Late September 2010. I'm back from vacation but not back into the groove of weight loss. I still go to the gym four or five or six times a week but I start (gasp) hanging out with friends again. I don't use my calorie counter app but after months of eating healthy, it's more of a habit now. Weighing myself weekly (Monday morning) is more of a hindsight rather than a necessity for keeping myself on track. The holidays start coming full force and we all know what that means. There's a lot of baking and cooking and parties and drinking, lord the drinking. I do love a good cocktail.
I LOVE to bake and cook. It wasn't always my favorite, I'd need a glass (or two or three) of wine while trying not to skip an ingredient in the recipe. SPOILER ALERT: I usually did. But this Christmas I found an amazing cookbook: 100 Best Vegan Baking Recipes by a woman from Portland. There are some seriously delicious recipes in there but just because they're vegan (and the way I make them, gluten-free as well) does not make them healthy. There's lots of sugar and vegan butter and cream cheese is just as gnarly calorie and fat wise as the real stuff. Baking the recipes from that book changed my outlook on cooking and I do it as often as possible now. German feasts, eggplant parmesan, I even made lasagna with quinoa noodles and homemade tofu ricotta (thanks Skinny Bitch in the Kitch)! I hadn't had lasagna in over three years. That alone is a travesty.
I know where you think this is going. The new year comes around and I get back on the scale only to be horrified by what I'd done. But that totally didn't happen! I know, twist ending, right?
Of course I didn't lose weight, that would've been ridiculous and my gym buddy probably would have wondered if something nefarious was going on *cough* eating disorder! *cough*. But I weighed exactly the same as I did when I left that morning in September. That alone was a victory. I'd survived the holidays without even trying. Maintaining is a huge deal for me, as my constant battle with weight can attest. I realize now that I will have to work out at least four days a week for the rest of my life if I don't want to gain weight.
But now it was time to start losing again.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Losing weight sucks.
Okay, so losing weight doesn't suck, losing weight kicks ass! TRYING to lose weight sucks. Trying really hard and failing is even worse. I've lost significant amounts of weight three times in my life. And I'm only 30.
So here's what you need to know.
When I hit puberty I grew up AND out. I didn't get fat first and grow into it, I grew like eight inches but ate way too much, and obviously not healthy food. Recently Weight Watchers switched their point system so fruit isn't worth anything. Some people moaned and groaned but you know what? We're not fat because we eat too much fruit. Yes, apples and oranges do have sugar in them, but so does the ice cream, so do the Doritos, and so do all those delicious, delicious baked goods.
I'm 5'11''. When I was 21 I weighed 206 pounds. I lost 28 pounds and was pleased with the way I looked. Probably could've lost a few (or 10 or 20) more pounds, but I was a comfy and healthy size 12. I moved out and promptly (over the course of 5 years) gained back all of that and THEN SOME. When I was 26 I was (still 5'11", no huge growth spurts left by now...) 225 pounds. Whoa. That is FAT. So I joined a gym (the 24 Hour Fitness I still go to, I love them) and lost just about 30 pounds, I can't remember exactly. Then I quit my job as a waitress (very active) and became a student again (not active). I still went to the gym, but in April 2009 I got MRSA. It was bad. Really bad. It came and went for six months. Doctors and antibiotics and studies and definitely no gym because I was exhausted and in pain all the time. So I got fat again.
March 2010. I weighed 215 pounds. AGAIN. I'm not saying I gained back all 30 pounds in a year, it definitely took longer than that, but the bulk of it happened during those 10 months. I'm not an emotional eater, I eat when I'm bored. I eat when I read, when I watch tv, on my breaks at work. Even though I'm allergic to everything I found loopholes for carbs and sweets and all my other food mistresses.
In April of 2010, the 24 Fitness I go to closed and moved to a brand new building with brand new equipment down the road. The gym I'd been going to (I mean that in very loose terms for the 18 month prior) was a dungeon. It was ghetto. As ghetto as a gym in NW-not-quite-Beaverton-not-quite-Hillsboro can be.
