You know alcohol really does have a lot of calories.”<br />“Drinking wine [any! at all! being the subtext] really raises your risk for breast cancer.”<br />“Wine-tasting [a hobby of mine] is linked to nose cancer. [OK, I made that one up].<br /><br />But what set Dad off? He’s never made a fuss about my wine drinking – only smirked and offered some of his Reunite when I visit.<br /><br />Could it have been all the empty wine bottles in my outside recycle bin? The recycle bin that I haven’t moved in 6 months? Or maybe it was that empty bottle or two on the dining room table? Those have been there forever!! I lost track of them among all the other crap on my table!<br /><br />Today I noticed an empty bottle under the table. I’m fairly certain Houdini placed it there in an attempt to gaslight me.<br /><br />Seriously, I like my wine. A lot. But I believe in moderation. In fact, the real substance abuse problem they should be worried about? My sugar habit! I’ve known for a long time that I liked dessert just a little too much. But I’ve been in denial about the true extent.<br /><br />Until a visit with a hospital “health educator.”<br /><br />I was in the ER in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">San Diego</st1:place></st1:city> after my spectacular fall down the stairs of the convention center. They had checked me out and while I was waiting to be released, they sent in a “health educator”---just a little something they’ve started doing. Right. As my friend Priscilla pointed out, they had probably me tagged me as a drunk because I fell [I’d just like to point out that I have been stone cold sober for the majority of my falls.]. Sorry guys, I’m just a spazz.<br /><br />But, as they gave me the “do you have an alcohol problem” quiz, I couldn’t help but think of sugar….. <o:p></o:p> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Have you ever felt you should cut down on your </span><s style="font-style: italic;">drinking</s><span style="font-style: italic;"> sugar? </span>I once ate an entire bag of candy corn in one sitting. And it wasn’t even good candy corn. So, what do you think?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">How often during the last year have you found that you were not able to stop eating dessert <s>drinking</s> once you had started?</span></strong><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"> I’m virtually unable to sit down with a pint of ice cream and not eat all of it. So, the answer would be a lot.</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><strong></strong><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Have you ever felt remorse after indulging </span><s style="font-style: italic;">drinking</s><span style="font-style: italic;">?</span> As a child, I used to steal some of the really good candy from my YOUNGER sister’s trick-or-treat stash. I was like, 10 and she was 5. It doesn't get any lower than that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is there such a thing as “sugar” rehab?</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-59696650712473504822009-01-05T16:43:00.000-05:002013-02-02T08:03:05.048-05:00Sometimes I miss my office<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Who am I kidding? I ALWAYS miss my office. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Late last April, I left a reporting job I’d been at for almost 3 years. It was my first—and most likely only—job with an office. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And it was great. Who wouldn’t happily abandon cubicle-land for their own office? I had a window. With a view of….the side of Union Station!! Woo hoo! And if I squished the left side of my face up to the window and craned my neck, I could look up First Street and see the Capitol dome. Or, closer by, the every-other-week convergence of emergency vehicles for yet another unattended package in the train station. And who could forget the summer of striking, chanting, workers and their giant inflatable rat? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bnd it wasn’t just the view. I could hang some nice pictures, turn my music up pretty loud (actually I sometimes used to do this in cubicles too), put my feet up on my desk, and shop online without looking over my shoulder. In short, I had a DOOR. Pretty damn handy. Because even in at a company with a “nap room” and all sorts of wellness programs, lying down on the floor to meditate (and no that’s not a euphemism for sleep) in a cubicle is pretty awkward.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The office was also a place to let out the crazy. And that was part of the problem, really. Not so much the office itself, but my state of mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I came to that job I was fleeing a really bad place. A really really bad place. For eight months, my boss made it her mission in life to tell me all the ways in which I sucked. So, I was feeling kinda…shaky. My former editor didn’t like to edit. So I obsessed over my choice of words. The thing is, when you’re so afraid of the wrong words, eventually the right ones don’t come either. My writing became, to put it not-so-delicately, constipated. And at my new job I started experiencing this really weird form of post-bullying-PTSD. As I nervously began to learn the ropes, I half expected someone to burst through my brand new office door and point their finger, “j’accuse-style,” shouting, “IMPOSTER! You are obviously not a reporter! Or a writer! Go now—and hang your head in shame!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They didn’t, obviously. But you get the idea. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I started having trouble with deadlines. I’d always been a procrastinator, but I’d also made my deadlines. And my copy was good. But suddenly it became a struggle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ah, Depression, my old friend. Come in. Shut the (office) door behind you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I had a good boss. And I was working my way through my issues. