Not at the dinner table.

I have grown (not physically sideways) so much since my last post: I ended a bad relationship (with my cell phone provider), became a hip phone user, learned how to use cute emoticons on said phone, opened up my curiosity of colon cleansing-more on that later and fall in love with my husband for like the fiftieth time this week.

I’ve had this crappy samsung galaxy phone for like a decade (two years- okay Matthew, I’m dramatic) and its suck level has increased more and more each month that it has been in my possession.  About a month ago the battery kept dying till I realized that my phone could no longer function without being plugged in.  Yes- so not only did I have a crick in my neck for the last month but I lived in fear that my ear might catch fire. 

But this weekend I said, ‘Basta!’ Enough is Enough! No mas! I refused to spend another day tethered to a wall. Matthew has often made comments about me becoming an iphone user.  He definitely thinks I’m much cooler than I am- because eight grade braces wearing, chubby, Denise still exists inside much older not so self conscience, still chubby thirty three version of myself.  I have not felt cool enough or committed enough to own an iphone. Secretly, I have been dying to conform and hold that cute piece of madness in my hands. So I broke down and purchased a one- the newest one (go big or go home). And I manually entered all my contacts into the phone. Most people save all their numbers to their sim card- I don’t.  Saving to the sim card is exclusively for people that I know will be in my life for good- not just for anyone. 

I will add here that at the time of purchase I ended my relationship with my super awful cell phone company.  Suck it!

Monday, I sent a text to my friend letting her know that I needed to cancel our dinner plans.  She sends me the cutest emoticon- a smiling poop.  Thank you, Chrissy. We continue texting and she sends another cute image.  WTF!  How is this happening?  So I ask her.  Long story short- she walked me through the process and now I can send cute emoticons whenever. Holler!  Bummer- Matthew’s phone is old and can not see ANY of my adorable messages. Ugh!

A week ago, I proposed to Matthew that we no longer look at our phones during lunch.  I might have mentioned before that Matthew and I have lunch almost every day together- even if it’s for twenty minutes.  I noticed that we were spending too much of our lunchtime responding to work texts and emails.  The result- conversations that I never expected to have.  Today we discussed colon cleansing- loud, graphic colon cleansing.  I am sure the restaurant patrons around us did not appreciate this conversation but I could not stop laughing.  I suggested a couple’s colon cleansing- apparently, that’s where we draw the line. Describing bowel movements is okay- have a procedure- not okay.  Geez…

As I drove back to work filled with endorphins- I fell in love with my husband all over again.  Yes, it was a ridiculous conversation, a disgustingly gross conversation but we were talking and laughing and enjoying each others company and our phone’s and the people around us did not exist.  I’ve seen lots of romantic comedies in my time- this is by far the best.

Smarty pants

I have been avoiding this for two days now because I feel like a failure.  One of my goals for Lent was to blog every day-obviously that is not happening.  A couple of years ago I learned all about making *SMART (Specific Measurable Attainable Relevent and Time Bound) goals.  This afternoon I reflected on this particular goal. 

Blogging everyday is not attainable. Okay maybe it is but you know what I have other goals like working out four times a week for an hour, projects around the house and hanging out with my husband (an he is super cute so this one takes priority).  Binding myself to this goal is unfair- and frankly makes me not want to write at all. So I am revising this goal- blog at least four times a week- because that ladies and gentlemen- i can do.

On a side a note- Matthew gets incredibly cranky while playing Halo 4.  Do I snap during the Walking Dead? No.

*Attitude is Everything  by Paul J. Meyer

Sleep.

It is 10:50 pm on a Friday night and I feel like I should be out doing more than watching the news.  The problem is that after a forty hour week, sleep seems kind of nice.  So I welcome you sleep. 

Let’s get shwasted!

I learned a new word at work today, “shwasted.”  This piece of post-modern urban colloquialism is a fusion of the two words: sh#t & wasted.  Thus creating shwasted.  This word from what I gathered (context clues…can I get a what what?!?) refers to getting so drunk that you can not remember anything and quite possibly in that state, acted the fool.

I spent the better half of that conversation trying to find out if that word had been used previously in a Jonah Hill movie.  Anyway…it was exciting to learn something new.  I absolutely can not wait to use it among my adult friends…I will definitely seem ever so cool and hip. 

Tapping the will power reserves

Sunday.

Yesterday, in the car, driving home from the gym, Matthew and I, had an endorphin fueled conversation about out workout. Mid-January we made it our goal to make it to the gym at least four times a week.  We exceeded our goal by one day! Holler!!!

Feel badass and riding the waves of awesomeness, we decided to tackle an even bigger challenge: Lent. Dun dun dun.

Matthew says very matter of factly- “you and I have not really tapped our will power reserve.” Challenge accepted.

Traffic lights by traffic light, we began to make a list of things we were determined to live without for the upcoming forty days. Matthew’s list- alcohol, sodas, and one other item that escapes my mind. My list: soda, fried foods and bread.  Oh and we also agreed to make it to church every Sunday during Lent.  Then came the list of threats. Wait…let me take us back to fee days ago.

Matthew attended a training for work in which he learned about SWOT analysis and using threats to achieve desired results. So we have been using this threat system to accomplish things. For example: making it to the gym five times this week was a direct result of us agreeing that if we didn’t, Matthew would not be able to play Halo 4 for a week and I would have zero Greg’s anatomy reruns.

This morning.

At the wee hours of 5:30 a.m as we prepared for our morning trek to the gym, as if we had both been struck by psychic abilities- we remembered the threats.

1. Consuming the crap we decided to give up. For this epic failure of the wills- The Threat: we will be forced to workout at the gym without our ipods.  Yes- we went there. Yes, shit just got real.  For nothing sucks more than not having music to tune out the heavy, sweaty breathers all around you.  Not to mention it makes an hour workout seem like two.