I have a work out buddy; we mostly do weights together but sometimes cardio and we ALWAYS judge people for their too short shorts or lopsided boob jobs. I count calories every day and try to eat enough (I know right, but eating too few but still bad calories has always been my downfall) by keeping track on an app on my Android. My gym is amazing and the people that work there are awesome. I look forward to seeing them and that's a huge motivator to get there in the first place.
Between May and September 2010 I lost exactly 20 pounds. It was my goal to lose just that before I took a road trip to California. I weighed myself the morning I left town and I was right on, to the tenth of a pound. It was awesome. Then came the tricky part.
So here's what you need to know.
When I hit puberty I grew up AND out. I didn't get fat first and grow into it, I grew like eight inches but ate way too much, and obviously not healthy food. Recently Weight Watchers switched their point system so fruit isn't worth anything. Some people moaned and groaned but you know what? We're not fat because we eat too much fruit. Yes, apples and oranges do have sugar in them, but so does the ice cream, so do the Doritos, and so do all those delicious, delicious baked goods.
I'm 5'11''. When I was 21 I weighed 206 pounds. I lost 28 pounds and was pleased with the way I looked. Probably could've lost a few (or 10 or 20) more pounds, but I was a comfy and healthy size 12. I moved out and promptly (over the course of 5 years) gained back all of that and THEN SOME. When I was 26 I was (still 5'11", no huge growth spurts left by now...) 225 pounds. Whoa. That is FAT. So I joined a gym (the 24 Hour Fitness I still go to, I love them) and lost just about 30 pounds, I can't remember exactly. Then I quit my job as a waitress (very active) and became a student again (not active). I still went to the gym, but in April 2009 I got MRSA. It was bad. Really bad. It came and went for six months. Doctors and antibiotics and studies and definitely no gym because I was exhausted and in pain all the time. So I got fat again.
March 2010. I weighed 215 pounds. AGAIN. I'm not saying I gained back all 30 pounds in a year, it definitely took longer than that, but the bulk of it happened during those 10 months. I'm not an emotional eater, I eat when I'm bored. I eat when I read, when I watch tv, on my breaks at work. Even though I'm allergic to everything I found loopholes for carbs and sweets and all my other food mistresses.
In April of 2010, the 24 Fitness I go to closed and moved to a brand new building with brand new equipment down the road. The gym I'd been going to (I mean that in very loose terms for the 18 month prior) was a dungeon. It was ghetto. As ghetto as a gym in NW-not-quite-Beaverton-not-quite-Hillsboro can be.
I have a work out buddy; we mostly do weights together but sometimes cardio and we ALWAYS judge people for their too short shorts or lopsided boob jobs. I count calories every day and try to eat enough (I know right, but eating too few but still bad calories has always been my downfall) by keeping track on an app on my Android. My gym is amazing and the people that work there are awesome. I look forward to seeing them and that's a huge motivator to get there in the first place.
Between May and September 2010 I lost exactly 20 pounds. It was my goal to lose just that before I took a road trip to California. I weighed myself the morning I left town and I was right on, to the tenth of a pound. It was awesome. Then came the tricky part.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The more you know...
I've always loved grammar and language and reading and writing. I'm a bit of an overzealous enthusiast. Some might call me a Nazi of sorts and that's fine. And even I make mistakes; I have issues with apostrophes when words end in S. Always have, always will. I still don't know where the punctuation goes when I'm writing a quote or citing a source in a paper. And that's fine.
If someone says "on accident" I don't correct them. If there's an extra apostrophe in a sign somewhere of course I'll change it, but always surreptitiously, I don't want to call anyone out and embarrass them.
Really.
I don't correct people even when it involves my most hated of all grammatical errors: using the word less instead of fewer (mainly because I'd be correcting everyone constantly). No one ever switches it around the other way because saying "I drank fewer coffee than usual today" sounds weird to pretty much everyone. But for some reason I'm one of the few people that thinks it's icky when people say "I had less cups of coffee today". (See, I have NO idea where to put that period.) (Or this one).
Digression averted.
I honestly have a physical reaction when someone uses less incorrectly. I know that makes me a bit of a crazy and again I'm okay with that. I have written blogs about proper grammar. I've just recently posted a status update on Facebook with a gentle reminder about the differences between less and fewer. But what prompted me to write, to air my grievances and allow the world (or three* people) to catch a glimpse into the true nature of my grammar crazies, is that I've now sent two e-mails to two different companies informing them of their unfortunate and incorrect grammar, using less when they should be using fewer.
