New Year Resolutions, Chirky Style

December 31, 2008

For the past many years I have ignored making resolutions, mostly because I know that within a couple weeks (or days, or hours) I will have already abandoned whatever proclamation I've made. Until last year.

Last year I resolved to Get Out More, to do and try more things, to explore new areas of Dallas. Then Roger and I bought a house, and started remodeling, and on top of that we both made new career moves. While the year has been full of change for us, it hasn't been full of exploration. So I'm planning a Resolution Rollover, and adopting last year's plan to 2009. I can do that, can't I? But that's not my only plan.

I'm making a second promise to myself: to get more organized. This is kind of a shoo-in, because Roger and I just finished designing our closets and will soon have walnut and platinum storage systems lining our closet walls. For the past few days I have been near-drooling over the upcoming installation, and this is why:

I Love Organization

We have two closets in the master bedroom, and this is the first closet. The second will have drawers and shelving, which will completely eliminate our need for our collective three (three!) dressers and armoires. And maybe that is what I'm most excited about: my evil plan to eradicate all extra furniture. So minimalist! Clean lines! Be still my heart; thou hast known no better than this.

And so while I'm organizing my home and exploring my neighborhood, I'm curious to know what you'll be doing. Have you made any New Year Resolutions?

Contained

December 29, 2008

A couple days ago, my friend Bianca detailed the contents of her purse -- if you can even call it that, since it's more like a tote bag -- and I couldn't believe how LONG the list was. Now, in all fairness, I've known Bianca a long time. We were roommates in college, and she's more like a sister to me than anything else. I know her weakness for toting stuff around. And while she was busy filling up her bags, I was always busy taking stuff out of mine. I'm constantly cleaning it out, usually because I like to switch between bags. Often.

After reading her list, it made me wonder what I was carrying around. Compared to her, not much.

What's In My Purse?
  • hand cream
  • my wallet, with a smear of paint (paint!) from our (ongoing) Great House Painting of 2008
  • gym card with ID
  • sunglasses
  • iPhone
  • CO Bigelow Vitamin Mentha glittery lip balm in Glacial Mint
  • MAC Lustreglass in Venetian
  • LipSlicks in Daring
  • LipSlicks in Hipster
  • MaryKay lipstick in Cinnamon Twist (favorite winter color, now discontinued)
  • Extra gum in Polar Ice
  • keys
  • fingernail file
  • $12
  • assortment of coins
  • random paintbrush, used once, now I don't know what to do with it (though oddly, I'm still switching it between purses)
  • miniature roll of tape (just in case, you know)
  • lone earring, its pair presumably lost
  • coin purse from Thailand, now re-purposed for carrying business cards

Aside from the last few items, I'd say I'm doing pretty well on keeping my purse on a diet. Now only if I could say the same for myself...

Though I Guess A Reminder That I’m Still Alive Isn't Such A Bad Thing

December 19, 2008

For the past three nights, I have been very focused on practicing The Side Sleep. I've taken a diagram (very helpful indeed, TUWABVB), your comments and your emails to bed with me. (Uhhh, it's not quite how it sounds.) And you know what? I think it's helping. But what do you do about the thumping? Because I can't quite get past that.

Do you know what I mean? The thumping you can hear, except maybe it's more like swishing? Am I the only one that gets annoyed that I can hear my heart beating through my ear? Like a seashell? EXCEPT LOUDER?

And then, inevitably, I start thinking about oatmeal. I'm either thinking about it because it's what I associate with a healthy heart (I don't know, whatever, but it's always Quaker Oats and never the instant, pre-packaged stuff), or I'm thinking about it because it's what I know I think about when I'm associating a healthy heart with something, and the fact that I'm NOT thinking about it drives me to think about it.

And so I'm lying in bed at night thinking about breakfast, except I rarely even eat oatmeal for breakfast, which makes me think about things I'd rather be eating, and before you know it I can feel my mouth start to water as visions of, well you know. Visions of foodstuffs are dancing in my head.

Anyway, this is a real problem because I'm supposed to be sleeping. Side-sleeping, at that. And sorry, but I can't be the only one dealing with that deafening rhythm drumming, drumming, drumming.

Why I Wouldn't Mind Being Barbie (It's Not Why You Think)

December 17, 2008

For the past few nights, I've been troubled by something. Something kind of embarrassing, considering that I've been doing it for 30 years now: lying down to sleep. How could I forget how to lie down?

I can only fall asleep if I am flat on my back, head tilted to the side – but not too far, I don't want my neck to be sore – hair covering my out-turned ear (to keep it warm, obviously). There is nothing more comfortable to me than sprawling out flat, staring up at the ceiling, legs and arms flung this way and that. Of course, there's also my husband to consider. And how my legs and arms sometimes find themselves jamming into his ribs and calves. And how he kind of dislikes that.

Sleeping on my stomach is totally out – that's just way too uncomfortable. My bottom sticks out weird, and the only way I can manage to lie on my stomach is to shove a pillow under my abs for support. Call it sway back, call it my ghetto bootie, call it whatever you want. I'm simply incapable of stomach-sleeping.

