Journal

Train this

2009-01-05T05:52:04Z

So I met with a personal trainer today. It was a surreal experience. It is part of my get healthy pathway. The session was free with my membership. She was half an hour late, and then was not sure why. We got off to wieird start and she was making me nervous and a little bit angry. Then she said, so what are we doing about your weight. I stared at her and forgot to keep walking for a second. I was on the treadmill. I remembered just at the right moment.

I let her know that I wasn’t planning on doing anything about my weight. And then I asked her why she asked me that. She stuttered and stammered and said well there is a lot of pressure on your joints and they are the weight bearing portions of your body and . . . I stopped her. I said, I have been thoroughly checked out by both an osteopath and a chiropractor. My joints and my structure are in good shape. It isn’t my issue nor is it why I am here. My weight seems to an issue for you.

She cocked her head and said “this isn’t going well, is it?”

Not so much, no.

We went into the back and had a cup of water and some conversation. She immediately apologized for her thoughtlessness and said that she had no idea why that came out of her mouth. I said thank you and I appreciate that. Now lets talk about why I am here and what I want.

When we were done we did some work and got some exercise in. We arrived at a good place and I became “the outlier” to her. As she watched me lift weights and perform some exercises, she said, Wow, I see that your biomechanics are very very good.

Um. Yeah. You can’t really be at the level of swimming that I was or a triathlete and not be good at moving

So basically I got a good schedule for working out, got some good assessments in and then we scheduled another appt for three weeks from now.

Rant begins here:
What the fuck? Are all trainers so blinded by image that they cannot see a fitness level in the making? I went to her because I am recovering from pretty big things physically and want to move better within my body. I do not care about my weight. I truly truly don’t. I am alive I am healthy and I am walking. And I wasn’t any of those things for a while. DON”T impress upon me your little white lies about how we are all supposed to be a certain way physically or we are unhealthy. The BMI was written in the 1940’s and has not changed since then. At the risk of being Captain Obvious, there was a war on, and people were MUCH smaller then for a variety of reasons, some of them having to do with nutrition and some of them having to do with fitness levels. At 5’1’1” and 13 percent body fat, I was 183 lbs when doing triathlons.. In any body index that is considered obese, yet I was fit enough to even win, so who is the problem here?

I am heavier than I have ever been. I will cop to that. And I will also cop to getting healthy by changing a lot of things in my life. Men, living situations, spirituality and yes even my diet. But, let me be clear, my diet is NOT the focus. It is just another thing to get me in balance. My body serves me well and I am glad of it. To have a female personal trainer say something like that, even though I have already forgiven her, speaks to a larger issue. She isn’t the issue, and I truly believe that. As we talked more, I recognized that she had a fart moment, where you say exactly the wrong thing to exactly the wrong person, kinda’ like farting in the face of someone who is behind you helping you pull something out of danger. Very rude and completely inexcusable, and soem times, just plain unavaoidable. We all do it. No, the issue isn’t her, but the idea of image as healthy. Some of the most unhealthy people I know are beautiful on the outside and have perfect bodies, but are ungracious and tired in their responses to others.

I am not saying anything new here. I know that. I am just deciding that health is a currency traded in image. I have decided that my currency will be gratitude. Gratitude that I am alive, walking, able to get angry and be intelligent about it, and I will bet you five bucks that I get more play than she does.

ok. NOW she is forgiven

Ringing in

2008-12-30T20:10:39Z

So I am really really REALLY ready for the new year to happen. I am so over this past year. So me great things happened (because I try to be optimistic whenever I can be) but some really crappy things happened too. This coming year is all about me and getting healthy.

No more roommates who feel like teenagers rebelling slamming around in the house, all because they want to date somebody boring but stable. (Go for it, just don’t expect me to not think you are selling out). I live alone now.

No more abusive husband with mental illnesses for my OK (her divorce will be final in late April) who I have to pick up from the puddle she is in on my floor. He didn’t just break her heart, he broke mine every time I watched her in pain. And that was a lot. We are done with him now. Fucker.

No more landlord who is a small minded, small bodied, small pocketed little man who thinks he is honest and fair. The worst kind of people are the ones who don’t understand how their actions are offensive and small and who think they are being a good person.

No more watching my little brother Photoboy suffer through self doubt and recriminations. He is growing up, and what a man he is turning out to be! I am so excited that I have been lucky enough to be a part of him becoming him.

No more worrying about the Evil Little Man, because I saw him on television as an instructor for a dance studio. Good for him that he is returning to dance. It didn’t hurt to see him at all. Good for me.

