Like A Girl

Fake-cation Like A Girl

The intent of a vacation is to relax, unwind, maybe even recharge your batteries. But sometimes vacations can cause more stress than they're worth. When are you going to take it? Will you go out of town? Where will you go?  Do you have enough money? How can you get the best deal? How's all the work at the office going to get done while you're gone?

New buzzwords like "workcation" or "staycation" have popped up in our lingo to describe how our overproductive lives and underproductive economy have taken a toll on our time off. Spring Break 2010 proved that I was definitely a candidate for chronic multi-tasking and trying to fit it all in. I had spent nearly the entire month of February on the road for my job and was anxiously awaiting the opportunity to spend solid bonding time with my teenagers, sleep, do nothing, and catch up on household chores. So, I made a honey-do list for myself, scheduled our week's appointments and made a concerted effort to fit it all in. But, could I fit it all in?

Friday night kickoff: Dinner out with the kids. = Bonding + satisfying basic physiological needs right?

Saturday: It snowed so we lounged around the house. I caught dinner and a movie with a girlfriend. = Kid time + me time

Sunday: Painted the living room with my daughter and two of her friends. = Completed item #1 on my honey-do list + female bonding

 
Monday: Carpet cleaners came to shampoo the carpets and the sofa. Kids and I ran errands while carpet dried. = Item #2 on honey-do list + more bonding

Tuesday: Son's doctor appt. Stopped in the office to catch up on a few things. Team called my vacation a "fake-cation". Afternoon massage. = Time with son + work + me time

Wednesday: Slept until noon. Went into the office in the afternoon. = Rest + work

Thursday: Antiquing with my daughter. Cleaning the house from top to bottom. = Item #3 on honey-do list + bonding 

Friday: Hanging out at the creek with the kids and the dogs. Put pesticide on the yard. = Item #4 on honey-do list + more bonding 

Saturday: Changed all the furnace filters in the house. Flew kites. Got attacked by kites. = Item #5 on honey-do list + more bonding

Sunday: Everyone is in their own rooms. = Enough bonding. Ready to go back to school/work.

Verdict? My honey-do list is complete. I'm caught up on work (my inbox is empty). And, my kids are sick of me. It's been a successful fake-cation.

Weedeating Like A Girl

I broke my weedeater a few weeks ago. A frequent occurrence with me, I've owned both gas and electric varieties in the past. I prefer electric because they're easy to start, but the cord is a real pain and often results in some sort of Olive Oyl performance on my part with the cord wrapped around my legs. So I was super excited when I got to Lowe's and saw Black & Decker's new Single Source product: a battery-powered trimmer/edger. Basically the same battery source (hence the name) can be used on a ton of B&D lawncare products. I'm also excited about how light girl-weight it is and easy to flip the head and convert into an edger. Take that neighbors! And in 9 hours, the battery will be charged and ready for trimming. Hope it doesn't rain ......

Working Out Like A Girl: A Dedication to a Woman of Distinction & Strength

I used to really hate working out. But thanks to my continuous desire to be addicted to something  . . . anything!  . . . I’ve grown to really love it.  I especially love my walks. I find myself really looking forward to them every day and creating playlists on my iPhone that are perfect for a good walk or run and depending on my mood. . . . Jack Johnson - if I’m feeling contemplative and jagged little angry female music - if I’m feeling . . . well, like a jagged little angry female.

 

We all have similar reasons for wanting to get in shape, either for aesthetics or for health. But I think the economy is playing a huge factor in the sudden increase in runners in my neighborhood. I think this recession has got us all terrified and maybe we’re running to relieve the stress or to vent our frustrations. Or maybe it’s the same reason that bulimic girls rush to the bathroom after downing a whole package of Double Stuff Oreos? Control. Our health, our bodies and our exercise regimen is the only thing right now we feel like we can control. But I digress.

 

My friend Lori started working out a little over a year ago for both aesthetic and health reasons. A co-worker, who could be classified as a walking Da Vinci “The Anatomy of Man” drawing, encouraged her to try Crossfit under his tutelage. They started in our office gym, but soon needed  a more inspiring environment, so she joined the local gym where he frequented. Keeping a journal of every day’s activity, she now works out Monday thru Friday for 20 minutes a day, doing dips, sit-ups, hang cleans, back squats and the list goes on. While she won’t admit it, the men in their little workout group say she keeps up with them on their reps and sets. It doesn’t come without its pains, however. She’s sore every day because she targets different parts of the body every day. “I love it. I can’t wait to see what I do next or what body part is sore next!”

 

To-date she has gone from a size 18 to an 8. “I’ve never worn an 8 as an adult. I wasn’t this thin when I married my husband 12 years ago”, she says.  Her goal is to wear a bikini without being embarrassed, although she admits that is really more a mental obstacle than a physical obstacle with most women. “I really just want to run with my kids and play baseball, ride bikes and just keep up without feeling out of breath or like I’m dying.”