2. Skipping out on Church.  We are by no means holy rollers. In fact, I think we last stepped in to the house of God in November.  I have been feeling like I need more Jesus in my life and I figure if I’m working on my fitness-might as well hit the spiritual fitness as well. What happens if we sleep in and miss mass? Our threat: No Walking Dead for that week.  Yeah…I know, wtf are we thinking but threats are supposed to help us achieve our goals.  I hope this is true.

3.  A few blogs ago, in January, I wrote about trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.  I have decided I want to be a writer.  However, I lack discipline…sometimes. My commitment is to write everyday for the next forty days.   Sounds easy enough right? Lord, I hope so.  My threat: Deactivate Facebook for a week. Yes, we just went from sane straight into cray cray land.

As I write this, on the eve of Lent…er Fat Tuesday, I can not help but feel excited and terrified out of my mind all at once.  Yes, perhaps we are using this time of year to fuel are weight loss goals but the truth is there has to be something therapeutic, cathartic and cleansing in the process.  So invite you reader to follow along, hold me accountable (if you want-no pressure here, I am all about holding yourself responsible to you) and laugh.  Yes, laugh at my expense, I don’t mind.  It builds character.

Let’s do this.

Those girls…the long and winding two weeks…there and back

A couple of years ago while working for a non-profit,  I was responsible for interviewing talented and skilled people to teach the students in our programs.  I interviewed all sorts of people but none made quite the impact as we will call her Lucy Lopan.

This woman walks in, mid-twenties, wearing the kind of perfume that engulfs a space and lingers long after she has left the room.  Her long hair was perfectly flowing in large waves of black that matched her outfit.  She had the kind of makeup on that covers every single pore and enough layers of eye shadow, blush and lipstick that an hour long power wash would not scrape the surface.  She was pretty…the kind of girl that you see working up and down the aisles of Sephora.

The interview was conducted by me and I had a —-oh wait— how could I forget the most important part.  She had fake lashes- the kind that look like they could be natural but are long enough to be noticeably unnatural.  Okay- so my coworker and I interview this woman.  Lucy Lopan leaves her card with her perfect photoshopped pic and walks out.  For the next ten minutes my coworker goes on and on about her.  And I let a thought slip out of my mouth- the kind of thought that you know should only be shared with your closest, bestest girl friends-not with your coworker man-child.   “I’ve always wanted to be one of those girls…”

The moment it came out of my mouth I cringed.  Loud obnoxious laughter followed.  Embarrassing, loud obnoxious laughter.  Challenge accepted.

For the next two weeks, I pulled out the big guns.  I’ve always had a love for makeup and have spent way to much money at Laura Mercier counter at Saks…and the Nars counters…and Kiehl’s because what’s the point of all that color is your skin is grody.   I digress.

Now I’ve always worn a full face of makeup but never to the max…not like those girls.  So I pulled it all out: bronzers, highlighters, tight-line, eyeliners.  I must have added like ten new products to my already expanse make up routine.  And then I topped it all off with a nice pair of eyelashes.  Yes, for two weeks this became my ritual.  Oh and I invested in this amazing volumizer.  I had the face and the hair…I became one of those girls.

How did I feel?  I loved the look but the work was too much and let’s face it- I worked for a non-proft working with inner city youth-the look was a bit much.  And the lashes everyday?  The truth is I have pretty nice lashes as it is.  I did struggle every morning to put them on, however, the last day I wore them, I put them on like a boss.

Every thing was going great till casual Friday.   I can not remember what I wore, but I remember feel great about the way I turned out.  A group of us went out for lunch to a local cafe, mind you two weeks have gone by and I am basking (not just cause of the bronzer) in my new look.  The coworker from the interview puts his hand to my face as I am about to take a bite of my sandwich, “Are you still wearing the fake lashes?”  All eyes on me.

I sit there in silence for what felt like thirty minutes, even though it was probably only a few seconds, “Yeah, and?”  I was horrified and a bit surprised that everyone seemed to have grown accustomed the new me.  Then everyone started asking questions about the lashes- “Do they hurt?” “How long does it take?” Blah, blah, blah.

That was the topic for the rest of lunch.  And that was the end of that.

I still have an unopened pack of lashes in my makeup drawer and stare at it fondly from time to time. I dream of taking them out on the town, maybe shopping for toiletries at Target or dinner at Whole Foods.  Sometimes I imagine that we are running through a waterfall and run out drenched they intact.  But it must remain a dream, at least for now.  Maybe I’ll bust them out on our wedding anniversary.  Or maybe they make an appearance at Sunday brunch. All I know is that I must not let that girl die- she had fun shellac face and all.

Puppy Bowl what? Kitty Bowl?- No, maybe that’s a Pitbull song.

Okay- so we are doing this…we are actually going to watch the Super Bowl.  Or at least start watching it once dinner is ready.  In high school I mostly watched the big game for the commercials.  This was important because the next day everyone would surely be talking about the funny beer commercials, dogs, etc.  But as college came and went I stopped watching.

So today…in a few minutes, we will sit down with football appropriate food and watch men run around throwing a pig-skinned projectile.  I will ask a billion questions and Matthew will answer them, happy because i am taking an interest in something that he enjoys…(can you say wife of the year…).

For a couple of years I have heard of this thing called a Puppy Bowl.  And today as I was scrolling through Facebook updates- I noticed several friends are excited about watching this particular event.  Genius, I say, genius.  Aim for that demographic that has zero interest in the Super bowl or those witty commercials. 

Now I prepare myself…getting in old Grey’s Anatomy reruns.  Estrogen-ing up!