Best of all: NO MORE BUSH – let’s have an inaugural party. Anyone in?

So what do I want for the New Year? I want to kiss boys, and maybe even find one that I only want to kiss. I want yummy sloppy sex and wonderful laughter around that, but not necessarily with a boyfriend and always always always with someone who is my friend and who is funny. I want to spend my days writing and teaching and working out. I want to eat good food and drink amazing wine and learn what amazing wine is, and say yes to everything that I can that won’t hurt me physically, or someone else emotionally. I want to travel with OK, and watch sunsets with a gin and tonic in hand or masculine arms wrapped around me. I want to find a publisher for my novel. I want to start a second novel because this one is almost done and I will miss it. I want to throw parties for any reason that I can think of and go to as many as I am invited to, and I mean the good kind, not the ones where everyone sits around and gets stoned or drunk and snarks off in the corner. No bueno. I mean, the kind of party where people are constantly laughing and the comments are funny and political or literary. I want to have quiet dinners with good friends and always be up for the next adventure. I know none of this is political or Miss America (what I really want is World Peace) but for right now I think I need to start at home. I am going back to the basics and that means taking care of myself.

Here is to a fabulous New Year !!!

Sitting next to the Preacher's Kid

2008-12-25T09:37:12Z

For a long time now I have refused to talk about religion in the classroom, except as it relates to social psychology. I never talk about what I believe or what I practice. And there have been times when it has been tempting to fling my faith at students who were just plain narrow minded in their propagation of Christianity, making claims that anyone who taught (gasp) evolution, or dropped the f bomb, could not possibly be a person of Faith. I admit, I like the f word. It is versatile and often is just the right word for the situation, especially when I am lazy and don’t want to explain the nuance of the word I could alternately use. I have to do this a lot in the classroom. (I blame the high school system who does not teach what ought to be taught, AND I blame the students who do not seek out what they could be taught, or otherwise ignore what might be in front of them. But that is a different rant for a different time).

Tonight when I went to Midnight Mass for Christmas, I realized why religion is an oft avoided topic in my classroom. Through divine providence or whatever, I sat next to the Preacher’s Kid, who has an amazing voice. It was fun to sing with him. I am out of practice, but can hold a tune, and have even sung solos (although I hate doing it). He and I immediately found a similar sense of humor, and giggled at the same things happening around us, the humanity and ridiculousness of people generally, and one terrible Santa sweater on a guy that was way too old to even consider such a tragedy on his body. (Sweaters with cartoons on them should only be worn by little old ladies in their seventies or children under the age of six. Only. Are we clear?). I am, for being such a pain in the ass hardcore social activist and inflictor of knowledge about things like privilege and how we are all responsible for our community, am also very devout in my faith. This should not be a surprise. Jesus was an activist. So was Bhudda. But it is a private faith. I do not need, nor do I usually want, community around my faith.

I generally practice a style of worship that I have termed guerrilla. I sneak in after the service starts, get the sermon, the peace and the communion, and sneak back out. Maybe you saw me and maybe you didn’t. Was I there? When I said this to the Preacher’s Kid (henceforth known as the PK), he cocked his head and said “interesting.” Most people need the community to feel whole as faithful beings. I don’t. I need the ritual to act as a catalyst for God, or what I understand God to be. My spirituality is private. It is not open for discussion, arbitration, judgment or negotiation. And while I know it to be real for me, I am also clear that it is just a theory for others. I teach theory. But the theory that I teach is either classic in Psychology (Frued, Jung, G. Stanley Hall, etc)) or has empiric backup. Faith is neither, and it is opined. Thus, no discussion available. Throw in the Bible as a possible reference and I will burst out laughing. This is a document that was arbitrarily put together as an anthology of gospels according to people ranging from within ten years of the publication to 400 years previous to the publication. They didn’t want it too long or too short, God forbid that women or people of color would be in it as writers. And, seriously, no gays. Is it any wonder where Rick Warren gets his material? All he has to do is go back to Constantinople and the Sun God and he is set. No thinking out of the box for that guy, although the comparison of homosexuality to pedophilia and incest was a bit of a stretch. I don’t EVER remember reading that in the Bible. What was that, you say? Oh yeah, the Bible is used to bludgeon me into thinking that you are right.

