Steamroller

Friday, October 17, 2014

Comfortable in my skin.

I am an only child.  I have been at the 'grown up table' for as long as I can remember.  There are few things socially that feel like a 'rite of passage' to me, mostly because I have been doing so many of them for so long.  But last Friday night was one of them.  I attended the Bar Association's Careers of Distinction Dinner, and for a brief moment (ok several brief moments)  I had a "wow" I can't believe I am here feeling.  I kept looking around waiting for someone to hand me something to do, or tell me to clear a table or something... but there I was, at the dinner, as a guest of the dinner.  Shaking hands with judges, and attorneys who have practiced for years.   After, I had the pleasure of attending an 'after party' for one of the honoree's.  It was a little surreal to be a part of, and yet some how cemented in my mind where I want to be in 5 years, in 10 year even. One of the honoree's closed his speech by saying how every morning, he is so greatful to get to wake up and go to work with his partners, the people who he from that first day realized they were guys that not only did he know, but that he truely liked, that he trusted, and that he had fun with.    I want to be that fortunate one day.

I don't know how many of you have ever dined alone.  I can recall the first time I ate at a non-fast food restaurant by myself.  It was when I was 21, infact it was the weekend of my 22nd birthday, I had a wild hair up my ass to pack my bags for a few days and drive from California to Cheyenne Wyoming, just because.    I remember after driving the distance, sitting in my motel room, paging though the yellow pages deciding on what I wanted for dinner.  I selected the nicest looking ad and drove to the white victorian house.  I went in, told them I was a table for one, ordered myself a glass of wine (possibly also the first time I drank wine in a restaurant, rather than a cocktail) and then proceeded to order the escargot, a filet with a side of fetticini Alfredo, and dessert.  Yes.  I ordered dessert.  It was a chocolate souffle.  I remember the meal like it was yesterday.  

For those of you who don't know, I am deathly afraid of snails... (stop laughing.  No really. I'll just wait here a moment for you to get ahold of yourself)  Yes.  Scared shitless of them.  Which is why I ordered them.  It was my way of trying to confront my fear.  They were delicious.  They were also shell free, which has since made me realize it's not the critter inside, it's the shell that vex's me - but enough of the side bar.  My point of this was to face a fear head on, and move past it, which I did.  

Perhaps my 39 year and 26 day self should take a lesson from 21 and 364 day old self... 

Tonight I dined alone.  I should mention, it's not the first time since that night in Wyoming.. there have been numerous dine alone times.  sometimes I have something to read, other times I do not. Tonight I intentionally dined alone, at a favorite Mexican place, in hopes of getting in some quite study time...  While the atmosphere and food were condusive, something captivated me. It was a man, about 3 tables away, late 50's early 60's who came in for a Pacifico, and to do the crossword.  He seemed to know everyone who worked there, chatting and carrying on.  What puzzled me the most, is the restuarant was right next to a bar.  Had he only wanted a beer, they probably would have been a better spot.  None the less, he chose my restaurant, and I chose my time eating to curiously watch him, and try to figure out any and every possible scenario of why he was there.

To which I came upon my answer.  It didn't matter.  He was there by his own free choice, as I was, and he was there, and felt comfortable doing what he was doing, and perhaps he wouldn't have been that comfortable in the bar next door.  Who knows.  Who cares.  It was nice to see someone who was so comfortable with his solo outing.  

To change gears, I have been religiously applying my morning and evening potions to my face for 26 days now.  I do not see a difference.  Perhaps I am not supposed to (yet) but every day when my face hits that point where the skin feels like it's actually moving like tetonic places TOGETHER, mending my wrinkles, I attempt to smile (without disturbing the skin from what ever the fuck it's trying to do) and think to myself.. yes.... you are rewinding time. 

Speaking of skin.  Last week I spray tanned for the first time my life.  What a bizarre experience.  You stand in a plastic tent while someone makes small talk with you and sprays your entire body from tip to toe in a liquid that feels like slightly damp glitter. On the positive, for almost a week, I looked as if I had just returned from a lovely restful vacation.  Now.. I look more like I'm freckled (my bad for being lax with the moisturizer).  But the moral here for me is that as long as I am still feeling slightly vain about my appearance, a shot of damp glitter now and then, may be just what the doctor ordered. 

