Losing it

Before I got engaged, I never understood the whole losing weight for your wedding thing. It seemed to me that wedding dresses were the most flattering thing a woman could wear, especially in my case because a long gown would hide the hobbit-like lower half I've never been a fan of.

But then my fiance started lobbying for a destination wedding, and my level head started to wander. It wasn't the dress, necessarily, that I was worried about looking good in (although I ended up going with a mermaid style just to further torture myself). It was the thought of spending a week in a bikini with 80 of our family members, friends... and their 20-year-old girlfriends that undid my Women's Studies education and feminist body image.

And so when I got on board with the destination wedding idea, I gave myself an excuse to start descending what I knew was a slippery slope. While I did try to eat healthier, my love of food saved me from going overboard on any kind of crazy diet. What I may have gone overboard on, however, was exercise.

I bumped my workouts up from a class or run 3-5 times a week to multiple classes or a run/class combo 6-7 days a week. I obsessively consulted my gym's fitness schedule to plan my week, got irrationally irritated when something came up that interfered with a class I wanted to take and almost had a nervous breakdown when their power went out for a few days (perhaps an extreme reaction, but days without power? A little ridiculous). At one point I was supplementing my gym membership with class packages at two different fitness studios.

Ironically, while looking for healthy recipes and new workouts in Women's Health, I came across an article on "New Eating Disorders" that included a description of "anorexia athletica." Signs of the disorder include: working out religiously (check); gym time interfering with your job or relationships (check); and feeling tremendous anxiety or guilt when you skip a workout (guilty). But to be honest, I think there are worse things to be addicted to than exercise... It wasn't the article that brought me to my senses.

While I was happy with the progress the scale showed, the mirror was more complicated. What I saw was a slightly smaller, definitely more muscular version of myself, legs still more hobbit than super model. My thighs seemed virtually unchanged, but my boobs had abandoned me, which I, and my new husband, were rather fond of... Something he wasn't fond of? My six-pack (although I thought it was kind of bad-ass). He actually found my new muscles slightly creepy and missed the softer, somewhat saner girlfriend of years past. Turns out the woman he wanted to marry was exactly who I was without trying.

Although the hours and hours I spent in the gym could have been spent doing other things -- like planning my wedding, or keeping up with my blog... I learned some important lessons. Extreme exercising will never fundamentally change my shape. And that's okay. I'm pretty lucky to have the body I'm stuck with, and even luckier to have the man I chose to be stuck with.

How to break up with somebody you wish you used to know

I love Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know," but I think he is mistaken about the heartlessness of his ex(es). In fact, the song could be a tutorial on how to successfully break up with someone as painlessly as possible.

But you didn't have to cut me off (You do. It's for his own good.)
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing (Get out of your pajama pants and move on.)
And I don't even need your love (That's the spirit!)
But you treat me like a stranger and I feel so rough (Avoid relapsing.)
And you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number (Might be going a little too far, but perhaps necessary if dealing with a stalker.)
I guess that I don't need that though (Correct! Number should have already been deleted.)
Now you're just somebody that I used to know (Mission move on accomplished.)

Isn't somebody that you used to know better than a girl who may or may not be your ex, who still texts you at 3 a.m., borrows your car (something I may or may not have done to someone I used to know...) and messes up any chance you have of having a healthy relationship with someone else? Isn't being cut off better than being strung along?

Apparently the song refers to a composite of past relationships, which makes sense because no mere mortal can have the self-restraining power to execute such a clean break. But that doesn't stop me from respecting the fictitious ex-girlfriend for her efficient, lukewarm heart, and for inspiring an awesome song.

Bachelor blues

I spent last night yelling at the TV more than usual. Either my taste level is rising (unlikely) or The Bachelor is sinking even further into the filth. And this goes beyond the fact that Ben is a dufus and Courtney is evil. Confusion over the allure of the bachelor and irrational hatred for one or more of the contestants are givens. These irritations are really testing my devotion to ABC's reality:

• Courtney never stops touching her hair, and her weird mouth, and everything she says is ridiculous and cliched and annoying. Lindzi (is that seriously how she spells her name??) always leans her head forward when she talks, like everything she says is a secret, or someone told her that's a flattering camera angle. Poor Emily scrunched her nose incessantly. Why are they casting such annoying people?? If the point is to distract viewers from how awful the show is, it's doing the opposite.
  