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then we got a new boss. And everything started to slide again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our new boss was…mercurial, is the best way to put it, I guess. Suddenly everything had to change, RIGHT NOW. And then it had to change AGAIN, right now. Deadlines? Deadlines were random, moving targets.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My office had now become my Fortress of Freakitude. As in my place to go to freak out, rant, rave and just generally break down. Whispered bitch-sessions with co-workers. Frantic calls to my therapist. Breaking out the Valium. It was ON, bitches.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I would (yet again) kick depression’s ass. I would meet my deadlines. But it wasn’t enough. Not for this boss.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so I hid again, trying not to be accused of, among other things, talking too much. Which led to ridiculous email exchanges like this one, with my friend and co-worker, Amy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ME: “Wanna go over to McDonald’s to see if they have Shamrock shakes?!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">AMY: “OMG! I’ve been thinking about that exact thing all day.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ME: “OK. But I can’t risk being seen on your end of the hall. And you probably shouldn’t be seen down here….”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">AMY: “Meet by the elevators again?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ME: “See you in 2 minutes.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Skulking about for a Shamrock shake? Is this really what it had come to?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was all but recovered. In fact, the only barrier to my mental health was my job. In a continuation of the (somewhat disturbing) trend of music from Grey’s Anatomy as soundtrack of my life, I couldn’t get, “This is your life. Are you who you want to be?” out of my mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So in the end, the office had to go. My view, my door, my work (which I really loved), my always interesting interviews—none of it was enough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m back in a cubicle. I work in a suburban office park, so the view, if I had one, would be less than thrilling. No door, virtually no privacy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No breakdowns.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the right words? I think they’re back….</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-73828537910432012312008-09-03T12:33:00.001-04:002013-02-02T08:05:43.479-05:00When does a woman become a cougar?<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">40? 39? And do you get extra "cougar free" years if you get carded?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those are the questions I pose in my current Facebook headline. It's mostly a sardonic observation, but it probably won't surprise you to learn that I turned 39 on Saturday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've never really dated younger men. Not sure I'm going to. But evidently "cougar" now means any single woman above the age of 40 (age taken from internet "research").</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">OK. So let me get this straight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My early 30s were all about the stereotypical baby clock. But evidently my late 30s were supposed to be about the cougar clock. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll synchronize my special "cougar" watch. Goodness, I'm awfully behind in my preparation. Good thing I have helpful information like the tip below, taken from an article on msnbc called "5 tips to being a sexy cougar."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thanks MSNBC! I'm so relieved to hear that it's OK to be a cougar just as long as I maintain a preternaturally young appearance.</span><br />
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<li class="textBodyBlack"><em>Age is just a number.</em><b><strong> </strong></b>That’s the most important thing.<b><strong> </strong></b>These women are redefining what aging looks like. Because they eat well, exercise and do everything necessary to maintain a healthy balance in their life, 40, 50 or 60 never looked so good. </li>
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Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-88846860037698347122008-06-29T11:01:00.000-04:002013-02-02T08:06:53.663-05:00No, Mom, my eggs went bad, remember?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently I went home to Delaware to visit my parents.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Over a breakfast bowl of cereal and apropos of nothing, Mom asks:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Do you think you’ll ever have your own children?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: “Um, no. It’s too late. Basically biologically impossible.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mom: “Huh. Is that because of your PCOS ?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">[PCOS or polycystic ovary syndrome, is an endocrine and reproductive disorder that, among other things, makes it difficult to get pregnant]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me: “Um, <span style="font-style: italic;">yeah</span>.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What I didn’t say is this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Remember that REALLY IMPORTANT conversation I had with my gynecologist around the time I turned 37? The conversation that kind of changed how I envisioned the rest of my life? It went a little something like this?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: “So, now that I’m 37, how long until my eggs expire?”