The Challenge of Brain-Mouth Coordination

You know those annoying people that mess up song lyrics all the time, and belt them at the top of their lungs? I have to admit I am one of those people.

A few days ago, my boyfriend decided to serenade me over the phone by singing the Transformers theme song from the '80s (we're really a romantic couple): Transformers! More than meets the eye! Transformers! Robots in disguise!"

"Oh that's what they were saying? I thought they just kept going 'Transformers! bee boop bee bop!"

"WOW."

This is not limited to songs. This also extends into common sayings, phrases and adages - which is why I keep making up the rest of the lines to Sticks and Stones :) Needless to say, I don't really need to wear shoes anymore, since my foot is in my mouth on most days at some point or another.

My mouth was once again disconnecting itself from my brain a few days ago. I was in an important meeting, discussing the ramifications of the way we were hiring and interviewing for a new management position, when I said with full and utter confidence, "It's not like we're going by the fly of our pants here. These decisions are being made with intention."

My co-workers bust up laughing before I could figure out what I had said.

"Well, I don't know all the directions your FLY goes, but I think you meant seat," my co-worker corrected me. We laughed and I tasted toe jam again for the first time since I had first exclaimed that Jesuits and Jews were the same (okay so a week or two had gone by).

This was not unlike the time in college where I defended myself by saying, "Well, I'm not the brightest tool in the shed." Nor am I the sharpest.

But what takes the "foot-in-mouth" cake, is what I said at work yesterday. I was working on a project with several co-workers, and we were discussing my new, fabulous bangs inspired by Reese Witherspoon (yes, we were getting paid for this conversation).

"I decided to ease into the style by doing the side bangs first, but next time, I might go full frontal."

A silence suddenly came over the room and everyone just started cackling and howling. I was trying to explain that I wanted to try bangs that were cut straight across my forehead and somehow, my brain computed that as "full frontal." Of course it did.

"We know way too much about your future plans," they joked.

My cheeks were bright red as I laughed and said, "I am sooo embarrassed!!"

They likened it to when my boss said that my co-worker was "vibrating at work" when he was really trying to say her phone was on vibrate while at work.

I have hand-eye coordination. Just not brain-mouth coordination.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my big, mutant toe is really starting to taste like chicken.

I want that today!

"I want that today!! I want that today!!" I was screaming and throwing a huge, effing fit. Feet stomping, nostrils flaring. Oooh I was pissed. I was three. And I totally can't even remember what I wanted, but whatever it was, I remember wanting it badly. "I want that today!! I want that todaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!" My dad still teases me over that tantrum to this day. It was foreshadowing for what was to come.

"I want that today" morphed into "I deserve it." Now that little mantra has gotten me into some big trouble throughout the years. I'm not going to lie- I'm still paying for the things I "deserved" in college in the form of a high interest rate and credit card debt.

When life got stressful in college, I turned to the mall. And Target. And the bar with the giant margaritas. I was "earning" pedicures, shoes, perfume and also putting all my living expenses on the little piece of plastic too. Looking back, I don't know how I could have thought my life was so difficult that I needed to relieve stress in such an ignorant way. "Deserving" something became a way to justify frivolous purchases and unnecessary spending. It was an excuse to be stupid with money. Nowadays, I would kill to have the "stressors" I had in college.

Now that the bill is finally getting paid, I have learned more constructive (and free) ways of dealing with stress; exercise being number one. It's amazing what a good run or weight lifting session can do to your spirit after a hard day of work. It has kept me sane during the most stressful work season I can recall since entering the work force 10 years ago (only 40 more years till retirement! But who's counting?). Number two would be kicking my feet up on the couch and doing absolutely nothing. Three would be reading and writing (ahhhh).

Today, I had a long, hectic day at work- meetings were running late and going sideways, phones were ringing, my inbox was bursting, and people were needing more and more and more things from me. I already did an hour of overtime and it STILL wasn't enough to make ends meet.

