Monday, July 11, 2011
I have been thinking a lot about messages and communications lately. How we talk past each other. How we disagree ... kinda. How we say one thing but imply another. How being online distorts, changes, transmogrifies and royally screws up the layers, textures and nuances of meaning, and how an emoticon is a poor substitute for how we really feel.
I went to a forums site recently, one that I had not been to before. Like 99% of the planet, I skimmed the Terms of Service when I signed on. Then I went to a welcome area and I told people, I'm new here but have been on forums for over 9 years (it's probably 10 by now, and I've been in forum management for it'll be 9 years next month).
And all was well until I made some wave or another. Which, truth be told, might've been prevented by a much more careful reading of their Terms of Service, going over it, syllable by syllable, much like people go over the Zapruder film frame by frame. The big rule that I violated (and I checked this!), was buried amidst other rules, rules that seemed more important. Essentially what that site had done, as they say in the journalism biz -- they buried the lede. What that means is, the most important piece of the rules (to them) was not spelled out, clearly, bodly, importantly, etc., front and center, first on the list.
Nope. It was down there.
So I suggested, maybe change the order of the rules. Not change the rules. Just, move them around and put your Numero Uno really up there as #1. Or, perhaps, do something to your software, adding a reminder or feature that can really spell this out.
And, I had my head handed to me.
I will not go into specifics (the site has naught to do with diets, exercise, health anyway). It did make me a bit peeved (including when I was told the protocol for going to a new site -- uh, I've been going to new sites for years. I do actually know the drill). This should not bother me, but it does, and it is not because I had my hand slapped (it's been slapped before, and it will be slapped again, I have little doubt), as rather that it seemed that so much of the communication going on was at cross-purposes. Mixed messages were spiked with what certainly looked like anger, then the anger was denied even more vehemently, and around and around we go (and yeah, I offered an apology, was told there was no anger, and then my head was handed back to me again. WTF?).
My husband has heard me complain about this treatment for days, and he finally said: Sever all ties.
And of course he is absolutely, 100% correct about that. And I make an effort to do that but it's the nagging question of: could communications have been better?
And that brings me to my point and the actual connection to here on Sparkpeople.
I see people asking all sorts of interesting questions that, essentially, truly just boil down to communications:
* How can I tell my mother-in-law to stop offering me seconds?
* How can I tell my husband he's eating himself to death?
* What can I tell people (some zinger) when they are mean about my weight?
And on and on, ad infinitum, as if we were all back in Junior High.
And I dunno about you, but I was last in Junior High a good 35 (yes, really) years ago. I'm glad to be done with that, and have no desire to return.
Are we all really so bad at communicating, at telling people what we want, that we cannot do it? I can understand a teen being confused, or even a younger adult, perhaps, being befuddled. But at a certain point, shouldn't experience and (somewhat) common sense kick in? I wonder. Are we all so intimidated by others, so afraid of making offense or, whatever, that we cannot (with grace, good humor and KINDNESS) tell each other what we need to?
Kindness, yeah, that's a good one. Criticism is fine, and when it's leavened with kindness, there's a fighting chance that it will sink in. When it is not ... it is easy to tune it all out, yes?
Good humor, yeah, there's another one. Humor in understanding our shared foibles, as opposed to mean spiritedly laughing at each other. Do we do that? Not outwardly, but there are judgments, even here, yes. Don't deny it, folks. I've heard 'em -- oh, I did it all without drugs (therefore I am superior) or I did it all without plastic surgery (and therefore I am superior) or I never let myself get that big (whatever the magic figure is -- and therefore I am superior).
And grace, too, as we are on the receiving end of it at times. But I don't think there's anything wrong with pushing back when you need to. If a reaction to you is all out of proportion, well, I say feel strong enough to push back and face that reaction, and challenge it.
We are the message.
Monday, July 04, 2011
Y'know, today I am wearing a top that -- gasp! -- shows my navel.