</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Dr. R: “If you really want to have your own biological children and you’re psychologically and financially ready to do it on your own, you need to do it now.”</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: “Financially ready? Ha. On my own? No, I decided long ago, no baby daddy, no baby.”</span><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bing, bong.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">The reproductive window is closing. I repeat, the reproductive window is closing.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whoa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s not like this was a complete surprise. I’m a health writer. I knew that a normal woman’s—let alone one with PCOS--chance of conceiving goes down rapidly in her 30s. I could feel the biological nosedive. And I knew that I could always adopt. But something about hearing that window creakily making its way down to lockdown was kinda, um, MAJOR.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And apparently, not only did my family not fully grasp the significance of my retelling of this story—THEY DON’T EVEN REMEMBER!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love my family – they’ve always been a great source of support. But people, come on!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whatever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I really wanted kids. And hello, did no one in my family notice the change from the obsessive worrying throughout my 30s: “What if I can’t have kids? What if it’s too late?” to statements like, “I’m not even ready to have kids. Maybe I never will be,” and “Maybe being the world’s coolest aunt to Ethan and Sammie (my nephew and niece) is enough.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">[Meanwhile, a craven and selfish part of me whispers, “But who will take care of me when I am old?”]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And honestly, I think that my eggs have been committing hari-kari for years when faced with some of the guys I’ve dated. Like:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><i>The paranoiac</i></span>—We met as contractors on a job. When the job became permanent, he wanted to keep things fairly private. “Private” started out (on the work mornings after the nights we’d stayed together) at “let’s not be seen walking up together from the parking garage,” to “Drop me off a few blocks from work,” to “Drop me at the Metro on your way in.” And oh yeah—don’t talk about me on the phone at work—<span style="font-style: italic;">people are listening</span>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Um, yeah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><i>The neat freak/closet-redneck-cracker</i></span>—At his apartment, he once asked me to take off a shirt that was shedding some sparkles (don’t ask) onto his carpet. Which I did, after first running into his bedroom and rolling sparkles all over his sheets. And the last time we saw each other, in a Mexican restaurant, a history of subtle questionable remarks bloomed into statements such as “that waitress better get her chalupa ass over here,” and (after I threw a piece of candy at him) “you’re leaving a mess for you’re illegal immigrant friends to clean up.” I all but dragged him out of the restaurant by his collar and that was that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><i>The exhibitionist</i></span>—An old college relationship with a lot of baggage. We’d been out of touch for many years when he popped up to resolve some old issues. Great, but in the meantime he has become obsessed with his own body. He sends me naked pictures of himself. All the time. Even from the South Pole. Seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My eggs are very smart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Besides, I really already have a child. He has curly reddish-blond hair and a cold nose. Yes, I consider my dog my child. Anyone got a problem with that?</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-41075344826989926072008-05-14T21:00:00.000-04:002013-01-12T21:24:59.951-05:00Free parking space! Not.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, Friday morning, I'm having coffee in Old Town with my friend Chris, and we hung out for about an hour and a half. Then we parted ways for our respective cars.<br /><br />As I approached my car I notice: MY BACK LICENSE PLATE IS MISSING!! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can't swear that it didn't happen earlier while it was parked on my street, but I think I would have noticed it when I got into the car that morning. The irony, assuming that it was stolen on Cameron Street is that I didn't park in a garage or even at a meter on a more populated street because<span style="font-style: italic;"> that </span>spot was FREE. Not anymore!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I reported it to the police, so the plates are registered as stolen. But I'll have to replace them, because even as I type this, I'm imagining <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/1018041bushmask1.html"> thieves in a scary masks</a> on a major heist using my plate on their getaway car.<br /><br />Plus the DMV requires it. And I have to go there in person and everything! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That was one expensive parking space.<br /><br />On a positive note, being between jobs means I have plenty of time to stand in line....</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-80078981274045172982008-05-14T20:33:00.001-04:002013-02-02T08:09:08.523-05:00All we can do is keep breathing<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I wrote this a while ago, intending to post it to some anonymous depression-focused blog I created, but it's part of who I am (sometimes) and I think it really belongs on the Chronicles. I don't feel the need to be anonymous anymore.</span> </span><br />