On Sunday I will be *running* the Nike Half.  If you want to call it *running*  that I suppose is the idea behind a half marathon.  It's not a "hey let's walk past 13 miles of stores and window shop" event, although that I more of my preference. It will be my last 1/2 marathon of my 30's, and I have absolutely zero desire to push myself... to be frank - if someone else wanted to run it and just give me the damn necklace at the end, I would be over whelmingly happy to hand over my bib, and hell, wait for them at the finish line!  I have not yet decided if this Laize Faire take I have currently will cause me regret a few  months from now.  It may.  It may also bitterly bite me in the ass that once again I didn't train, and yet here I am out there giving it a go.  I guess I need to just stop with the worry of 'what if' and focus perhaps on enjoying my Sunday morning Stroll down closed streets in SF.  And next year, since I will be in a new 'age' bracket - try harder for perhaps a PB (personal best) of not just my new age bracket, but all time. (eh, a girl can dream)

I think the thing that scares me the most about this whole aging is that I am starting to realize my brain isn't as quick as it used to be.  When I was a kid, I could watch tv, listen to the radio, study for class, and talk on the phone all at the same time, and somehow magically retain all of it.   Now I sit in a silent room, staring at a book with sound canceling headphones, a lap top, a note book, a high lighter and a pencil at the ready, and 5 pages in I'm like.. what the fuck did I just read?    My mind wanders.  I used to joke that my mind was too little to wander off alone... now I think it may be too old.  

and with that, I am going to try to corral my mind and get back to studying! 


Thursday, October 16, 2014

Easy Breezes, Unsweetened Coconut Milk, and Ginger Beer (aka: My Latest Disastrous Effort at Self Improvement)

It’s 232 days until my 40th birthday. 

Which is a mere 335,267 minutes.

At the beginning of our journey to 40, Samantha had the idea of launching our journey with 30 days of clean eating.  She had a specific eating plan in mind and she and her guy, G, did beautifully with the whole thing.  I agreed with much enthusiasm and frequented the pinterest board she’d made for gathering recipes.  We weren’t allowed any (any, any, ANY) added sugar so that was going to be a bit of a challenge but, that aside, when the predetermined start day came to pass, I was ready.

I know what you’re thinking:  O…oh dear, dear, O….with all your booze…and coffee…and cheese…and booze…and…well…booze—is such a plan really a realistic one?  And, I would remind you of that one time I did a juice fast.  For thirty (THIRTY) whole days I consumed nothing but fresh fruit and vegetable juice.  Yes, perhaps, I fudged a little by interpreting coffee as “coffee bean juice,” which, strictly speaking wasn’t totally allowed (freakin’ rules).  And, yes, a week and a half in, I may have had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

Me:  I mean--wine is kind of like juice.
Me:  No…it’s not.  You are only supposed to be drinking juice you can get straight from the pitcher of your juicer.
Me:  Truuue…but let’s think about this:  It’s just fermented juice.
Me:  Well…yes…but…
Me:  I mean, sure…I could juice some grapes into the juicer pitcher and then wait for it all to ferment…but why not just grab that bottle right there and cork it?  So what if they did the juicing and fermenting for me?  Big deal!  I could even POUR the wine INTO the juice pitcher, if it makes you (me) feel better.

And, it did, my people.  Pouring the wine into the pitcher DID make me feel better. 

And, so, I MAY have had a couple (3.5 large glasses) of wine during that 30 days.  The point is, other than a little creative rule interpretation, I totally did a 30 day juice fast.  At least with Samantha’s plan, I could consume actual food.  This was going to be a breeze.

And, THEEEERE it is. 

Every ridiculous experience of my whole life has been predicated on my faith in easy-breeziness.
 
Every.  Single.  Last.  One. 