• Every date is a metaphor! Jumping out of a helicopter is like falling in love; overcoming your fear of helicopters is like overcoming your fear of being vulnerable in love; taking a chance on a helicopter ride is like taking a chance on love! WE GET IT.
  

• And then there's the awkward advertising tie-ins. When Ben said skiing in San Fran had always been on his "leap list" in Episode 3, my first thought was, "That's dumb," and my second thought was, "and isn't it called a 'bucket list?' Dummy." But no, I learned there is such a thing as a "leap list" during the following commercial break. Honda invented it. And then last night the former bachelorettes got all dressed up in skin-tight dresses to watch Titanic in an empty theater, fresh makeovers hidden behind hideous 3D glasses. A commercial for the 3D re-release and the upcoming Bachelorette season - two for one disguised as television programming!

And the show makes me hate myself most of all because I can't. Stop. Watching. Evil, evil genius.

Photo credit: http://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelor/photo-details/episode-3/911487/914981

Friendly reminders make me unfriendly

I need to rant about the "friendly reminders" I receive via work email on a daily basis. First, the phrase is an oxymoron. There is no such thing as a "friendly" reminder. A reminder to a co-worker is inherently unfriendly. It means you have no faith in someone to complete a task by the given due date, that you feel the need to nag her as if she's a lazy husband who never remembers to take out the garbage or a child who never wants to brush her teeth.

Which leads me to the second reason I can't stand friendly reminders. Believe it or not, I actually get my work done on time. In fact, I pride myself on dazzling people with my efficiency, and feel deflated --> insulted --> enraged if someone thinks they need to send reminders. If on the rare occasion I can't meet a deadline, I never fail to communicate why and when I will have the work done:

Not sorry to see you go

While most unsubscribe links lead to "We're sorry to see you go!" messaging and perhaps a short survey asking what turned you off, an e-newsletter I recently unsubscribed from took a different approach.

The whole experience reminded me of a phone conversation I had back in the days before Internet with a seventh-grade boyfriend. Before I had even finished my prepared explanation of why I wanted to end our nine-day relationship, he hastily interrupted and dumped ME. I was flabbergasted. When friends asked me what happened at school the next day, I wasn't sure who had broken up with whom. (A very important distinction in the seventh grade!)

That sneaky kid ... he ended up being sent to military school the next year for selling drugs out of his locker, but that's another story.

Back to unsubscribing - this was the landing page I first encountered:

After clicking the seemingly apathetic yet angrily red "SEE YA" button, I was presented with this page:

If I come around and realize my huge mistake, they'll take me back?! Well, this was certainly something different. But like a drug-dealing tween, it might have caught my eye, but I'm not sure I want to engage in another dysfunctional relationship.

Desperate shopwives

Watching all of the holiday shopping commercials, it occurred to me that a new kind of icon has replaced the 1950s housewife.

The home backdrop has been replaced with discount stores, and the glazed-over eyes and frozen smile have been replaced with frenzied determination and unapologetic cockiness.

A funny kind of crazy has replaced a creepy kind of crazy.




It seems we can now exhibit masculine energy, but apply it to feminine tasks - which is apparently pretty hilarious - crazy women taking their silly lives so seriously.

Happy birthday, I guess.

Yesterday was my birthday ... and while I admittedly enjoy pretty much any kind of attention, I couldn't help but be a bit disheartened by the number of flat "happy birthdays" I received via electronic communications.

I understand how annoying the obligatory "happy birthday" can be, and Facebook's new prompts only make you feel more guilty for not writing on the walls of every one of your 400 "friends" when you're alerted of the anniversary of their birth.

But you do have a choice: ignore the birthday alert or commit to the post by writing on the birthday girl's wall with some enthusiasm, for chrissakes. At least muster up an exclamation point or two after "happy birthday," or personalize it a bit with "happy birthday, Amy!" It's only three extra letters, people. The "happy birthdays" with no punctuation, or worse, a period, sort of put a damper on my special day. And even though I normally enjoy acronyms, "HBD" is just lazy.

A few hours into the work day, a colleague who must create Outlook alerts for everyone's birthdays sent an email out letting everyone know it was my birthday, and I started noticing the same grumpy grammar in responses from the rest of my team. I was equally annoyed by the obligatory thank yous I had to write back, but at least I faked it with smiley face emoticons :)

Then again, I also received a rather creepy e-card from a co-worker I've never met in person that featured a picture of me he somehow copied and pasted from Facebook in the middle of several birthday graphics and messages ... apparently it is possible to say "happy birthday" with too much enthusiasm. (His friend request is still pending.)