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<span id="kt3o5" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I like "Grey's Anatomy." I think at its best, the show can be genuinely moving. It's no "Buffy"--pondering the nature of good and evil and what it means to have a soul. But definitely glimpses of the simultaneous fragility and resilience of the human heart.</span></div>
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<span id="kt3o9" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I also really like its music. I'll leave it to others to analyze what that says about my hipness or lack thereof, but I enjoy what I find. And sometimes I find pieces that resonate. Like the song I currently can't get out of my head: "Keep Breathing" by Ingrid Michaelson:</span></div>
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<i id="kt3o13"><span id="kt3o14"><span id="kt3o15" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I want to change the world. Instead, I sleep.</span></span></i></div>
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<span id="kt3o19" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wow, did that catch my attention the first time I heard it. Not that my aspirations were ever quite that lofty, but there are things I thought I would do and I haven't. Projects I want to do, but don't. Specifically, this current relapse has been all about apathy. A lack of desire and energy to do anything but keep body and soul (and my dog) together. Like the song goes on to say:</span></div>
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<span id="kt3o23"><span id="kt3o24" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o25">All that I know is I'm breathing</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o33" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pretty grim, right? And it's definitely felt like that sometimes. Full on episodes of that scary nothingness that is woven into the fabric of depression--what I like to call "the abyss." But I also find another meaning in the song--a subtle shift in the lyrics:</span></div>
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<i id="kt3o37"><span id="kt3o38"><span id="kt3o39" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All I can do is keep breathing</span></span></i></div>
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<span id="kt3o43" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Like, as long as I'm breathing, anything is possible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span id="kt3o49">Breath, in various contexts, is kind of a personal touchstone. Like another song I picked up from Grey's: "Breathe (2 AM)." The tension--musically and lyrically--continuously intensifies, as life throws itself at the narrator, building into a crescendo. </span><span id="kt3o50">The movement and urgency are reminiscent of developing panic attack. Pulse racing, brain sprinting as you try to just hold it together. And then you remember:</span></span></div>
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<i id="kt3o54"><span id="kt3o55"><span id="kt3o56" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Breathe, just breathe.</span></span></i></div>
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<span id="kt3o61" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Taking deep, measured breaths has been a major coping mechanism for me for so long, and while sometimes, during really sustained bouts of panic, only a little valium will do, I like the reminder that sometimes it's possible to just pause and slow it down a few beats.</span></div>
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<span id="kt3o65" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or, as the great philosopher and poet Paul Hewson (aka Bono) would say:</span></div>
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<span id="kt3o69"><span id="kt3o70" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o71">And if the night runs over</i></span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o69"><span id="kt3o70" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o71">And if the day won't last</i></span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o74"><span id="kt3o75" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o76">And if your way should falter</i></span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o74"><span id="kt3o75" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o76">along the stony pass</i></span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o78"><span id="kt3o79" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o80">it's just a moment</i></span></span></div>
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<span id="kt3o86"><span id="kt3o87" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i id="kt3o88">this time will pass</i>.</span></span></div>
Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-23424230881377989232008-02-28T18:40:00.000-05:002013-02-02T08:10:34.124-05:00Die, rodent, die!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oCL3PPcihNHdfB5c8N7BR_tLfcmMNZ6zOTjqOsuYYJDuZ-vOoQG9VSwsylyUYqWrYL72K08EdbemQ__nVCTyCzf8uPDevm_0WzVeFxV8TIqarYjsVgc1NFZne3J6Qvvv3yUG/s1600-h/mouse01.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172201252343449090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oCL3PPcihNHdfB5c8N7BR_tLfcmMNZ6zOTjqOsuYYJDuZ-vOoQG9VSwsylyUYqWrYL72K08EdbemQ__nVCTyCzf8uPDevm_0WzVeFxV8TIqarYjsVgc1NFZne3J6Qvvv3yUG/s200/mouse01.gif" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You know your life is seriously out of balance when you keep having to interrupt your work freak out/my-therapist-has-been-out-of-town-for-weeks call to your father in order to yell, "shit!" "get away!" and "goddamn mice!" at a particularly bold rodent headed for your dog's water bowl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of this while you're waiting for the valium to kick in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, this really is the winter of my discontent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Actually it started in November. Darting shadows, seen just out of the corner of my eyes. Then full-on eye contact with a mouse that ran out from underneath the radiator in my kitchen. Yuck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I've dealt with mice before, I thought. And hey, why don't I try those special D-Con no-touch, no-see traps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I bought four of the hockey-puck looking things. They did <i>not</i> have me screaming GOOOOOAL!