I know they don't care, I know they won't change it, and I know they'll think I'm a crazy beezy with nothing better to do with her time except feed her houseful of cats. And you know what? I am that.. except for the part about the cats. I know it won't do anything, but I feel better having sent them. One intern will skim my e-mail roll his eyes and hit delete, but maybe one of these days I can get one company to change it. My goal is to not have less replace fewer and end up in the dictionary as an acceptable alternative.
I yielded to unconscious and subconscious meaning the same thing and was NOT happy about it.
*Another fun rule is that numbers one through nine are spelled out and 10 and up are.. well, written like numbers. Tell your friends.
If someone says "on accident" I don't correct them. If there's an extra apostrophe in a sign somewhere of course I'll change it, but always surreptitiously, I don't want to call anyone out and embarrass them.
Really.
I don't correct people even when it involves my most hated of all grammatical errors: using the word less instead of fewer (mainly because I'd be correcting everyone constantly). No one ever switches it around the other way because saying "I drank fewer coffee than usual today" sounds weird to pretty much everyone. But for some reason I'm one of the few people that thinks it's icky when people say "I had less cups of coffee today". (See, I have NO idea where to put that period.) (Or this one).
Digression averted.
I honestly have a physical reaction when someone uses less incorrectly. I know that makes me a bit of a crazy and again I'm okay with that. I have written blogs about proper grammar. I've just recently posted a status update on Facebook with a gentle reminder about the differences between less and fewer. But what prompted me to write, to air my grievances and allow the world (or three* people) to catch a glimpse into the true nature of my grammar crazies, is that I've now sent two e-mails to two different companies informing them of their unfortunate and incorrect grammar, using less when they should be using fewer.
I know they don't care, I know they won't change it, and I know they'll think I'm a crazy beezy with nothing better to do with her time except feed her houseful of cats. And you know what? I am that.. except for the part about the cats. I know it won't do anything, but I feel better having sent them. One intern will skim my e-mail roll his eyes and hit delete, but maybe one of these days I can get one company to change it. My goal is to not have less replace fewer and end up in the dictionary as an acceptable alternative.
I yielded to unconscious and subconscious meaning the same thing and was NOT happy about it.
*Another fun rule is that numbers one through nine are spelled out and 10 and up are.. well, written like numbers. Tell your friends.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Forgive the lateness of my reply
I am physically unable to get anywhere on time. It doesn't matter how hard I try something is always blocking my way- literally and figuratively.
Today was spa day and it was fabulous. Groupon is the best invention ever and I got a manicure, a brow wax (yikes those suckers were out of control, but the artist/brow tech (?) said I have really nice brows with perfect arches. Thanks? I will take any compliment offered my way!), and a haircut. Along with the haircut came a pretty hefty glass of Merlot so that was an added bonus.
Everything was planned out and I was walking out the door with 5 extra minutes to allow for any missteps, detours, or obnoxious afternoon traffic jams (seriously, all those people can't possibly be on the same work schedule as me! Where are you GOING at 11am on a Thursday?!)
Unfortunately the first detour was running back in the house to print the physical Groupon coupon and that took up all of my allotted extra time. Print print print click click click! Finally after some threats of physical violence in super scary hushed tones I got what I needed and was out the door.
Next detour? A physical one with road barriers directing me down some random street underneath the bridge. Thanks Belmont/Morrison and my GPS for leading me astray so easily! When I finally cleared the detour another LITERAL blockade of a giant truck trying to park kept me from turning on the street I needed to be on.
Thank goodness I drive like a Californian because I was still only two minutes late to my appointment.
Spa day was a success, my nails, brows and hair all look super cute and well looked after (for once). The wine was perfect and I capped it all off with an amazing GF/vegan (except for the bacon!) pizza from the only place in Portland I can eat pizza: Oasis Cafe on Hawthorne.
I got an entire pizza but only ate 2 pieces, I'll be eating like a queen (one riddled with allergies anyway) for a week!