Usually, I find people who are as devout as I am use Jesus and the Bible as weapons. They inflict righteousness on all they survey, and argue that there is only one way to be with That Sweet Baby. This sickens me, and cheapens my belief. Faith is not a commodity to be bought, sold or bartered. No sept of it is, at least none that I have read about, and I am here to tell you that I am pretty well read. Furthermore, were Jesus in the room, he just might have to bitch slap whoever was attempting to shame someone in his name. I know I would. AND I’d be drinking a gin and tonic on top of it.

Flaming Os

2008-12-06T19:32:50Z

So I don't know why I think this is so funny, but I do. I must be punchy from all the coffee I drank this morning wirting finals

Prop 8 - The musical

2008-12-03T20:01:42Z

Love it. Some of my favorites are here, KathY Nijimiy's "I love you Jesus" is perfect, and check out the star studded front line of the Republicans. Great stuff.

Although I am a little annoyed by teh flat belly ads in front of the video popping up periodically. WTF? we argue love, not hate yet promote self hate?

Coming into the Sunshine

2008-12-01T19:46:48Z

So okay, Thanksgiving sucked. It always does, but the next day there was pie, and the next day I had a small Housewarming. I held it over the Thanksgiving weekend because I know that I did not (and could not afford) to host 60 people like I usually do during the Holidays, and since lots of folks go out of town over this weekend, it was a perfect solution. The weather was lovely enough that we could sit outside for some of the evening and I started drinking wine at three o’clock, so by the time I got to the guests all was lovely. All the maybe’s rsvped earlier as no, and so only a few people came. ( I have food for days). But all the important people were here: K-dub, Photoboy, Husker etc.

Husker and I are teaming up for an Iron Chef cook off with a new friend and a partner of his choosing. I have not come up with name for New Friend, so he will just be NF for now. K-dub totally got into it and was like the little girl on the playground telling us the rules, (nuh-hunh, that’s not how they do it on television!) Hilarious. And NF’s potential boyfriend got very excited when he picked an ingredient that turned out to be (wha- whanh) squid, complete with ink and tentacles. As a hostess, and as one of the perpetrators of this little competition, I stared at the floor. K-dub and PhotoBoy were helpless to do anything but laugh, while PhotoBoy also wanted to make sure that NF was not being mean,

The thing is: I jumped on an octopus when I was nine. No lie. And there are lines of scars that follow the tentacles on my face and all over the left side of my body. No they are not acne scars as I have been accused of, and Lab Monkey and I have decided that they add ten years to my face (never a good thing for a woman to hear), they are remnants of Octogirl, the thing I was when I came up screaming with an octopus across my face. It was traumatic, and to this day I cannot eat cuttlefish, squid, octopus, or even some sushi. It is not out of a need to revisit trauma. It is out of compassion. After all, I jumped on it, and I think I heard it scream too. So once again, Husker saw the potential for a drama queen. I apologized, and then offered to Husker to help him find another partner if he really want to do this ingredient. I simply cannot. Sigh

Luckily, they wanted to keep me, even if Husker has to be my bitch for the day. He didn't seem to mind too much

LabMonkey came to breakfast and to hang out for an hour or two the next morning, and laughed when he heard the story. Yeah yeah yeah. It was good to see him. The comfort and humor we have together is a nice way to start Sunday morning. He is moving up here either in January or June form Santa Barbara where he is leaving his PhD program. I do not blame him and understand completely. Sometimes I don’t know why I finished mine.

I am living a great life and K-Dub and I are commenting on the parallels our lives are leading right now. Both are in process of a divorce (hers a real one and mine more facetious, but true, nonetheless) and out there meeting new folks, doing new things, and enjoying ourselves greatly. Life is really really good.

Culture Shock

2008-11-27T19:26:55Z

Okay I have now experienced the ultimate in culture shock. I mean, I agree with Reese Witherspoon when she remarks in Sweet Home Alabama that you need a passport to travel in the South. I know exactly what she means. But here in California, there is another kind of "you have GOT to be kidding me” moments.”

I come from a state that deep fries everything. And I mean everything: Chicken, veggies, corn, and yes, even Twinkies and Snickers bars. I have even sampled most of this fare. Most of it I don’t care for, yet can see the appeal. In spite of all of this, I have never never never had a deep fried turkey. I guess it makes sense. We deep fry other fowl, and call it delicious. Hell, Colonel Sanders made a restaurant chain out of this idea. But what separates the Yankees from those of us who know deep fry is the admonishment in the local paper NOT to toss the oil down the drain. This cracks me up. First, no self respecting Southerner would use OIL to deep fry anything. We use lard, and or chicken fat from kitchen cooking. It flavors better. And oil will strip off the salt and paper you should be using in the coating of the bird. Makes me want to smack the nearest Californian and ask "Doncha’ll know ANYthing?"

