My Trainer

Okay - I know there's a recession and it's completely extravagant...but I totally go to a trainer. Every week. Once. When I'm home. (Okay - maybe it's not as extravagant as I thought).

And this trainer is a freakin' drill sergeant. Obviously, if you have to pay someone to make you workout, you kind of need tough - and she is tough. I had one session where I tried to fool the scales on my monthly weigh-in by not eating breakfast or lunch beforehand....passed out. The next workout was interrupted by my vomiting the turkey sandwich I ate a little too close to the workout's start. Notice I said interrupted and not canceled - I told you...she's tough. I have been known to shout "NO MEANS NO" in the middle of a [girls's] push-up, but there's never a reprieve with Louis Gossett Jr.

Each workout starts with our own unique ritual - she asks me how I did on food this week...I lie...she makes me do squats til I cry. I asked her what I could do about being a little "broad in the beam" [as my mother so affectionately (?) put it]. Her answer: "Eat less." Thank yoooooouuuu. But then she & I probably have different expectations. I am happy with merely changing the trajectory of my weight gain while she probably expects people to actually lose weight.

I didn't bother telling her about the whoppers and cheeto's episode.

But Where is the Rest of the Room?

From Managers Meetings to NYC. That's right, I came to NYC to join Rita for a few days while she worked in this market. Ummmm, I know hotel rooms in NYC are always smaller than the "real America", but the hotel we are staying in is a little ridiculous:

• It makes the tent from camping look positively spacious
• I cannot escape the sensation that I am staying in an RV. Seriously, everything in the room is three-quarters size. And judging by the noise outside, we ARE in the middle of traffic...maybe it IS an RV.
• I figured out why the bed doesn't have a footboard: 1) it won't fit and 2) so my feet won't touch it when they. Hang. Off. The. End. of my not-quite-full-sized bed.
• The cleaning lady doesn't even have to enter the room to clean it.
• Rita was right...you really can sit on the toilet and work on the computer balanced across the sink basin.

The Hampton Inn it ain't.

Managers' Meeting

Sorry to miss posts so far this week. I had organized a meeting at one of our sites for all my managers. A two day workshop/meeting for 10 people from around the country.

Now...you're a reader of this blog...just how "organized" do you think this meeting that I hosted was?

• Next time I tell people to control costs...I should make sure SOMEONE rents a car. 
• ummmm, how do I tell the President of the Company I forgot to put him on the agenda?
• So WHAT if everyone else's idea of a fancy company dinner doesn't include a sports bar and Monday Night football?!
• The meeting refreshments are heavily weighted toward Diet Cokes and bar-b-que potato chips. [Who knew water was so popular?]
• I guess I forgot the projector was hooked to my laptop when I toggled between my teammember's presentation and my blog. [I think my team all knows me a little better now]

 Should I consdier my team meeting a failure if "every man for himself" emerges as the team motto?

350Z

I haven't really had time to blog for today because I am trying to sell my car.

The main reason I am selling it is 1) it's loud [apparently I didn't read the fine print about sports cars] and 2) while I CAN put a bike rack on it... it feels for all the world like my $2,000 bike is velcro'd to the car with little more than a prayer to keep it affixed. The only bike rack that works is the one that you rest on the trunk of the car and its "arms" balance between the trunk and the hatch. It reminds me of that balancing wine bottle holder where an arc somehow supports the weight of the entire bottle. Not really the most reassuring image as I'm barreling down I-5, trying to keep up with friends who have real bike racks. Every single time I put that bike rack on, I spend the entire drive thinking about the blog I'm going to write when the aerodynamics of a California freeway conspire against me to achieve 10-speed lift off [I imagine it will float under the wheel of an oncoming RV and then my bike will become little more than an accessory for Flat Stanley.]

But hey...it's a seven year old car with 43,000 miles on it - pretty good. [And if the airport in Nashville had been 10 miles closer, I probably wouldn't have half that many miles.]

But I think the tires may need a little maintenance. My friend is helping me sell the car. It was all he could do to contain his shock at the noise the tires are making. “When was the last time you balanced these?” Maeve: “Balanced them on what?”

When it's clean and the tires don’t sound like a helicopter outta an episode of M*A*S*H any more, I may decide I like the car.

At least until the bike flies off.

Are you ready for some...

....FOOTBALL?!