The top is short and the capris are low and so, yeah, you can see it. It's, eh, it's not the nicest one in the world. I had a tummy tuck a year ago and the way my navel healed is that it ended up very shallow, almost looking (but not quite) like an outie. Don't really wanna post pics of it but at least I have one -- there are people who get tucks who lose 'em, which has gotta be really bizarre, like you've stepped into some odd, alternate Stepford Wives/Barbie dream house universe or something.
So I have one, and it is imperfect, and I do not have a flat stomach so that is imperfect, but yanno something? I am wearing the top and the capris anyway.
I have seen folks who constantly harp on things that others should not wear. Oh, she's too fat for a short skirt. Oh, he should stick to dark colors. She shouldn't go strapless. He has no business being in shorts. Or whatever.
And while I am as in favor of happy, pretty aesthetics as anyone is, I suppose, the takeaway for me is -- I am a damned grownup and you are not gonna tell me how to dress. I am well aware that I need to wear a suit for job interviews. And I should not go swimming in blue jeans. And my clothes needs to cover my private parts. And certain clothes can invoke certain reactions or judgments about me, e. g. thoughts that I am cheap, or authoritative, or poor, or educated or whatever. I get all of that.
But I am still a grownup. And if I wanna show my wacky navel then dammit, I'm gonna show it. If you don't like it, well, my eyes are up here, anyway.
That is my Declaration of Independence today.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Ah, and here is the week where I lose 1/3 of what I gained last week.
So why is it so often that the highs are no so high, but the lows can be devastating?
We are nuts here, many of us, overthinking the scale, cramming as much control into our days as possible, oh so carefully balancing work, home, family, life and calorie cycling as well. Oops, can't have carbs from a yellow vegetable because it's 9 AM on a Monday. Oh, no!
Breaches in our routines throw us for considerably larger loops than they should. And we worship and track and pay attention to the scale in a manner that is not good for us. It occupies a position of far more importance than it should.
Now, I am not knocking calorie cyclers. If that works for you, hey, have at it. And I am well aware that, for many diabetics, life is kinda like that whether you want it to be, or not. I am also not saying to pitch your scale out the window, despite how tempting that may seem. It is a useful tool. IF YOU LOOK AT IT ONCE PER WEEK.
After that, though, really, what are you expecting to see? I ate a grape yesterday, let's see what happened? Cripes, you ate a damned grape! It was, what, 2 calories? I got news for you. The scale will only tell you one of three things:
1) you lost weight. Was it because of the grape? No, it was because of other good choices, and from working out.
2) you gained weight. Was it because of the grape? No, it was because of other choices, and they may even have been good ones but there may be something else at work, like water retention or the workout wasn't as good as you thought it was or the diet gods are laughing at you this week.
3) you stayed the same. Was it because of the grape? Helfino.
Substitute grape for Pasta Alla Puttanesca or spelt or pizza or birthday cake or whatever and you get thousands of inner conversations that so many of us have as we step on the scale.
I refuse to have those internal conversations anymore. I am sick of them.
I pledge to you, from now on - I will step on the scale on Monday morning ONLY. And I will lose, or I will gain, or I will stay the same. And the world will not break away from orbit and spin off its axis and life as we know it will not end because I wasn't insane for every single minute of every single day. This does not mean that I stop tracking, or I stop working out, or I stop eating well or that I stop caring. No.
It means that I am going to do my level best to stop obsessing.
It's just overkill.
Monday, June 20, 2011
By all rights, I should be angry.
I should be screaming and swearing at my betraying body that has, in one week, gained back the two back to back hard-fought losses of the prior two weeks. You know, the first losses in God knows how long?
Yeah, I should be PO'd.
And it's weird, but I'm not.
It is PMS time (which explains much of the gain, I suppose), and I should be RAILING.
I am also waiting to hear on two possible jobs. For people who told me last week that I'd hear by the end of that week. And the previous week they had made that promise about the prior week. Yeah, I should be LIVID.
But I'm strangely not.
Perhaps I've hit the zen sweet spot. I don't know.