(Ie:  Spiritual transcendence?  Sure…grab some fishing weights, pie tins, and climb up on the dining table—easy peasy.  Or…need to accessorize?  Sure--go to the store and *shrugs* try on some rings—what could go wrong?  Or…possible night time intruder?  Grab that bamboo stick and make like you’re a samurai—simple-dimple.  Or…well…I could go on and on here, people…but you get the gist)

So, I begin my clean eating adventure.  And, about a week and a half in, this happens:

Me:  *takes swig of unsweetened coconut milk that had been sitting in fridge since the diet began  because after having had two gulps I thought I hated it*  Whoa...that's not bad.  I don't know why I thought I didn't like it.  My taste buds must be getting accustomed to not having sugar because, *swigs* wow, that is really tasty.
Later, Holden (11 year old extraordinaire) walks into the room:
Me:  You should try the coconut milk again.  I know you didn't like it--but I thought I didn't like it and I'm on my second glass.  Seriously.  It's not bad!  I don't know if maybe I forgot to shake the carton before or something...but...it's really good!
Holden:  Oh, I do like it now.
Me:  *takes long, head tipped back gulp* So yummy, right?  
Holden:  Well...yeah...now that Dad put all that Almond Joy coffee creamer in it to sweeten it up, it tastes much better.

Oh for hell’s sake!  &**#&*@!!

Then, about a week after that, I got a migraine.  Consequently, I became a little nauseous. 

Three things you should know at this point: 
  1.          I was not supposed to be consuming anything with added sugar (as I mentioned)
  2.          Having a migraine makes me impatient
  3.          Apparently, eating clean makes me just the smallest, teensiest bit cranky

So, nauseous, I stomp into the kitchen and say to no one in particular:

“Eff it.  I’m having a ginger beer.  It’ll help my stomach.”

I’m reaching for a goblet…because, hello?!?!  If I’m going to take a nose dive off my diet, I’m going to do so with a modicum of dignity.  I shall sit with the dignified air of Coco Chanel and the grace of Elizabeth Bennet, ice clinking in my goblet, as I cheat like Hugh Grant on Sunset Boulevard in the back seat of his Mercedes circa 1995.  This is the thought I’m entertaining myself with when I hear Chris open MY ginger beer.

I’m immediately annoyed because he didn’t invert the bottle prior to opening it.  So, now, all the ginger is in the bottom of the bottle and the entire bottle won’t fit in my iced goblet—thereby screwing up the ginger to sugared sparkling soda ratio completely.  So, in a moment of sheer idiocy, I grab the bottle angrily (I refer you to #2 above), place my palm over the top of it, and turn it over in an attempt to rectify the situation.

The pressure in the bottle builds and it immediately shoots two very precise streams directly into each of my eyes.  And, then, more pressure, and it squirts all over my hair, the front of my shirt, and, oddly enough, into my ear (I think I’d turned my head in order to avoid more eye shots).  I can’t see a single thing, all sound is garbled like my head is under water, and I’ve just mopped the day before and so I’m super pissed that my floor is getting all ginger beer-y (see #3 above).  I don’t want to increase the mess so, blinded, I’m standing in place saying, “Oh God…Chris…can you…Oh god…Oh god…Oh god…”

To which he replies, through what sounded like tear inducing laughter, “You are an idiot…”

Which, really, I thought was a pretty fair assessment of the situation and wasn’t the least offended.  I would have totally called him an idiot had the situation been reversed.  He, however, thought it was an awful thing to say and as he mopped my face was saying, “You’re not an idiot…I’m so sorry I called you an idiot…what you did was a little crazy…but you, YOU’RE not an idiot.”  He pretty much repeated this all afternoon, which only served to convince me that he DID, in fact, think I’d been an idiot--elsewise, why would he have felt so badly?

So, a warning:  If you try to spend the last year of your 30’s transforming into the most fabulous version of yourself, the universe may try to thwart you. 

And, if you try and purposefully CHEAT that transformation process? 

It may literally spit in your eye.

The experience wasn’t without value, however.  I did lose 7lbs (Samantha, who had less to lose, lost over double that number). 

And, I also learned: 

Ginger beer? 