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">OK, back to my basic covered traps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But mysteriously the peanut butter kept disappearing without triggering the traps. Finally I started catching some of the sneaky little bastards. But they kept coming. And by January, they were feeling <i>really</i> comfortable with the place. Strolling out from under the couch to boop around the living room, la la la.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After eight kills, I decided it was time for professional help. Help that wouldn't endanger Houdini, who by the way, was pretty much oblivious to all of this. I called a place I had used before for other pests. They were pet-friendly. Or so I thought. However, when the guy showed up this time, he was flummoxed by the presence of Houdini.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Where do you want to put the poison?" asks Exterminator Man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm really not comfortable with poison at all," I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"We do have really heavy baits that are hard to get into," says EM. (Then how do the mice get in?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Um, well, could you maybe put it someplace my dog can't get to?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Yeah, I guess I could put some in the attic and in the dropped tile ceiling of the basement. I'll just have to use snap traps in other places."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Snap traps? Open, freaking, wooden snap traps? If I'd wanted to use those I could have set them myself!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The visit was capped off by Exterminator Man telling me he couldn't check for rodent activity in my second bedroom, due to all the stuff in there and that it would probably helped if I organized things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">@#!&$</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Don't. Bug. Me. About. My. Clutter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My therapist has been trying to teach me that my house is not a reflection of who I am, dammit! And who I am is seriously overwhelmed, so back off!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The bill for all of this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">$250.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY COVERED SNAP TRAPS I COULD BUY FOR THAT MUCH MONEY? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">50!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">50!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So now it's February, and a second EM visit has revealed that the mice aren't taking the poison. Or getting near the snap traps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He added glue boxes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wasn't happy, but at least I hadn't seen any mice in the last few weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until Tuesday. On that phone call with my dad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Get ready Exterminator Man, because you're coming back. You <b>will</b> rid me of my mice!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Otherwise, I'm moving out. Possibly to the psych ward….</span></div>
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Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-70793806983892510562007-10-16T15:53:00.000-04:002013-02-02T08:12:05.288-05:00Our Daughters, Ourselves<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Onslaught.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's an award-winning short film from Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty. The tagline: Talk to your daughter before the beauty industry does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't have a daughter. But I do have a niece. And more painfully, I have a mirror.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't like what I see in it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Which is ridiculous. I am not hideous, deformed or even just plain ugly. But sometimes I think I am. In the mirror, on the scale, trying on clothes, just walking around. That little voice in my head: You're fat. You're getting old. Is that a wrinkle? A new gray hair? Is my neck starting to sag? My eyelids droop?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm 38 years old and in pretty good health and shape for my age. I could stand to lose a few pounds--for my health--but I'm certainly not falling to pieces like some decrepit old house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And what if I were? Is it no longer possible to approach 40 without Botox and a plastic surgeon on speed dial? Is youth our only currency?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These are not just the narcisstic ramblings of one neurotic type A personality, but thoughts that most women I know share. After all, we're all subjected to <a href="http://adage.com/brightcove/single.php?bcpid=1185114685&bctid=1231040362">this barrage</a> every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The film is a 60-second, turbo-charged distillation of everything advertising and the beauty industry have to throw at us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Very cleverly done. It captures our crazy-making beauty culture perfectly. There's even a split second image of a woman kneeling before a toilet, presumably on the verge of purging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Read <a href="http://adage.com/garfield/article?article_id=120975">Advertising Age's review of the ad</a>--including appropriate calling out of Unilever for also producing Axe body spray and Slim Fast.