 

According to Lori, she was never athletic as a kid. This never bothered her really because she has always wanted to be different and a distinct individual. “I’ve never wanted to be like everyone else.” Lori’s defining moment to get into shape, however, came from a comment from a kid who referred to her as “the fat mommy”. This was definitely not a label she wanted for herself and made a decision that her size was not going to be her distinction. “In order for this to work”, she says, “you need to decide to do it for you and not for anyone else.”  

 

Beautiful as ever, inside and out, Lori is committed to her workouts and also to branding her individualism. Never again to be called "the fat mommy", we know her, not only for delivering on her personal commitments, her glowing optimism, and sweet disposition, but also for her signature footwear: pink cowboy boots. She owns several pair and wears them better than any size 8 I know.

Vacationing Like A Girl

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to go to South Carolina. I’m not sure why, other than it has beaches and mountains and Charleston: ranked as the #1 city for female entrepreneurs. I’ve thought about that being the final destination for my retirement . . . way . . . way . . . way down the road. So I thought it would make for a great vacation for me and the kids. I mean, if I’m going to retire there, I better at least check it out first, right?

 Not enough money to fly all 3 of us (I heard there was a recession), so I decided to drive. The plan was to drive to Savannah, Georgia and stay a day to sight-see and then to Hilton Head, SC for some beach time. 

And since the kids have never seen the mountains, we took the northern route back through the Smokey Mountains.

That meant that we would see 10 states in 7 days!

We had a great time. It was hard coming home. It reminded me of that feeling you got as a kid playing outside with all the neighborhood kids and you suddenly hear your mom yelling for you that it’s time to come in. “Oh man. My mom’s calling. I guess I gotta go in now. See you guys tomorrow.” Super bummer.

Anyway, we made some awesome memories and South Carolina was everything I thought it would be. So here’s a top-line of vacationing like a girl:

Helpful Roadtrip Hints:

• Pack a cooler of drinks (non-alcoholic please – I’m out there driving too). Drinks at fast food places are outrageously overpriced.
• Pack snacks and easy breakfast items like yogurt (don’t forget the plastic spoons), granola bars and fruit.
• When you get to your final destination and it has a fridge, go grocery shopping.  Buy stuff to make sandwiches. Then you’ve got breakfast and lunch covered and you only have to eat dinner out.
• Map out your trip to take advantage of cheap gas. Visit www.gasbuddy.com.
• Put each of your kids in charge of something so they feel partly responsible for the success of the trip (keep in mind the lessons I learned below)

 Favorite Family Quotes From the Trip:

• “Don’t judge me”
• “Well THAT was anticlimactic”
• “Did you see what I did there?”

 Lessons Learned:

• There’s no such thing as “enough” sunscreen.
• Never put a 13-year-old boy in charge of the bag of snacks in the car. He’ll eat them all.
• Never put a 16-year-old girl who’s only been driving for 6 months in charge of the map and navigating.
• A flashlight is always handy. Always.

 

 

Drinking coffee like a girl

It's been a crazy week. We haven't been to the grocery store in awhile so we're out of milk. I ate the outer shell of a dreamsicle so I could have cream for my coffee. I'm proud of my brilliance because now I don't have to add sugar and the popsicle stick makes for a great stirrer.

Thinking Like A Girl

There is infinite evidence that goes way way WAY back in time, stacking up the physical, social, emotional and mental differences between men and women.  You know; that whole hunters and gatherers theory and then there’s protectors and nurturers, etc., etc. And today, although we may occasionally act alike, dress alike, talk alike, eat alike, exercise alike and work alike, the fact remains that we do not think alike. 

 

I read a terrific book a few years ago called “Men are like Waffles -- Women are like Spaghetti”.  The basic premise is that men have the ability to compartmentalize their thoughts like the little squares in waffles and women “noodle” their thoughts together like . . . well noodles. Everything is connected for us. At least we feel it should be.

 

For example, I may have a conversation with my hypothetical boyfriend (let’s call him Hugh Jackman) that goes something like, “I went to lunch with some friends today and I saw a Mustang in the restaurant parking lot just like the one you used to drive in college, only it was this really cool blue color. One of my friends told me she saw a great dress in a store window that was the same color and I thought that it would be great to stop by and see it after lunch because I needed a new dress for your company party tomorrow night because nothing in my closet fits me and I’m so bored with my wardrobe.  So I did and I bought it and what do you think? Does it make me look fat?”

 

He hesitates, of course, which sends us into a huge argument on my assumption that his hesitation means he really does think I’m fat and is too slow-thinking to cover it up and answer me right away! While in reality, he’s just thinking about the awesome Mustang he had in college and wishes he still had it.  He’s in his “waffle square”.   And I have managed to connect everything from the color of a car to a company party to needing a new dress to looking fat to having an ungrateful insensitive jerk for a boyfriend.  The good news is that he’s Hugh Jackman and I’m only mad for like 10 seconds.

 

Anyway . . . men are amazingly talented at compartmentalizing their thoughts along with their activity at hand. For example, NEVER attempt to talk about your relationship when he’s in the garage trying to fix the car. He’s fixing his car. And guess what? When you gaze lovingly at your husband as you drive down the highway on your it’s-been-a-long-time-coming getaway weekend and he has a blank look on his face and you ask him what he’s thinking about and he says, “nothing”, he means it. He’s really thinking about NOTHING. I’m not judging. I’m truly jealous.  It’s actually possible to think about nothing . . . for him . . . not for you and not for me, because we think like a girl.