Today was spa day and it was fabulous. Groupon is the best invention ever and I got a manicure, a brow wax (yikes those suckers were out of control, but the artist/brow tech (?) said I have really nice brows with perfect arches. Thanks? I will take any compliment offered my way!), and a haircut. Along with the haircut came a pretty hefty glass of Merlot so that was an added bonus.
Everything was planned out and I was walking out the door with 5 extra minutes to allow for any missteps, detours, or obnoxious afternoon traffic jams (seriously, all those people can't possibly be on the same work schedule as me! Where are you GOING at 11am on a Thursday?!)
Unfortunately the first detour was running back in the house to print the physical Groupon coupon and that took up all of my allotted extra time. Print print print click click click! Finally after some threats of physical violence in super scary hushed tones I got what I needed and was out the door.
Next detour? A physical one with road barriers directing me down some random street underneath the bridge. Thanks Belmont/Morrison and my GPS for leading me astray so easily! When I finally cleared the detour another LITERAL blockade of a giant truck trying to park kept me from turning on the street I needed to be on.
Thank goodness I drive like a Californian because I was still only two minutes late to my appointment.
Spa day was a success, my nails, brows and hair all look super cute and well looked after (for once). The wine was perfect and I capped it all off with an amazing GF/vegan (except for the bacon!) pizza from the only place in Portland I can eat pizza: Oasis Cafe on Hawthorne.
I got an entire pizza but only ate 2 pieces, I'll be eating like a queen (one riddled with allergies anyway) for a week!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
I love making lists
Knowing there's a vacation looming is like having senioritis. Which I had all 12 years I was in college, clearly.
All I want to do is read travel books and shop for new clothes, but instead I have to work 40 hours a week like a sucker. Stupid health insurance requirements. If I could sit, lounge, recline, sprawl, relax for hours upon hours in the sun reading books I'd be golden (and tan! Get it? Word play). I'd buffer my days with eating and watching Netflix of course. Instant Netflix is the best invention since Tivo. Except mine is being wonky and all I want to do is watch season two of Veronica Mars and it WON'T LET ME. Boo.
So, work gym, gym work. Some baking, some reading, lots of television, especially because I go to the gym solely to watch TV. And get healthy, blah blah blah. If I happen to work out for 3 hours because Say Yes to the Dress and Hoarders is on, I can't be held responsible. It's TV's fault.
Soon 12 days off (in a ROW) will be MINE and I'll get to do everything on my list. Get drunk at Disneyland (well, California Adventure anyway, that's where they sell the wine) and look at art all day at the Getty Center and go hiking in Runyon Canyon in the hopes of seeing a celebrity walking their dog. Doesn't matter who.
And there will be beach lounging. Oh my, yes, there will be lounging.
All I want to do is read travel books and shop for new clothes, but instead I have to work 40 hours a week like a sucker. Stupid health insurance requirements. If I could sit, lounge, recline, sprawl, relax for hours upon hours in the sun reading books I'd be golden (and tan! Get it? Word play). I'd buffer my days with eating and watching Netflix of course. Instant Netflix is the best invention since Tivo. Except mine is being wonky and all I want to do is watch season two of Veronica Mars and it WON'T LET ME. Boo.
So, work gym, gym work. Some baking, some reading, lots of television, especially because I go to the gym solely to watch TV. And get healthy, blah blah blah. If I happen to work out for 3 hours because Say Yes to the Dress and Hoarders is on, I can't be held responsible. It's TV's fault.
Soon 12 days off (in a ROW) will be MINE and I'll get to do everything on my list. Get drunk at Disneyland (well, California Adventure anyway, that's where they sell the wine) and look at art all day at the Getty Center and go hiking in Runyon Canyon in the hopes of seeing a celebrity walking their dog. Doesn't matter who.
And there will be beach lounging. Oh my, yes, there will be lounging.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Mountain climbing
Yesterday I drove out to Saddle Mountain with Rachael to do our weekly hike. Usually we stick with safe city walks or Mt. Tabor, but we were ready for a challenge. Saddle Mountain is the tallest mountain in the coast range and though I don't remember how tall it is, I do know that we walked 1600 feet up in two hours. And the way my thighs feel right now it was totally vertical the entire way.