It gets better, because then the article goes on to warn that if you DO pour the oil down the drain, you might get backed up refuse during Thanksgiving dinner. (An interesting compliment, but I prefer a good Merlot). C’mon. You gotta’ be seven kinds of stupid to pour oil down ANY drain at ANY time of the year, or at least have never thought about where the pipes go and what they are connected to. You need a newspaper to tell you this?

Yankees.

Me oh My, I love pie

2008-11-26T23:51:16Z

So because tomorrow is Thanksgiving and there are many who love me and want to see me well, I have been invited to a plethora of places. It is very flattering and very kind and very difficult to say no, but no I do say. Thanksgiving is the day I lost the person I loved best in the world, and while we were not twins, we were close enough. Most of my friends know this and respect the time when I simply shut down for a day. It is his day, and he gets me all to himself that day.

My friends also know that I love pie. So I have been invited to my landlord’s house and to Bunner’s house for pie. Bunner’s kid, Little Dog, who is a child of my heart, emailed me and asked me for the whole day. THAT was tricky, how do you explain grieving to a ten year old? So I agreed to come for pie, just pie. My brother will understand an hour out for a invitation form a child is okay, but the day is still his. I feel myself going into it already, closing down and hunkering in to protect and hibernate. The rain is kind to come and is something that I think appropriate for all the families who are warm and together and enjoying being with each other. Wonderful. It is appropriate for me, to be in the cold, drinking coffee, and remember the brightness of him, while my tears intermingle with the rain.

And, the next day, people stop by to bring me pie and hug me in love. How is that bad?

I'm all agog

2008-11-23T03:28:30Z

Because tonight is an anniversary death date for me (my elder brother) and I am never very good company on this day, I rejected the offer from the Husker to go to his house for wine and meet new people. Bad timing. Really, really, bad timing. I have been in and out of okay all day, and couldn’t manage meeting new people, no matter how nice they might be. Husker doesn’t get it completely and I think he thinks I am being a bit of a drama queen. Whatever. The longer he knows me the more he will realize how far form true that is. I hate Stupid Girls who mess up boys with images of women being drama whores. Plech.

So I stayed home to hibernate. Usually this means I write and read. I found myself unable to concentrate on either and I bumble about feeling like crap. I remembered that my writing critique group has recommended that I see The Music Man, the Meredith Wilson version with Robert Preston and Shirley Jones. They recommended this because of a chapter in the book that resembles a scene in the Music Man.

I feel like I am eighty.

I am in my pjs, watching a musical, knitting (balls of yearn everywhere) and drinking wine (and tea) with a cat on my lap, and am enjoying this evening greatly.

Who knew? My only regret is that I was gonna get to spend some time with OK tonight, but she understands this day and what I go thru. Wine can happen another time

The bitch of it is that not only is the date of November 22 a problem, but the Holiday of Thanksgiving itself is a mack truck. A double whammy. Excellent. And this year they are a week apart. Can you say emotional roller coaster? Will this stop hurting when I AM eighty?

News from the front

2008-11-20T02:39:11Z

From the Billy DeFrank Center in San Jose:

Just this afternoon, the California Supreme Court decided to grant review to numerous lawsuits regarding Prop. 8, making the case that:

Proposition 8 is invalid because it revises the California Constitution, rather than an amendment the document.

Proposition 8 violates the separation of powers doctrine under the California Constitution.

Proposition 8 violated the the Equal Protection Clause of the California Consitiution

If Prop. 8 is not unconstitutional, the marriages performed before Prop 8 passed should still be valid.

The court gave a very short briefing schedule, giving the state until December 19th to respond and giving our side until January 5th to respond to those briefs. Amicus briefs must be filed by January 15th, with replies to those due by January 21st.

The court has NOT granted a stay of Proposition 8, as requested by several of the lawsuits filed. So, until such time when Proposition 8 is deemed unconstitutional, no more marriage licenses will be issued to same-sex couples.

Over the past 100 years, the California Supreme Court has heard nine cases challenging either legislative enactments or initiatives as invalid revisions of the California Constitution. In three of those cases, the Court invalidated those measures.

Our community should be pleased that the Court has granted review of these cases (they could have opted to not consider the lawsuits), but this should not be considered an indication they will rule in our favor.