So lately I've been trying to learn how to sleep on my side. I used to be a side-sleeper exclusively, and perhaps that is why I am so perplexed about my sudden inability to stay still once in position. For one, my spine feels all twisty and weird, so I spend a considerable amount of time trying to straighten myself out. This leads to bending and un-bending and re-bending my legs (I've even tried putting a pillow between my knees, to no avail), adjusting my body's angle, then flopping to my other side and trying again.

Second, and most importantly, what am I supposed to do with my bottom arm? Do I extend it out beyond my head? That works only so long before my wrist starts to go numb. Bend my arm into a V shape to cradle my head? After a while my shoulder falls asleep, but I usually can't stay that way for long before I start bending my legs again. Align my arm under my body? Then I just want to detach it, the way I used to, umm, adjust my Barbies.

I'm really at a loss here. Do you sleep on your side? How do you manage? Can you come to my house and demonstrate? I think I need lessons.

(Or maybe I just need to flop over onto my back again. It's what works, afterall.)

How to Sabotage Your Diet in Five Simple Steps

December 02, 2008

Just in time for the holidays and those family portraits you'll be taking this weekend, I'm bringing you a helpful list of Things To Do To Sabotage Your Diet. For your convenience, I carefully researched each item on this list. You're welcome!

1. When you're home alone, bake cookies, make rice krispies or buy some ice cream (preferably chocolate-flavored, please). This way you can eat it all yourself. Yes, you will get sick. But at least there will be no evidence.

2. Spend a cumulative two hours throughout the day thinking about exercising, but never actually do it. Lie down and watch a movie instead!

Sabotaging my diet

3. Take several pictures of yourself with your new iPhone. Get depressed about how chubby your cheeks look in those pictures. Go ahead, eat that bag of chips. They'll make you feel better. It's the camera's angle, darling, not you.

Continue reading "How to Sabotage Your Diet in Five Simple Steps" »

The Color of Change

November 20, 2008

Since Roger and I bought our first house last March, we've been hard at work remodeling it. So far, we have:

  • peeled up the carpet
  • tackled the ceilings (and then smoothed them out)
  • tore all the wood paneling off the walls
  • dismantled a built-in book shelf and furr down in the living room
  • (for that matter, we removed furr downs throughout the entire house)
  • installed a new garbage disposal and garage door opener
  • replaced both exterior faucets
  • removed a divider wall in one bathroom (between the sink and the toilet)
  • rewired all electrical outlets and light switches
  • installed new pipes for running future cable lines to all rooms (including study, media room and bedrooms)
  • re-built a wall in the hallway leading to the master bedroom
  • stripped hideous wallpaper from the kitchen, breakfast nook and master bathroom
  • removed all baseboards and door trim
  • decimated the wet bar
  • demolished a closet
  • built a new laundry room
  • converted the old laundry room into a walk-in pantry
  • re-textured all walls in the house, including closets

And, after all this time, we FINALLY get to paint. (Thankfully, Roger's parents are coming into town for Thanksgiving. Guess what they'll be doing while they're here? Hey, I'm not against parental labor. I'm an equal-opportunity kind of gal.) We've narrowed our base paint colors down to the following...

Continue reading "The Color of Change" »

Because I'm a Giver (Edited)

November 12, 2008

Three web sites that I've been enjoying lately:

My Super Hopeless Romance: It's kind of like reading teen romance, full of angst and confusion and raging hormones. Except not in a scandalous way. If you decide to read it, start from the beginning. But first, a warning: this story is addictive. It is the first site I check every day, and several times throughout the day, for updates. It's like a good book you can't put down, except that you're forced to put it down because the story isn't finished.

Moshi Monsters: I first heard about Moshi Monsters from iJustine.com (another site worth checking out – Justine is this gorgeous video blogger with a fabulous life, and every time I watch one of her videos, I want to go shopping with her). Moshi Monsters are adoptable pet monsters that you have to feed and keep happy. It is kind of lame, and yet somehow I'm still addicted. Or at least obligated by my deep, constant fear of failure. Must. Keep. Monster. Alive. It's also potentially creepy, because most of the people who have accounts on Moshi Monsters are children and tweens. But really, I'm not creepy. I'm just shopping for my monster at the Gross-ery store.

Ancestry.com: Several weeks ago, perhaps an outcome of pregnancy (before I miscarried), I suddenly decided it was important that I know my ancestry. (Or maybe it was reading that Barack Obama and Brad Pitt are cousins.) Anyway, I signed up for the black hole that is ancestry.com, and thereafter stayed up until two or three in the morning searching for long-lost relatives. I got all the way back to the 1500s on one side of my family, and listen: that site? Is addictive. Especially when you start researching major ports (like Ellis Island!) to see if you can find your ancestor's name among millions of other immigrants. Do not get sucked into the ancestry.com vortex unless you have a lot of time to waste. Seriously.

Edited to add:
Failblog: A chronicle of humanity's stupidity. If you are not reading Failblog, you are missing the best of the Internet. I just started reading it, and already am sucked in. A fine example: Dance Fail. I've watched this video ten times and I'm STILL laughing.

Any sites that you're keen on sharing?