Even though the summit was so foggy we couldn't see anything, it was a fabulous feeling knowing we accomplished something that we'd set out to do. Unfortunately this means I can't ever give up on anything from now on because in the back of my mind I'll know that I climbed a mountain so I can probably take that box out to the garage.
The views were still amazing, because it wasn't so much what we couldn't see looking out over the summit, but what we could see as we hiked up. Everything was so green that it didn't seem real. There were mountainside meadows covered in grass and wildflowers.
We were able to hear the ocean and finally know what direction we were facing because the sounds of the waves were so clear.
We hiked just over six miles in three and a half hours and we were exhausted. Feet, legs, brains, they were all about to give out. I still had to drive the hour back into town as the only thing that had really kept us going was the promise we made to ourselves that if we get to the top, we'd get cheeseburgers and wine. It was delicious.
I also love that we live in Oregon so not only did we get to hike a mountain and hear the ocean, but I was able to walk, muddy and dirty, into a bar where I knew the employees and wouldn't be embarrassed that I hadn't worn make-up or brushed my hair in two days.
PS - A word of advice, don't shave legs after a vertical hike and a bottle of wine. It was the second most difficult task of the day.
Even though the summit was so foggy we couldn't see anything, it was a fabulous feeling knowing we accomplished something that we'd set out to do. Unfortunately this means I can't ever give up on anything from now on because in the back of my mind I'll know that I climbed a mountain so I can probably take that box out to the garage.
The views were still amazing, because it wasn't so much what we couldn't see looking out over the summit, but what we could see as we hiked up. Everything was so green that it didn't seem real. There were mountainside meadows covered in grass and wildflowers.
We were able to hear the ocean and finally know what direction we were facing because the sounds of the waves were so clear.
We hiked just over six miles in three and a half hours and we were exhausted. Feet, legs, brains, they were all about to give out. I still had to drive the hour back into town as the only thing that had really kept us going was the promise we made to ourselves that if we get to the top, we'd get cheeseburgers and wine. It was delicious.
I also love that we live in Oregon so not only did we get to hike a mountain and hear the ocean, but I was able to walk, muddy and dirty, into a bar where I knew the employees and wouldn't be embarrassed that I hadn't worn make-up or brushed my hair in two days.
PS - A word of advice, don't shave legs after a vertical hike and a bottle of wine. It was the second most difficult task of the day.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Not so subliminal coupons
Like I said, I'm trying to lose weight. I've been successful, but there's still that (nearly constant) nagging for chocolate, sugar and fun-dip. Yeah, you'd think fun-dip would fall under the category of sugar, but it's in a class all on its own. Especially grape. Grape is the best.
Last week I was not feeling great, the same way I've felt every 28 days (or so) for the past 15 years, and I needed candy. Lots of it. Wine, too. I went to Target and loaded up on fancy (Lindt chocolate hazelnut truffles) and not so fancy (giant box o' Mike 'n' Ikes) until I felt I had enough to satiate my pain and cover it up with high fructose corn syrup and red dye #40.
A lot of grocery/super stores print up coupons that the computer deems useful to the consumer. Mine was a coupon for digestive health supplements. I guess Target was none too pleased with my purchases, maybe a diet aid would have been a better suggestion?
Today I went to Target again. Yes, it is a weekly thing. This time it was for gym socks (you know the kind that don't go past the ankle so I don't look super dorky in shorts like I did when I was 14 and either slouched them down or pulled them up over my calf) and new workout pants. Also I bought a cute purse because, yeah, I'm in Target, I'm gonna buy a purse.
I was really smug about what coupon was going to print this time. I haven't been healthy for long so I can't think of any examples for you, you'll have to fill them in on your own. Transaction complete aaaandddd.... Tums. Ugh.
Thanks Target. I'm going to think about what I buy next. That coupon's going to be epic.
An open letter to my car
Dear Jack,
You know I love you. Not just because we're both super German and have beer sloshing around our bellies almost always. Well, in your case it's empty beer bottles in your trunk, but it's practically the same thing. Not just because you're so loud (and with that double exhaust) everyone assumes you're a racing car - and of course my driving does nothing to dissuade the masses. Not just because your backseat seat belt comes from the middle of the seat and pisses everyone off, and I secretly love it.