I do know that getting angry and laying blame hasn't done a damned bit of good. All that's gotten me is tired. Not thinner, not faster, not a job. Just tired.
Now, this is not gonna be a rah-rah blog about how adversity is good for us, yadda yadda yadda.
Truth be told, adversity STINKS. Even if you want to do difficult things, there just comes a point where you wanna cry Uncle, where the 27+ miles walked and the 1600 - 1800 calorie diet followed last week shoulda done SOMETHING. It can be hard to make that effort and to feel that it is all for naught -- but the truth is, it was not for nothing.
Alas, though, it does not always come across on the scale. What is most maddening is the fact that putting it on is EASY. It does not take much to slip. It is, you are often like the little Dutch boy, with his finger in the dike, trying to hold back the river and finding it nigh well impossible.
But taking it off is HARD. Don't EVER let ANYONE tell you that this is easy. The first few steps can, actually, feel easy. But the long haul, the years, the miles, the stacked up plates full of good food choices that stretch from here to the moon?
Those are difficult.
This journey takes a LOT. Don't ever let anyone tell you this is a walk in the park, even if you're walking in the park when they tell you that.
You are the strongest people I know.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Ha, you thought, perhaps, that the clothing rant was over!
Oh, no, mes amis. It is far from over.
Let us, ahem, discuss what is, erm, under the shirt. And the pants.
I am speaking, of course, of our skivvies. How many of us walk around all day and are uncomfortable?
Now, I am well aware that constructing a bra is, in many ways, a job for the Army Corps of Engineers. It is a complex system of angles, pads, hooks, straps, cups and, perhaps, a bit of anti-gravity. There are different types, too, for enhancement or minimizing or whatever. It's a wonder any of 'em are relatively inexpensive, truth be told.
But why, oh why, is it that finding the right fit is so dang complicated? It is a set of measurements. And it is actually more measurement-driven than any other piece of women's clothing. It should be EASY to get a bra that fits.
I am a 36C. This morning, when I measured myself, my bust was 39.25" and my band was 35.5". According to Macy's www.macys.com/campaign/social?campai
gn_id=39&channel_id=1 I am a 36C, whether you go with a 35 or a 36 for my band size. Well, all righty then!
Except that I gap out on the sides, unless I am wearing a sports bra.
It is supposed to actually fit me! So -- here's a wacky idea -- unless it's some sort of a hotsy-totsy ooh la la type of bra, couldya people make it with higher sides? Otherwise, it looks like I am stuffing into something that does not fit.
And now to head southward.
I have found that Fruit of the Loom fit. Hanes Her Way, for me, do not. Same size (6 these days). Really, this should not be a radical difference. Yet it is! For, while I can get both types on me, the latter manufacturer's product, ahem, has a lovely tendency to go to places where it is not supposed to go.
My only advice is -- and you can't try these on in a store, so you end up buyin' 'em, is to try on, wear for a day, and see how often (if at all) you have to tug. Life is too short to be tugging. Know what I'm sayin'?
By the way, this can be a male issue as well, according to my husband.
Finally, something that more people will see -- shorts. How many people here wear shorts that continually ride up if you walk for more than, I dunno, a block?
My husband even has this happen to him, and he is a good 30 lbs. lighter than I am, and with decent legs (there's your ooh la la right there) without thigh rubbing. So why is he getting ride up?
My request to shorts makers - I dunno, but FIND A WAY. Perhaps the bottom part of each leg could be cuffed with a very slight weight in it? Of course longer shorts, like the kind that hit at the knee or so, have much less of this problem. But those are no good when it's 90 out. I would like to be able to wear shorts in skeery hot weather without, among the other things I deal with in life, also have to spend my time figuring out how I am going to, surrepitiously, adjust 'em. Over and over and over again.
I swear we will have World Peace a lot faster if all underwear issues could get resolved.
So, to all undergarment manufacturers out there -- pun intended, of course -- GET CRACKIN'!
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