The Psychology of Me

November 04, 2008

(This is a series in Weird Things About Me. Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Three is here. Part Four is here.)

I have two pairs of sneakers, and I dislike both of them. The first are covered in paint – and therefore have been deemed my grubby shoes for things like painting and gardening (Okay, honestly, I don't really garden. But if I did, I'd wear these shoes while digging potatoes and planting onions, the things that I imagine all gardeners do.) – and the second are just a tad too small.

I'm not quite sure when my feet began growing again, but my toe is suddenly bumping up against the tip of the shoes every time I wear them. I'm anxious that they're causing my toenails to split (which, they're not splitting, but I must tell you: I am completely obsessed with short toenails. I cannot stand them to be any length, and my stomach turns when I see people whose toenails resemble claws. In fact, right now – just thinking about it – I started to gag).

So I've started looking for a new pair of exercise shoes, and this is the weird thing about me: they're all so white. And I do not like white shoes. Frankly, they're embarrassing. I feel totally self-conscious while wearing them, as if everyone is staring, blinded by all that whiteness. That's why all my exercise shoes are grey. Grey with pink, or grey with orange, or grey with turquoise, but always grey. White shoes are just too…new looking, I guess. Which brings up another weird thing about me entirely.

Continue reading "The Psychology of Me" »

Raising the Bar

October 23, 2008

You know when you have surgery, and go under anesthetics, and you start to babble and feel loopy just before you're totally knocked out? On Tuesday, I had an epiphany while talking to my doctor:

Doctor: "How are you feeling, Jes?"

Jes: "Drunk."

Doctor (laughing): "Yeah, think of it as going on a date*." (And then trying to ease my mind) "...and we'll take good care of you!"

Jes (foggy): "Uhhh..." (looking around sterile white surgery room) "...I've never been on a date like this before."

Doctor (laughing): "That's probably a good thing."

Jes (struggling to form sentences): "Omigosh, I just had a brilliant idea."

Doctor (exchanging glances with the anesthesiologist in the room): "What's that?"

Jes (slurring): "You should open an anesthetics bar. You know? Instead of alcohol? Because then you wouldn't have a hangover after drinking, but people could still feel drunk, but then you can sober up practically anytime you want - just remove the IV! Isn't that an awesome idea?"

Doctor (laughing as a cover, but probably wishing he'd thought of that before): "I'll have to talk to Dr. Cooper about us going into business together."

Aaaaand then I was out.

But seriously, isn't that a clever idea? It kind of makes me wonder how many other ingenious things I could come up with while pumped full of anesthetics.

* In all fairness, he said something like this, but I can't remember exactly what it was. I was kind of spinning from the drugs at the time.

Learning Curve

October 20, 2008

I learned an important lesson from a good friend last week. A lesson about friendship, about love, about family. You see, my friend is from India. Culturally, when people in her life – whether family or friends– are hurting, she has been taught to drop whatever she is doing to be by their side.

Chris and Merlyn were among the first friends we told that we were pregnant. And subsequently, they were among the first friends we told we were miscarrying. When they heard our news, Chris and Merlyn asked if they could come over to be with us, even if it was just for dinner. At first I was taken aback. Admittedly, I thought it was intrusive. I wanted my space. I wanted to be alone to grieve in private. But in the back of my mind, I also knew that Roger and I can’t do this alone. So I said yes.

I walked away from dinner that night with the realization that our American culture of space and privacy and isolation is absurd. Why have we learned to leave each other alone at a time when we feel our most lonely?

And that’s one of the reasons why I’m so thankful I chose to write about my miscarriage on this web site. Our pregnancy was one that was planned for, hoped for, longed for. I recall in vivid detail exactly how I found out that I was pregnant. I remember how discovering that pink line on the pregnancy test felt like Christmas morning. I laugh about how many times I got up during the day to go look at that test, and how my heart flip-flopped each time I got a glimpse of the double lines. I took so much pleasure in planning how I would tell Roger, and oh!, how he was surprised. And I loved that he teared up, just a little, when he discovered our news. And several weeks later, in the blink of an eye, a flip of the ultrasound wand, our baby was gone.

Then there was the overwhelming outpouring of love from each of you. I read every single comment, sometimes multiple times over, and it was like the Internet was giving me a hug, holding my hand, rubbing my back, and telling me that yes, it hurts, but you’re not alone. Thank you, each of you, for the comments you left on my previous post. Thank you for coming around at a time that I felt so lonely. Finally, I get it. I get how important it is to have companionship, in all of its myriad forms. I understand how valuable a gentle word is when one’s heart is filled with sorrow, despite our culture’s whispers to give the griever a few days for – what? The anguish to settle in? Or for us to pull ourselves together? I don’t exactly know.

But I do know this: I can genuinely say that if this miscarriage helps me know how to love others better, to console others better, be able to better comfort those who are grieving a loss, or to walk with another woman as she faces that dusty, deserted road of miscarriage, I will consider this an important, unforgettable and worthwhile (albeit painful) life lesson. Merlyn’s rush to be by my side, infused with your dozens and dozens and dozens of comments, has taught me one thing in spades: compassion. And I think that’s something we could all use a little bit more of.




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