As I have previously mentioned...football season is just not that significant out here in sunny California. I am trying to get everyone geared up for the Titans Super Bowl run, but I detect a serious lack of interest. Here are some of the signs that these Californians are just not that into football: 

• Their plans for December 25th center on "family, travel and the birth of Christ" rather than the Titans/Chargers game being played that day
• The only readers of this blog who know LT is in a walking boot live in Nashville
• Their concerns about blackouts relate to electricity, not home games
• They think ESPN stands for Environment, Science, Philanthropy and Nature
• They didn't even know to trash talk me after the Titans [Barely! Barely, I say] lost their season opener.
• None of them want to meet at a bar at 9:30 in the morning for kickoff.
• They completely miss the adorable charm of a few [4] Titans car magnets 

Look for the Titans to recover from their opening week loss when they host the Texans this weekend  =)

Groceries Schmoceries

Things really go to hell around here when Rita travels. I got home from my fight flight on Monday to discover el zilcho to eat in the house. I mean...I don't even think we have ingredients right now. Well...I take that back....someone obviously made a batch of pesto before traveling because we had about 13 containers of that, thank goodness. They're all sitting in the freezer right beside [what i'm guessing is] the watermelon-a-sicles (?) made by freezing leftover watermelon. [I'm all for not wasting...but who is going to eat those?] Throw in about 300 lemons [for some reason] and a cheese wheel of parmesan and you have the entire contents of our fridge/freezer. Rita (a/k/a MacGyver-in-the-kitchen) could probably make a 6 course meal outta that....but all I could make was a face. [This is exactly why people buy frozen dinners.]

And then...inexplicably...in the otherwise barren cupboards...there was a bag of Cheetos. Ummm...did someone break into our house and infect us with junk food? Oh wait a minute...I think I just ate the dog sitter's groceries. [I wonder where she put the rest of her stuff.]

Luckily, my mother had sent me a care package filled with chocolates. What is that you said, McSisters? You didn't get a care package from mom?? Hmmmm, wonder what that means? =)

Which, of course, led to a breakfast, lunch and dinner consisting of Whoppers and Cheetos. [Blog first, grocery shop second.]

And oh yeah...Diet Cokes.

[And THIS is how I play the pity card for dinner invites]

Fight or Flight

My behavior really regresses with air travel. I had a less-than-enjoyable flight on Northwest [yeah, I didn't know they were still in business either] from Ft. Wayne Indiana to San Diego last night. First, we spent 25 minutes on the unseasonably warm tarmac in Ft. Wayne before the pilot finally told us that the air conditioning on the Cessna only works in the air? Oh puh-leaze. Air conditioning that runs on cumulus clouds [and unicorn horns?].

After our delayed flight finally arrived in Detroit...I knew my 45 minute connection was in jeopardy when the flight attendant flung open the doors of our plane saying "Watch out Tony...we have runners". Which seemed absolutely lost on Tippy the Turtle in front of me who seemed intent to meander his way through his connection.

After pushing Mr. Turtle [and about 23 others] out of the way, I finally reached gate Z86 and breathlessly asked the two waitresses at the gate if the flight had left. To which they responded..."Hey - we're in the middle of something important here."

Oh. No. You. Did-ent. And while I did not say...a) "I am going to take this $&#^@ ball and cram it down your $^#@) throat"; b) "You Lie!" or c) one single thing about Beyonce's video, I may have said..."Obviously not customer service" and/or "perhaps you could put away your crossword puzzle and help me get home." [ummmm.....BTW...I'm still waiting on my bags from that flight.]

And then...as I made my way to the back of this whacked out flight....I. Couldn't. Help. But. Notice.....the elderly Costanza-looking fliers in their matching fluorescent yellow t-shirt/ballcap ensembles obtained from the tea party-sponsored taxpayer march in D.C. this weekend. Oh PLEASE let me sit next to one of them....I'd have blogs for a year.

No dice. But not to worry....me and my inner Serena Williams caught up with one of them in the bathroom line.

Mother Nature's Bedroom

Wednesday's blog covered some of the highlights of the camping trip - but I can honestly devote an entire blog to sleeping in a tent. Really...38 is not the age where one ought to start sleeping in tents. I mean...by the age of 38, your body has become accustomed to certain things...like heat. And a bed without rocks.  Who knew I was such a wuss??  [that question is rhetorical!]