I knew when I bought you it would mean giving up my beloved Mulva, a marvel of Swedish engineering with a surprising lack of cup holders and one really shitty mirror (hey, those Swedes KNOW they look good), for a car I knew would drive more than 80 miles without having to be towed to the nearest mechanic. And while Mulva would start after weeks of sitting in snow and ice and bitter cold, I knew it was time to move on.
We've known each other for a while now, almost three years, but I need to get some things off my chest. I've taken good care of you. Your outlandish requests for full synthetic 5/40 oil. Some places I go don't even know such a grade exists. It does. And it's freaking expensive.
You know I love you. Not just because we're both super German and have beer sloshing around our bellies almost always. Well, in your case it's empty beer bottles in your trunk, but it's practically the same thing. Not just because you're so loud (and with that double exhaust) everyone assumes you're a racing car - and of course my driving does nothing to dissuade the masses. Not just because your backseat seat belt comes from the middle of the seat and pisses everyone off, and I secretly love it.
I knew when I bought you it would mean giving up my beloved Mulva, a marvel of Swedish engineering with a surprising lack of cup holders and one really shitty mirror (hey, those Swedes KNOW they look good), for a car I knew would drive more than 80 miles without having to be towed to the nearest mechanic. And while Mulva would start after weeks of sitting in snow and ice and bitter cold, I knew it was time to move on.
We've known each other for a while now, almost three years, but I need to get some things off my chest. I've taken good care of you. Your outlandish requests for full synthetic 5/40 oil. Some places I go don't even know such a grade exists. It does. And it's freaking expensive.
I don't much care for your high maintenance 'battery in the trunk practically underneath the spare tire' move. I could handle when the back window stopped working and when pieces of the doors started falling off. I realize you haven't been through the car wash in a while, and I understand that might upset you, but the last time I went you ended up with 2 inches of water inside the car. Still don't know how the hell that one happened. And since I'm too lazy to wash you on my own, here we are.
Now you've pulled out the big guns. Fuel filter, alternator belt, axle, power steering, leaking transmission. This will not stand. Please suck it up and keep from falling apart until I can afford to fix you. I'd really appreciate it.
Regards,
Now you've pulled out the big guns. Fuel filter, alternator belt, axle, power steering, leaking transmission. This will not stand. Please suck it up and keep from falling apart until I can afford to fix you. I'd really appreciate it.
Regards,
Nicole
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Noise pollution
Today at work I asked a child if he'd ever seen a 29 year old throw a temper tantrum. And I wasn't joking. One more pop of that toy gun and I was going to lose it.
There are so many noises all the time - babies crying children yelling magic microphones bells marbles squeakers - that it gets to be too much and I just want to run screaming. But that would just add more noise so instead I shudder and sigh and keep working.
It's times like this that I miss being a server and the easy access to booze.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Only fatties, uggos, and meatheads go to the gym late at night...
... so what does that say about me?
Since I finished school in March all I've been doing is working. There's been some socializing and lots of wine drinking. But then I got sick of being drunk and fat so I started going to the gym every day. Then I started counting calories. Now I'm boring and obnoxious but losing weight.
Once Skinny Nicole emerges from her resplendent cocoon I'll be able to cut back on the reading of the nutrition labels but until then I'm stuck NOT eating delicious salty snacks and handfuls of processed cheese products and buckets of high fructose corn syrup. Damn it. Though the healthier I get, the less I even want those things. Which is good.
I had half a soy strawberries and cream (no whip, no fun) frappuccino at Starbucks and got super logy and ill from all the sugar. I've officially become everything I've ever hated. But my bras don't give me such pronounced back fat rolls as they used to so I'm sticking with it.
Monday, August 3, 2009
New word!