</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-35675175761106767312007-10-16T15:15:00.000-04:002013-01-12T21:29:17.165-05:00Public reading and writing service announcement no. 554:<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Words like "synthesize," "synergize," "utilize" or any "ize" for that matter, do not make your writing more magically delicious. They do not make you sound bolder, cooler, smarter or more interesting. But they do make you sound lamer and cheesier.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So please don't sprinkle these words throughout your compositions like so many pieces of Lucky Charms. They're plastic, artificial, crappy little colored marshmallows--not gold nuggets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And they rot your brain. Or at least your teeth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Signed,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One cranky writer</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-78089691771401480432007-03-22T16:25:00.000-04:002013-02-02T08:13:13.212-05:00Things I won't do for the sake of the environment<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, it's spring, and I've finally crawled out from hibernation to add a new post to my "new" blog.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The number one emailed article at the New York Times today is about a couple and their small child going to <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/22/garden/22impact.html?ei=5087%0A&em=&amp;amp;en=35b7d7d2fc53f1a9&ex=1174708800&pagewanted=print">eco-extremes in a year-long experiment in living green</a>. To wit: they will not buy any food that hasn't been grown within a 250-mile radius of NYC and they will not buy anything besides that food. They will also not use any carbon-fuelled transportation (elevators included) or produce any trash (they are composting IN their apartment). Among the food items that are banished (or will be once they run out): olive oil, balsamic vinegar and spices! They dine by the light of candles and one fluorescent bulb. And scooter or walk to work and everywhere else.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I admire their commitment (and of others who are doing similar things), I do. I've been singing the praises of the environmentally-enlightened (and rightful U.S President) Al Gore since 1992. I am honestly seriously concerned about global warming, and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I consider "skeptics" to be the equivalent of people who still believe the earth is flat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But it's hard to walk the talk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I do what I can--I've stopped being a huge-ass hypocrite by switching to Metro instead of driving to work. I telecommute one day about every other week. My car is 7years old and has not-quite 50,000 miles on it. There are now new windows in my house, which means I can actually open them and not used the "fan" setting on my AC (more on that later). I have central air now instead of two noisy electricity-hogging window units. I recycle! And I kinda hate fast food and massive chain operations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, there are some things that I refuse to give up for the sake of the earth. Here's my list--I tried to rank them, but honestly, they're all pretty important:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not stop eating meat</span></strong>--I try to buy organic and local if I can and I don't eat veal (OK that's really about the meanness of it), but dammit I love me some good lamb once in a while. Or a big juicy grilled steak (charcoal not gas).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #33cc00;"><strong>I will not stop eating seafood</strong>--</span>I've done the swordfish ban, and I know most of the world's fish are being rapidly depleted, but I've gotta get my protein somewhere! I'll try to focus on the less over-fished species, but don't take away my omega-3s.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not sweat it out without air-conditioning</span></strong>--OK, I know this is a big one, but people it is hot and so fraking humid in DC in the summertime. I can cut down but don't cut me off! It's a shameless excuse, but I really do get light-headed when it's really hot out (I know, lame.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><br /><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not wear ugly clothing</span></strong>--Look. I'm not extravagant. I can't afford designer clothes (which actually is probably less energy-intensive), which means relatively mass-produced off the rack. But I'm working on the whole "less is more" thing. And I don't know which is less energy-intensive to produce: natural items or synthetics, but I do know this: it can't be tacky and I am not wearing hemp.