I noticed that camping paraphernalia seems tailored to the somewhat....petite [or maybe it's just Rita's camping paraphernalia?]. While lying in the "really big" tent we used, I could safely touch my feet to one end and my head to the other end. I was one yoga pose away from being out in the elements. And everything else was pretty compact too...little baby pillows and sleeping bags that almost stretched from your toes and your head. I was waiting for someone to hand me lunch on Barbie's first tea set.

And let's just talk about the "mattress pad". I know tall city girls showing up without the right any camping gear [I had my pen & paper!] shouldn't complain, but calling this thing a mattress pad didn't really set the right expectations. It was more like a workout mat without all the cushioning. After 30 minutes of laying on it, I would lose all feeling in my hip. So I'd flip to the other hip...and then to my plenty-padded ass...and so it went all night long 'til I dreamed of nothing but rotisserie chicken. No wonder people get up so early when they camp...it's a form of surrender.

I did learn one thing though...snoring is not terribly popular in close-quarter camp sites. (Not too much sound-proofing on those tents, y'know.) It took all of about 15 minutes at breakfast to figure out that "it wasn't the train, it was Maeve snoring". Rita and I were in the camping suburbs the second night.

But all in all - I was a good sport (and I would TOTALLY do it again.)

YOU LIE!

George Costanza's father was apparently invited to the State of the Union address last night. [Okay, okay...I know Obama's speech last night wasn't the state of the union, but "Presidential address to a joint session of Congress" doesn't exactly roll off the old blogging tongue, y'know.]

I had planned to blog some more about the camping trip, but then I saw President Obama get heckled during his speech last night by the Republican congressman from South Carolina. In case you missed it, Representative Joe Wilson channeled his inner fourth grader and shouted "YOU LIE!" at the President's assertion that the health care bill would not cover illegal immigrants.

I tried to check out Representative Joe Wilson (R-S.C.) on his web site...but it was experiencing an "Internal Server Error" [presumably resulting from 30 million people googling "heckling jackass" at the same time.  I'm guessing that's a little more trafffic than joewilsonforcongress.com has seen in a while.]

So I have developed my own notes on Representative Joe Wilson from S.C.:

• ANOTHER crazy politician from South Carolina?!? How crazy do you have to be to lose an election in that state? [psssst...South Carolina....Alaska called, they want their crazy crown back.]
• Has anyone told Michelle Bachmann she's now in second place for official Congress looney tune?
• Apparently...Rep. Joe Wilson is now qualified to be the Republican Vice Presidential nomineee in 2012.
• The guy shouts "lie" at the ONE point in the debate that is not subjective?? What part of "Nothing in this subtitle shall allow Federal payments for affordability credits on behalf of individuals who are not lawfully present in the United States" do you not understand? [okay, okay...not the best sentence ever constructed...but that qualifies as black and white in Washington-speak]
• Isn't Joe Wilson the guy married to Valerie Plame? Who knew he was a Republican?
• We just missed his John 3:16 sign

At least football starts tonight so we can get onto some legitimate heckling....GO TITANS!!!!!

She's a Good Sport

I guess every family has their own vetting methods. The Pirkl's strap you to the front of a raft headed down a class 4 rapid and if you stay on, "you're a keeper".  =)  [it looks something like this:]

I heard "she's a good sport" a lot this weekend, if that tells you anything about the trip. [I've decided that "She's a good sport" really means you're lousy at something - but you don't complain much.] Here are some other highlights from the weekend:

• Given the 50 degree water - the rafting company offered to rent us wet-suits. Something about wearing a costume that 5 other people have pissed in this week seemed worse than being cold. [At the time]
• The guide's safety talk that preceded launch lasted almost as long as the rafting trip. I went ahead and drafted my will during half of it, in case I "was pinned under the big blue sombrero [i.e., raft]"; "got wacked in the head with the t-grip of someone's errant paddle" or "got sucked right out of a lifejacket not sufficiently tightened". [Ummmm...can't wait to get started??]
• Know what's better than putting up your first tent ever? Putting it up in the rain. The freezing rain. Only to find out later it's been set up downhill. Good times.
• "That wasn't a mule deer you saw outside your tent last night Kirk...that was me." [Any good vacation involves being mistaken for a mule deer.]
• I seemed to be the only one who brought pen and paper on the completely water-soaked raft. The other five blogs I wrote didn't survive "The Meat Grinder" at Whitehorse Rapids.....