Word of the Day for Monday, August 3, 2009
desultory \DES-uhl-tor-ee\, adjective:
1. Jumping or passing from one thing or subject to another without order or rational connection; disconnected; aimless.
2. By the way; as a digression; not connected with the subject.
3. Coming disconnectedly or occurring haphazardly; random.
4. Disappointing in performance or progress.
Well, except for the last one (because I'm awesome no matter what!), this pretty much sums up any conversation I've ever had with anyone. As such, this is my new favorite word. Please use it as often as possible. But not so much that you look like an asshole.
desultory \DES-uhl-tor-ee\, adjective:
1. Jumping or passing from one thing or subject to another without order or rational connection; disconnected; aimless.
2. By the way; as a digression; not connected with the subject.
3. Coming disconnectedly or occurring haphazardly; random.
4. Disappointing in performance or progress.
Well, except for the last one (because I'm awesome no matter what!), this pretty much sums up any conversation I've ever had with anyone. As such, this is my new favorite word. Please use it as often as possible. But not so much that you look like an asshole.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Douchebag sighting!
I've been driving around for two days with the gas light on. Sometimes I like to tempt fate like that, not knowing where or when my car will slow to a halt. Will I make it to the gas station? Will I make it home? Will my car run out of gas on the freeway off-ramp? (Yeah, that totally did happen.) It's how I like to live my life. On the edge.
After work tonight I decided fate had been tempted plenty and I didn't want to piss it off any more than I already am, so I stopped at the Chevron on my way home. And there he was.
Douchebag. Toolbox. Whatever your favorite descriptive term is, this guy fits the bill. He was buying cigarettes with no shirt on, and that right there screams class. I know it's hot out, if it was socially acceptable I wouldn't have been wearing pants for the past 4 days. But I'm a lady and I have been. Well, not pants, skirts and shorts, but it's the principle of it all.
Dbag is now walking toward his car and I can see his underpants. Not just a little of his underpants, like his toolish plaid cargo pants are hanging UNDER his butt and I can see his gray underpants (at least I hope they were gray and not just dirty) and his WHOLE BUTT. Too much guy, too much. He and his girlfriend (!) walk to his car, which, for some reason, has a giant sticker of a hand grenade on the back windshield. I don't understand this at all, and am fairly certain he doesn't know why he has it either.
Then I saw it. The coup de grace. The piece de resistance. His license plate. Are you ready for it? Because I'm not sure you are. All right, if you're sure.
"OH FACE" Yeah. As in, "I'm going to show her my o face." Please. That was when I started freaking out. I knew I had to call someone, but who? Everyone I've ever met needed to hear about this, but I decided to call Allie because I knew she could truly understand the contemptibleness of her new teammate. (Aaand, that just might be my new favorite word.) Unfortunately I had to leave a message, but I tried to stay on point and with no mention of my laundry, overdue library books, or gas problems (my voice mails can last HOURS, beware) told of my glorious find.
I do hope to run into him again someday. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for that license plate.
After work tonight I decided fate had been tempted plenty and I didn't want to piss it off any more than I already am, so I stopped at the Chevron on my way home. And there he was.
Douchebag. Toolbox. Whatever your favorite descriptive term is, this guy fits the bill. He was buying cigarettes with no shirt on, and that right there screams class. I know it's hot out, if it was socially acceptable I wouldn't have been wearing pants for the past 4 days. But I'm a lady and I have been. Well, not pants, skirts and shorts, but it's the principle of it all.
Dbag is now walking toward his car and I can see his underpants. Not just a little of his underpants, like his toolish plaid cargo pants are hanging UNDER his butt and I can see his gray underpants (at least I hope they were gray and not just dirty) and his WHOLE BUTT. Too much guy, too much. He and his girlfriend (!) walk to his car, which, for some reason, has a giant sticker of a hand grenade on the back windshield. I don't understand this at all, and am fairly certain he doesn't know why he has it either.
Then I saw it. The coup de grace. The piece de resistance. His license plate. Are you ready for it? Because I'm not sure you are. All right, if you're sure.
"OH FACE" Yeah. As in, "I'm going to show her my o face." Please. That was when I started freaking out. I knew I had to call someone, but who? Everyone I've ever met needed to hear about this, but I decided to call Allie because I knew she could truly understand the contemptibleness of her new teammate. (Aaand, that just might be my new favorite word.) Unfortunately I had to leave a message, but I tried to stay on point and with no mention of my laundry, overdue library books, or gas problems (my voice mails can last HOURS, beware) told of my glorious find.
I do hope to run into him again someday. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for that license plate.
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