Inane Chatter

Wherein I over-emphasize

Zannah — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 21:36:39 +0000

So…I bought new yoga pants yesterday because I found a hole in my old pair. I’m sure the hole came from overuse and the fact that they were cheap pants and is NOT a commentary on my weight. I’m sure of it. (Me? Defensive? No…) Anyway, I was inspired to get rid of other old clothes – clothes I don’t wear, clothes that even if I could fit into them I wouldn’t wear, other clothes that are so old they also have holes in them. I went through every drawer in my dressers and filled one garbage bag with clothes to give away and another one with clothes (old socks, old underwear, a pair of sweatpants that has holes AND is covered in paint, etc.) to throw away. Okay, the trash bag of trash isn’t filled with clothes. I don’t have that many things that were so torn apart they had to be thrown away. Although I am throwing away the pair of red nylon running pants I ruined with a hot iron. I honestly can’t remember why I tried to iron those. Seriously, let’s think about this. For one thing, I HATE ironing. I do it when I have to, but usually I just ask to John to iron something of mine when he’s ironing his work shirts in the morning. For another thing, these pants are NYLON (or some other synthetic fabric that MELTS when it gets hot). I had that information before I tried to iron them, really I did. I knew what would happen, but obviously, my brain wasn’t present at the time. For one more thing, these were jogging pants. Why would I be ironing them? They don’t get wrinkled in the first place, and even if they did, who cares? Maybe, just maybe, the pants happened to be on the ironing board while I was in the midst of ironing other things (unlikely – see my first point), and I just happened to set the hot iron on one of the legs. But that doesn’t ring true. We might as well assume I’m an idiot. It would be closer to the truth.

Am I right or am I right?

Zannah — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 02:12:28 +0000

I’ve read in lots of places (I can’t name a single one, but at this point, it’s probably in the public consciousness so I don’t have to) that to be successful at losing weight (or at anything), it helps to set up little rewards at certain milestones. I found my first little reward. But I can’t have it yet. I had the afternoon off work today (left early to take my data modeling exam (got an A), and had a couple of hours left over), so what did I do? I went to the mall. Horror of horrors. I wasn’t in a shopping mood, but John needs new brown work shoes and he has enormous feet so no one ever has his size in stock. I went to Nordstrom because I know they’ll order or transfer shoes from other stores so he can try them on before buying. Nice people there. And while I was at the mall, I decided to shop for skinny jeans. Not because I’m particularly skinny, but because it’s time. Sadly, I’m between sizes. So my reward for losing the next few pounds will be a pair of skinny jeans. Mostly so I can wear my boots over them. My shopping mood didn’t last long (it never does), and I escaped from the mall before it could ruin my day. Malls have a way of doing that.

Figuring out what’s important in a relationship

Zannah — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 00:24:39 +0000

John, to me: “You talk a lot, but then again, you laugh at all my stupid jokes.”

I am loved.

Overload

Zannah — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 02:17:37 +0000

Stress. Busy day. Lots of work done, lots of work to do, not enough time to do it. And then the realization that I have to take an exam for my data modeling class before Monday. Almost didn’t go to classes tonight, but was sane enough to remember that one of the things that is stressing me out is my incapability (incapableness? Lack of capability? I don’t think any of those are words.) to eat right (I say as I take teeny bits from a piece of Dove chocolate), and I usually feel better after the gym. So I went. And I do feel better. A little. But tomorrow is another crazy day (with a long commute with my boss) and it seems to have started already and – no. Tomorrow is tomorrow. Not here yet. Even if I am mentally calculating how many hours of sleep I need before getting up early tomorrow. (I’m coming up short.)

Yoga’s great for calming me down while I’m in class, but that feeling doesn’t last long enough.

Of course, I’m very rarely anywhere NEAR Kristen Bell’s meltdown level. This is funny, kinda cute sometimes, and so very weird.

Strike up the band

Zannah — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 12:42:45 +0000

Stand back, people, history is happening. This post, this very special (not all that special) post, is my 1000th post. That’s a lot of zeroes. That’s a lot of inanity. I always miss little milestone like this. It’s only dumb luck that I happened to look at the number of posts this morning. I missed my car’s odometer passing 100,000 miles when we drove to Long Island to visit John’s grandmother on Christmas Eve, even though I knew it was coming because I noticed how close it was the day before. I remember birthdays (usually) and anniversaries (sometimes), but even though I try every year, I blow right by the smaller things (like the anniversary of our first kiss, or the anniversary of adopting Roxy and Riley). I remember it a few days early, think to myself “don’t forget this year”, and then I remember again a day or two after it’s passed.