And while it may not sound like it from this blog...it was a complete blast. At least the parts where I wasn't under the big blue sombrero.

Packing

How does one pack for a 10 day trip that starts out camping in Oregon, proceeds to Corporate headquarters in Philly and ends at my sister's home in Ft. Wayne, Indiana? Stupidly, that's how. Since I just finished my packing about 4 hours before we got here [what...me procrastinate?], I thought I'd share my thoughts on packing for the mixed-use itinerary:

• An already tough packing assignment only becomes harder when, with regards to camping, your girlfriend tells you to "pack for rain...lots of it". Great...plastic clothes. Those should come in handy at Corporate. 
• "And oh...in addition to rain, it's supposed to get down to 42 degrees at night." Water sports AND the first snowfall...Have you guys ever considered a beach vacation?
• On top of everything else...I am packing in 103 degree heat in San Diego. [Have I mentioned no air conditioning in the house?] When I finally get to Philly, I am going to wonder why I have all these tank tops packed.
• Rita tried to lend me a pair of her sweatpants to wear "just around camp". Capri fleece sweatpants...they're all the rage. No, no wait....capri fleece sweatpants with the elastic gathering at the calf. [I think i saw them at the Wreck League] Ummm....camping is no reason to start looking like a troll around the fam.
• I don't need to pack the coffee pot, do I? Because between plastic clothes and coffee...I come down on the side of Folgers.
• I hope I grab the right bag at each leg of the journey or else it's pumps at the campfire and water wings at the office
• The Diet Cokes barely fit.

 Enjoy your weekend. Assuming all goes well....next post should be on Tuesday.

you know the story...

no post today, have to get ready for the big rafting trip.  Hope to have one more post up before I go incommunicado on the big river.  [all I can think about is A River Runs Through It..]

Blog-nificent

Should I worry that I have made almost 200 (!) posts on this blog?! I am not sure that this altogether healthy:

• I started this thing back in March of 2008…I’ve had college majors that didn’t last this long [and jobs and addresses and hobbies and …ummm…I’m going to go back to my blog now]
• I guess the jig is up on me being a workaholic, eh?
• I now expect people to already know my pizza prowess, all my best (?) Southwest tales and my dog’s latest adorable antics before I even talk to them
• I can find 150 hours to write blogs, but I can’t scrape together 3 hours to clean the garage [I probably shouldn’t point that out...]
• There’s a fine line between funny and “I'm calling to apologize”
• That Julie and Julia thing has REALLY created some unrealistic expectations for bloggers
• I have found that my work emails are becoming remarkably unwisely close to blog posts. My boss had to ask me the other day what was up with the smiley face =)

And just think of all the things I would have been better off doing…like my taxes, tending to my dog’s dental health or calling my mother [seriously…it’s called SaveMeTheCall for a reason]

 

Heat Wave

It was 103 degrees here over the weekend. I know because people kept asking…"do you know how hot it is!?!??” Given how few houses have air conditioning (including this one), the heat tends to make San Diegans a bit inelegant. [Molly has been walking around with an ice pack on her back for 3 days.] Rita and I spent half the weekend trying to steal air conditioning from other places. I’ve never been so happy to go to Williams Sonoma in all my life. But after driving around in the car’s air conditioning for 3 hours, my roommate Al Gore was starting to feel a little guilty.

Needless to say, Rita was a convert on using the recently installed portable air conditioning in the house. We sealed up one room and turned that portable jobbie up as high as it would go. And I mean sealed up. Every window was closed, the French doors locked tight, even a towel stuffed under crack of the door to the hallway to keep one iota of Freon from escaping. One of my friends called it the panic room…and he was right. If you open that door and let out 30 minutes of coolness…I. Am. Going. To. Panic. By the middle of the afternoon, Molly had her legs crossed, Rita was battling frostbite and the French doors were covered in condensation. [I thought about tagging the window with a “Wash Me” scrawl…but decided the hottest day of the year probably wasn’t the best time to test how funny I am.]

When I finally did leave our walk-in cooler for provisions [trips to the wine room being replaced by trips to the popsicle drawer], I opened the hallway door to a complete wall of heat. It was like a scene from Backdraft. [And just for the record – popsicles last about 13 seconds in that heat, so enjoy your soon-to-be kool-aid.]

Well, gotta run…Rita's out of town, so Molly and I invited ourselves over to the air-conditioned neighbors for breakfast.