I rushed out the doors as my boss was trying to flag me down for yet, another task. I had already tried to explain to him that I had a hair appointment to get to (which was scheduled right after work, on the other side of Seattle, during rush hour) but of course a bald man can't possibly understand the importance of this. Trying to explain the importance of getting your hair done to a man with hair is hard enough. So I said screw it, and walked out.

So there I was on the freeway, rushing rushing rushing, cutting off cars, flipping off motorists. And to my astonishment, I got to the hair place early (sorry for being a hazard on the road, folks).

But by the time I pulled up the parking brake, I realized I was completely famished. I was irritable from my day at work, I was starving and PMSing. Not a good way to enter a salon. That's just bad mojo. I was sure to end up looking like Captain Kangaroo.

So I decided to put the car in reverse and go stake out my food options. That's when I passed Dick's. For those of you unfamiliar with Seattle's fast food scene, Dick's is a 50's style walk-up diner with the second best burgers, fries and shakes in the Northwest (the BEST burgers, shakes and fries would be at Red Mill Burger. Why? Because I said so. Shove it!).

Since I've been training for a half marathon, I've been eating really healthy, and unfortunately that should pretty much ban me from even looking at a Dick's restaurant. But.....I DESERVED IT! I WANT THAT TODAY!!

My mantra came back, and I caved. I was like Magda needing Sweet and Sour Pork except I wasn't a bitch about it (see blog entry "Thank you! Come again!"). After weeks of eating super healthy, I devoured the greasy burger, dominated the salty fries, and annihilated the strawberry shake. It felt sooo good. AND my $5.50 won't be earning any interest, thank you very much.

Eating that burger felt like I had just come out of meditation. My mojo was good. I was ready to enter the salon.

I walked in with a free spirit and an open mind, and walked out the Black and Japanese version of Reese Witherspoon. I think it's safe to say that I deserved that today :)

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but greasy burgers and a haircut will soothe the PMSing soul.

I wanna be a guidette!

I am one of those people that try to avoid mass cultural phenomenons just to avoid them. That way, I can say I'm a non-conformist. Anything that pop culture flocks to, I try hard to run the other way. I'll admit, I am not unique in my avoidance of cultural conformity. Just another cog in the machine of self-proclaimed non-conformists.

I will also admit that when it comes to MTV's Jersey Shore, I am epic failing at non-conforming. Don't worry - I'm not squeezing the last drop of fake tanner out of the tube, and I only wear my hair in the "poof" every once in awhile (which, I invented, Snookie!). But there is something about the douche-baggery that oozes from that show that keeps my eyes glued to the screen, even if its a rerun that I've seen forty times.

Something about vain people with low IQs, mixed with fake tanner, a Bowflex and huge egos became the perfect recipe for pop culture cocaine. Jersey Shore is everywhere in the headlines, but there is also a merchandising effort being launched that someone is capitalizing on as well (click hear for guido gear!).

However, not all people are buying into the allure of the Shore. Some people are up in arms that this show is even on, angry over the Italian-American stereotypes being portrayed. Some are even going as far as making death threats to keep it off the air (which in itself is only perpetuating the Italian stereotypes). Anti-Jersey Shore-ers claim it would never fly if you put another group of people of a different ethnicity in its place. While I completely understand this argument, there are also a lot of holes in it.

First of all, Italian-Americans are not really considered a protected class. Secondly, all other ethnicities are frequently, and have been historically portrayed in stereotypical roles in mass media (e.g., minstrel shows, Disney movies, Chapelle Show, Fresh Prince, All American Girl, Mind of Mencia, all the token Black characters that make their required appearance in shows and movies...I can go on if you'd like). I'm sorry Italians, but it's your turn. And I'm going to savor this moment.

The one question I want answered is, how the hell did they find these people? I'm sure much of this show is staged, much like the rest of MTV's "quality" reality shows, but to be willingly broadcast on national television as meat-heads and street walkers just seems like a desperate attempt at fame. But then again, that's nothing out of the ordinary for any reality show. So why are we still addicted to this reality show and not others?

Maybe it's the one-liners, ''You like your girls like you like your underwear: dirty!"