That shit will sting the hell out of your eyes.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


And now:  335,106 minutes to go.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Time in a Bottle

"If I could create time in a bottle" I would sure use it differently than Jim Croce did in his hit song from 1973... I would create 'turn back time' or some other equally vane, almost Cher like potion that would make MY looks go back, but perhaps not those of my mortal enemies...  (a girl CAN dream...)

It is about 349 days until the big 4 0  (I will not count it down to the second for you here, but let's just say my clock too is ticking ... on my phone)   I went to the Dermatologist again on Friday, and it went something like this.

Note it all took place AFTER me asking numerous questions about a scar on my leg that occurred in 2007 while drunk in Mexico - i.e. therefore still young and cool - and being that in all the various times I've seen my derm since there, something irrevelant and forgotten about, until this very moment.. and here we were laught about it like two frat boys.. "yeah, so I was in Mexico,, and I got like, nailed, um literally, like to a crate and shit... " I may actually have said that.  ok. Most probably have said that.  She assured me it was all 'totally cool' and may or may not have said my battle scar was a little 'cool.'

Me:  So, I'm um, I'm uh 39 now.  And, um, I'm wondering how my skin is doing.. um. from your professional perspective.... (trailing off)

She looks at me, and then moves in closer, and there may or may not have been a magnifine glass at this point, I could very well have blacked out for parts.   I do remember lots of affirmative moans, and nodding when I sort of snapped back into it.

Dr:"Yes, yes.. your skin is very good.  You are at this point in time NOT a candidiate for botox"

Me: WHAT?  WHAT?  I'm WHAT?

Dr.  I said you are NOT a candidate for botox, your skin is fantastic.

Me:  I didn't ask about that.  Why... do you think I am going to need Botox?

Dr. (laughing) no. I don't think you will need it, I don't think anyone NEEDS it, but some want it, and I wasn't assuming you wanted it, I am just telling you that right now you aren't a candidate, your wrinkles aren't big enough, also, once people start, they don't want to stop, and you are a little young.

Me: Silence.  I've run out of things to say. I may have blacked out. I walked in being so anti botox or any other filler, just there to get my lattise prescription, and a little helpful advice about my skin, and make sure I wear enough sunscreen...    My brain seriously over loaded.  She said Botox, and it was as if an electric cattle prodder zapped me.

I sat there, still, eyes closed, then open then closed (I could have been blinking like an epileptic owl for all I know... ) as she continued to look around my face.

Dr: You are still an excellent candidate for latisee.

Me: yesssssssss.   Slipped out of my lips. it was the reason I was there, why oh why spend a ton of time on make up, when you can slap on a little latisse daily, and have gorgeous eyelashes,but to make myself feel better, I prodded her.

Really?  they are feeling pretty sparse.

Dr: no, you have perfect beds of eyelashes.  they  just need a little kick to grow nice and lush.

Me:  Oh sweet mother of god - I got what I wanted, the rest of this visit it what ever. she can stab me with what ever the hell she wants, I got my latisse refilled!  I probably did a football victory dance at this point...

Dr:  What are you using for skin care?

Me: I proudly rattle off the litany of stuff I get from my cousin who works for kiehls at a discount, she nods in approval, and says she loves their products, I feel a swell of pride, yet I'm waiting for the shoe to drop..

Dr. But she wants me to add a Retin A, and perhaps plump up my vitamin C cream, and oh yes there is this other stuff that our bodies stop making at 30 that I am most likely lacking...     I hear the cash register outside of the door cha- chinging, and feel my credit card being pulled under...

I ask her what I need today to start - she says about $40 worth of product and a visit to one of her drop in (i.e. cost free) clinics, to move to the next level. I tell her I am game and jump off the counter, almost forgetting to cover my 'drunken in mexico' mark as I fling open the door which is keeping me from my latisse.

Oh my darling Latisse.  We have been reunited, and it feels soooo soooo sooo very very good.

and I left with a frequent buyer card, which is good for latisese, and later it's good for botox too...
and I also left with the notion that I feel like I dodged a huge bullet from the steam roller of 40 that is chasing me (It shots bullets now!)

I may have much much more to learn about life, but for now, my face doesn't have to show it...

Now if you excuse me, I need to go pull some time from a bottle out and put it on my face....