Click Here For More Info on "Men Are Like Waffles--Women Are Like Spaghetti"

Rocking the 80s Like A Girl

No big story here. Just loved the get-ups my friend and I wore to an 80s party we went to last weekend. My naturally big hair was meant to live in the 80s . . . or Dallas. Whichever.
 

Bonus Blog: Buying a Lawn Mower Like A Girl

Previous post wasn’t nearly as entertaining to me as the story behind the story. I’m considered pretty frugal by most folks so the fact that I even own a riding lawnmower is a bit odd. But there’s a good story behind it.

 

Many of us girls make purchases based on sheer emotion, mostly depression, sadness, loneliness and the desire to fill a void, sometimes jealousy or resentment that we don’t have what others have, and sometimes it’s joy that drives us to buy something for ourselves as a reward for a job-well-done. Me? I often shop out of hatred and anger. We can call it wrath if you want. I’m a wrath-shopper. That’s how I got my riding lawnmower.

 

I used to have a push mower, but like most things (hence the reason for this blog) it broke down. After waiting what seemed like months to get it out of the “mower shop”, I got it home and still didn’t have the upper body strength to start it. The neighbor kid saw my struggles so came over to start it for me. (Stop laughing!) I gleefully started my mowing endeavor, taking extra care to go slow because the grass was super tall since it had been in the shop for so long. I didn’t want the mower to choke on all the grass and die on me because then I’d have to trouble the poor neighbor kid again. (Seriously, nobody wants to live next to me. I’m so high-maintenance.)

 

So I’m mowing along and suddenly, one side of the handle bar falls off! A small wingnut had fallen out during transport from the mower shop and thus the handlebar became disconnected. I couldn’t let go of my hold on it because it would trigger the safety and the mower would shut off. What’s a girl to do in this situation? The answer?  Scream.

 

I began yelling for one of my kids at the top of my lungs over the mower to get some duct tape for me. My daughter came out with a roll and taped the handlebar back together. Crisis averted, I continued to mow. But alas, the grass was too much for my poor push mower. It choked. It died.

 

Here’s where the wrath part comes in. Although I didn’t have the strength to start the stupid thing, I sure found enough to pick it up and hurl it across my backyard. I slung it around like a high school track and field discus throwing event and then the next words out of my mouth were “Kids! Get in the car. We’re going to Sears!”

Mowing Like A Girl

It seems like every May when I FINALLY cave and decide to mow my lawn for the first time of the season, my lawn mower refuses to start. It happens every time. It’s usually the battery. So I bought a little 12 v battery charger at Wal-Mart for just such an occasion. This year it did the same thing. I turned the key and click, click, click. Nothing.

 

So I got out my trusty little charger. (Cute, huh?)

I pulled the battery out of the mower, hooked it up, and let it charge. Once it charged, I put it back in the mower and got it all reconnected again. I hopped on and turned the key, but still . . . nothing. Hopped off and tried to tighten the battery cables and got a fresh reminder that I’m not strong enough. Sad, but true. Not enough upper body strength for lawn mower battery cables even.

 

I thought a wrench might be a good idea to help tighten the wing nuts on the cables, but just when I started to reach in to the battery, I thought to myself “Is this safe? Should I be touching the battery posts with a metal object?”

 

You ever have one of those moments that you honestly don’t know what to do so you call upon all your past experiences to help you problem-solve and all these different images start running through your mind? Well, all my helpful problem-solving experiences usually come from movies. So I started recalling all those 1950s grease monkey movies where the guy is up to his elbows in the engine of his car and his buddy is standing by ready to pass him a wrench or something. Then there’s the shot of the mechanic cleaning off the huge wrench with a filthy shop rag. You know the one.

 

So it HAD to be okay. Hollywood wouldn’t mislead me! But still unconvinced that it was safe, I ran back in the house for my rubber dish gloves because Mr. Frahm in 8^th grade science said that rubber is not a conductor of electricity. Did I wear the gloves while tightening the cables with a wrench? Not exactly. I actually put the wrench inside the glove with my hand just to be extra safe.

 

Laugh if you want, but my lawn looks awesome!

Networking Like A Girl

Had a great conversation with a friend in a Chicago cab today about proper networking etiquette. It's interesting to survey the landscape at an event that has been specifically designed to allow for networking only to find that few (10% if I'm feeling generous) do it well. The other 90% cluster in groups to talk to people they already know. Those 10%, however, will seek out two people that they know who don't know each other and introduce them. The hope is that those two will return the favor and thus the network is built.

It's not a new principle. You'll find it at the heart of any Jane Austin book. Only it's called "social etiquette" and it's worn like a badge of honor. Characters in her stories are admired and respected for their introductions and match-making skills. So here's to the 10% of you Professional Cupids out there doing it right. Now could one of you please introduce me to Ty Pennington?