Maybe it's the dance music.

Maybe' it's Snookie's addiction to eating pickles (literally and figuratively).

Maybe it's the idiotic, yet catchy nicknames: J-WOWW, The Situation, Snookers (a nickname of a nickname).

Maybe it's the gel.

Whatever it is, it's working. And I have found myself sitting on my couch tonight, impatiently waiting for the finale to come on.

Pop culture, you've claimed another victim.

Sticks and stones my break my bones, but fist pumping is a good exercise for your biceps! (for those of you who don't know how to do the fist pump, click here to conform)

On my way to 13.1

Dragging myself out of bed and into my running shoes is quite the arduous task. Not only am I still in recovery mode from Holiday Glutton-Fest 2009, but the rain outside does nothing more to motivate me to pump my arms and move my legs. I recently ended my gym membership to save money, and the treadmill in my apartment's gym conveniently broke at the same time. Nonetheless, I have made a commitment to myself that I cannot break: I will run the Tacoma City Half Marathon on May 2, 2010. And that's just not going to happen if I let a little precipitation and some (okay. lots) of last year's cookies stand in my way.

Slowly but surely, I've been trying to get back into the shape I was before the pumpkin pie, the peppermint bark and eggnog got in the way. This is week two, and I'm definitely sore after every workout. I've been annoying the hell out of my neighbors below me, jumping around to Jillian Michaels and Jackie Warner workout DVDs. My neighbor pounds on her ceiling in a vain effort to get me to stop, but I'm too vindictive to give into her needs. I have a six-pack and toned legs to work on, lady. I don't hear you doing anything about your cankles!

But nothing gets my body more fatigued than trying to run again. Where I used to run five and six miles as my standard run, two miles suddenly feels like eight, three miles, like fifteen. But I have to do this. I deserve to do this for myself.

So this morning, there I was at Greenlake with the rest of the die-hard January runners, trying to become one of them again, with my hot pink lululemon hoodie and neon green headphones. My arms started moving, and my legs followed. "Here I go. I have to run six miles before I can get back in my car and drive away," I think to myself. If I don't give myself ultimatums like this, I will never get it done. Running is very much a mental effort for me. I have to threaten myself to motivate myself, which is why Jillian Micheals is so effective. Working out to her DVDs is like having Hitler stand over you while you do push-ups. You don't stop for anything. And that's when she's inside the TV. I can't imagine what it would be like to workout with her in person on the Biggest Loser.


Greenlake is also a great backdrop for motivation. Not only do you have other fit people running around the lake with you, but there is some great people and animal watching to be had there too. I see all kinds of cute dogs that I dream of dog-napping, interesting people, stinky people, and also very friendly people.

Just today, I saw a man mediating on the side of the trail. How he could relax with barking dogs and kids everywhere was beyond me. I also had a really smelly guy run by me. He had a cloud of severe B.O. that followed several feet behind him. I started to dry-heave while running, which gave me a side ache because it messed up my breathing. But I worked through it. And finally, there was this one man that I used to see all the time in the summer and he just walked around smiling and waving at everyone. Some would find him odd, or even label him crazy. But I saw him again today, and found him to be quite motivating. I smiled back and pretended he was cheering me on. I started running faster.

I also try to guess people's personalities based on the dogs they're walking. The guy with the poodle has trust issues. The girl with the chihuahua has a low IQ. The guy with the mop dog is a divorcee who joined Barnum and Bailey. The girl with the pug will soon be dog-less because I will be stealing it from her. It just keeps getting better.

On the second loop around, I start counting people I had seen the first time I made the loop: the odd, interesting, funny, and unfortunately stinky souls. Before I know it, I've completed my six-mile run. The people, the dogs, and my music are all very nice distractions to the fact that I'm working my body hard. And afterward, I actually felt really good. It's my favorite way to workout. It's like I'm tricking myself.

So while the lady below me complains because I'm working off my love-handles and she is still wallowing on the couch with her FUPA and pork rinds, I will continue working hard to run the 13.1 miles in May.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but running prevents cankles and FUPAs.