Gym update

We’ve been going to the gym about three weeks (by we, I mean JB and me, I’m not using the royal “we” or anything). Thus far, it’s been good. I don’t really get endorphins, never have. I just like the sense of accomplishment and feeling that at least I’m making an effort to take (better) care of myself.

I’m working on measuring success in endurance and strength, rather than pounds and inches. I need to be okay with myself regardless of whether I have a “bikini body” or am carrying some extra weight. I also need to think about healthy choices, not skinny ones.

I’m trying to fit yoga into my new routine, but I haven’t figured out a way to do it yet. My posture has gotten abysmal and I think yoga could begin to help.

The working out is nice because it feels like living, rather than subsisting, which is basically how we get through the week. Weekday evenings are for doing chores and conserving energy. It’s nice to do something that feels like being a person.

Ugh, passive aggression

I shouldn’t let this bother me, but it does:

When I got married, I didn’t change my name.  The reasons aren’t terribly important here and can range from practical to soapbox-y, but yeah, I didn’t change my name.  My husband doesn’t mind this, neither of our families really cares and I’ve made a promise to myself that I will not get frustrated by honest mistakes.

However…

My friend, Christina (name changed to protect the guilty) , know I didn’t change my name.  We have talked about this.  So, naturally, when she sends out invitations to her wedding, it is addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Hisfirst Hislast.  Arrrgh.

This is a personal pet-peeve of mine, which she knows.  It just feels to me like I’m a tumor hanging off of him now that we’re married.  And I don’t care for that feeling.

I’m frustrated with myself for letting this bother me, but mainly I’m irritated with her for poking me with a stick.

Okay, rant over.  I acknowledge that, if this is the most frustrating thing that happens to me today, I’m doing pretty good.  But, if you can’t complain about pettiness to the internet, then where do you go?

Day one of taking back my health

Ugh, I did weights for the first time in 4 years. I lasted about 5 minutes before my body threatened to vomit everything I’ve ever eaten.

Ugh.

The trainer was super nice and the routine seems doable. But for my general suckage.

I’m gonna be good and not go eat a million Oreos

The in-between

So, neither JB nor I like our jobs. His is terrible, mine is tiresome. He’s looking into options in other parts of the country, which has me drunk with possibilities.

I have no patience, so I want to move to this new and exciting place NOW. I’m gonna start getting on his nerves soon

Quick Update

When you have a birthday, everyone you love comes out of the woodwork to talk to you.  This is awesome and one of the best things about birthdays, but it also means that sometimes your new and shiny blog will be neglected.  Birthday over.  We’ll dance later.

Dear John letter to a Blog I used to Like

It’s not you, it’s me.

Well, that’s partly true.  I’ve grown, I don’t really need you anymore.  You helped me through a difficult period, gave me strength, etc.  But I don’t need you anymore.

Also, it’s really you.  You’ve gotten shrill and self-righteous.  That’s really the best word I can find.  Shrill.  You’re not fun anymore.  You cannot take any criticism at all and are always defending yourself (though I’m not sure against who).  You spend so much time trying to get other people to validate your life choices, it’s just sad.

You spend so much complaining about judgments based on gender, it’s just frustrating.  I’m a woman too, I just spend WAY less time whining about it.  Phrases like “isn’t it interesting that since I’m a woman” make me want to scream.  If that’s the most interesting thing you have to talk about, then you’ll have to find someone else to listen.

So, we’re through.  I hope you calm down and find yourself.  I will miss who you were.

Pretty people wearing pretty clothes in a pretty place

JB and I just watched The Tourist.  The title is my basic description.  It was entertaining, but not great or anything.  It’s basically Charade with the internet and Johnny Depp instead of Cary Grant (upgrade!).  But then there’s Angelina Jolie instead of Audrey Hepburn (downgrade!).  So, it’s pretty much tied with Charade.

I’m instituting a policy (for myself) of not talking about work, since that consumes 8-11 hours of my life every day.  Which sounds good, in theory.  Must find things to say that isn’t whining about my job (which I am very, very grateful to have).

Not so lazy day

I keep looking at this big, blank space and getting overwhelmed.  So, I’m just putting something down and hoping that it will seem less daunting when I look at it again.

My house definitely looks like a boy lives here (incidentally, one does).  There’s a pull up bar thingy on the door to our office (which is currently less an office and more where I keep the stuff I don’t want to deal with).  And three bikes.  I’m not really a bike person, I’m actually comically bad at riding one.  I’m in the process of learning, which is code for riding on the back of a tandem bike with JB.  It’s more enjoyable than I would’ve guessed and I’m gaining confidence.