My point is that the fact I noticed this and am doing something about it (however little) is as momentous as the fact that this is post #1000. Where’s my musical episode? I should have had ten of them by now. I guess I’ll have to settle for these. The last one isn’t from a sitcom, but you’ll have to forgive me because 1) it’s awesome, and 2) it’s my special blog day!

Chasing some thoughts as they flit through my tired brain

Zannah — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 02:15:21 +0000

I like tea. Might have put too much sugar in this cup, though. I gave Roxy a kong toy with frozen peanut butter and dog treats stuffed inside. She chewed happily on it until she chased it under my desk. She was heading my way to tell me to fetch it for her just when I noticed that the gnawing sounds had stopped. Smart dog. I think I chose the wrong book to read. I want to read it, and I want to want to read it more, but I clearly don’t want to read it enough since I’m here typing instead of reading. I’ll read it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Tuesday. Tomorrow is almost February. Technically, today is also almost February. When does almost start? Definitely not earlier than halfway through the month before. I was having this conversation with someone about age recently. I’m almost 33. Who says that at this age? When you’re a month away from your 13th birthday, it makes sense to say you’re almost 13. Almost 9. Almost 16. But almost 33? Three weeks to go. So do I give in and just say I’m 33? I’m closer to 33 than 32. Or do I hold on to 32 (“as long as you ca-an”) until the actual day? Seriously, I wonder about this almost every day. The cardio machines at the gym ask me for weight (depressing, but that’s not one of the choices) and age. From a purely physiological (is that the word I’m looking for?) standpoint, 33 would be closer to the truth. I hope the machine doesn’t mind that I’ve been lying to it for almost six months. Almost.

Decisions, decisions

Zannah — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 23:40:38 +0000

I finished All Clear today (when I should have been doing Statistics homework), and now I have to decide what’s next. (Don’t suggest Watership Down. That’s not funny.) The last few decisions haven’t been all that hard – The Hunger Games trilogy, then All Clear – but the local library sale was this weekend (we went Friday night), so we picked up a few things, including a Robin McKinley book…and I did finally order Elizabeth Bear’s Hammered…problem solved. One, then the other. Sometimes you just have to talk it out. Thanks!

My guilt will follow me to the grave

Zannah — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 23:31:04 +0000

I’m dangerous and shouldn’t be allowed out of the house. It was an accident, of course, but still. Bunnies all through the neighborhood are in mourning tonight, I know it. I’m a murderer. I killed a bunny. A poor defenseless little rabbit who ran into the road. I felt a bump, turned the car around, and ran into the road myself. Already dead. At least it was quick. But what if my victim had little baby bunnies at home? What about them? Are they huddled up in their burrow (warren? nest?) waiting for a parent who won’t be coming back?

Am I anthropomorphizing perhaps a bit too much? Maybe, but I think this is the first time I’ve been directly responsible for the death of any animal (insects don’t count). Cut me a little slack. Or don’t. I’m a killer, and I don’t deserve slack.

A combination of two of my favorite things

Zannah — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 22:39:34 +0000

John and I discovered How I Met Your Mother a few months ago (November, maybe?). Seven years late, of course, but being so far behind has its advantages. We’ve slowed down some, but there were some nights and weekends where we’d watch episode after episode after episode… We’re in season 5 now, aware that we’re catching up quickly, so we only watch a handful of episodes a week now. Anyway, I found this on YouTube last night.

I want them to finish singing it! They stopped at the best part. Man, I love that show.

I’m probably making this harder than it has to be

Zannah — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 02:28:01 +0000

I was going to post something yesterday, but then I didn’t. True story. And one of my better ones, I know.

You know how sometimes people suggest doing something together (“We can carpool!” or “You can sit in here with me!”) because it sounds like a good idea? To them, anyway. And you don’t want to do it, mostly because you just want to be alone, but if you say that, it’ll hurt their feelings. Or look like an attitude problem. Yeah, I hate that. Except when I don’t hate it. There are times when I’m all for it. Usually at the beginning, but then I’ve set a precedent (“Carpooling is a great idea!” ‘Wow, it makes so much sense for me to sit in here with you instead of over there by myself!”) and backing out is difficult. It’s like breaking up (“No, it’s not that I don’t like you. I do. I just need some space.” “It’s not you, it’s me.”), except not so permanent. I need an excuse that sounds reasonable and won’t hurt anybody’s feelings.

I’m just not in the mood for people. People in general. You guys are good, the people at my gym are good, but everyone else? I want to hide from everyone else. For now, though, I’ll settle for sleep.