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not stop buying music</span></strong>--But I will cut down on waste by buying virtually (ha) all of my music online. And I am keeping all of my forms of Bono and the boys--all the CDs with cracked cases, the concert DVDs and duplicate online files. Yes, I did actually download AND buy the physical CD of "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not give up my TV</span></strong>--Something has to distract me from the destruction of the Earth and the sick joke that is the Bush administration. And my TV isn't very big--just 24 inches and a little tiny one in my room. Yes, I do read--a lot, but a world where I never experienced the X-Files or Buffy? Veronica Mars? Scrubs or the Office (UK and US)? Be reasonable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not stop drinking wine</span></strong>--Actually, wine <em>is</em> produced within a 250-mile radius of my house. However, if you know anything about wine, you'll know that much of Virginia's wine is not just bad, it's damn near unrecognizable as wine. And I really like a lot of wine from New Zealand and Australia. And Argentina, Spain, Austria…OK, I'll try to mix some Oregon and Washington wines in there. And one of my Italian great-uncles used to make his own wine…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">I will not stop traveling to far-flung places</span></strong>--I want to see New Zealand and Australia. Bali and Southeast Asia. Argentina and Brazil. Maybe India. Various parts of the US. And how can I not go back to Italy? It's in my blood! I've seen the stats on how wasteful air-travel is, but honestly I don't get to do it that often. In the past few years it's only been a few times a year and in some years, none at all. My only excuse is that seeing the rest of the Earth leads me to want to save it. It's a whole balance thing, I know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: #33cc00;">And finally, I will not stop using toilet paper</span></strong>--One of the most fascinating and awe-inspiring parts of the Times article was that these people have stopped using toilet paper. I cannot. If forced to chose, I would give up toilet paper for some of the other items on this list, but I don't see it happening any time soon. Don't have room for a bidet. Don't think they are all that effective anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Forgive me, Al. I remain your dedicated but deeply flawed supporter.</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-1163540702345614982006-11-14T16:38:00.000-05:002013-02-02T08:13:59.774-05:00Pelosi to Bush:"You'll be getting me coffee, bitch!"<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At least that's how it goes in my fantasy. My friend Sadie was recently offended by a fairly sexist comment Dubya made about helping Nancy Pelosi pick out her drapes. God he's an idiot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I said, "She should have been like, 'You'll be getting me coffee, bitch!' and then slapped him on the ass and called him sparky or something like that." (Apologies to my childhood friend, Jenny, who goes by the name Sparky but is decidedly un-Bushlike.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Speaking of idiocy, check out this blog rant about how <a href="http://swacgirl.blogspot.com/2006/11/mainstream-medias-help-in-defeating.html"> the mainstream media made poor George "Macaca" Allen lose</a>. Waah! Waah!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And newsbusters.org has a piece about how the evil U.N. is <a href="http://newsbusters.org/node/9058"> "promoting global warming fear" in our children</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, you stupid, stupid, flat-earthers…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's called peer-reviewed science. The theories of a few cranky "experts" does not a debate make. Where are the scientific studies that cast serious doubt on the human impact upon our planet? In case all this actual science--not funded by fossil fuel industries--is too much, here's <a href="http://www.sciencemag.org/cgi/content/full/306/5702/1686">a clear and consise explanation of the reputable scientific consensus</a> from Science magazine. Note the part where it talks about 928 studies appearing in refereed scientific journals that agree--humans are changing the climate.</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37086973.post-1162586898697534812006-11-03T14:52:00.000-05:002013-01-12T21:32:44.144-05:00A polyglot of politics, pop culture and pure disaster<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First blog post. Sudden writer's block! Not a good sign...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here I chronicle my life's adventures. In scintillating and sparkling prose. Or not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes I'll just ramble.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">About my dog, who can stand on his back legs and do pirouettes....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or how scientists have <em>proof</em> that I <a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/15909113.htm">must drink more wine</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And rant about how we are screwing up the earth. <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/11/02/AR2006110200913.html">No more lobster?!!</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or why this administration is <a href="http://www.bushisantichrist.com/">evil</a>. (Seriously, it's a site about W as the antichrist!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Water torture anyone? <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15431835/">Dick Cheney says it is OK</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On a lighter note, I will occasionally bombard you with random <a href="http://www.slayage.tv/pages/Slayage/recommended.htm"><em>Buffy</em> readings</a>. ReasonOnline agrees--<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Chttp://www.reason.com/news/show/28867.html">Buffy kicks ass</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or thoughts about the <a href="http://www.greyswriters.com/">latest episode of Grey's Anatomy</a>. What is up with <a href="http://www.greysanatomyinsider.com/gallery/best-buds.html">Ellen Pompeo's hair</a>?!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Interesting things I'm reading, like how <a href="http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&c=Article&cid=1162034471459&call_pageid=1105528093962&col=1105528093790">napping rules</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And anything else that comes to mind.</span>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17648639903879931490noreply@blogger.com0