The other day, a business associate called and, as is our custom, we chit-chatted for about 10 minutes prior to getting to the point of her call. See, she’s originally from the Jersey Shore and now lives in San Francisco, so she has this fantastic East Coast mentality with West Coast energy-thing, which I find both interesting and friendly. Having worked together for a number of years, she always asks how Rufus and CawfeeMate are doing, and refers to him as my “partner”; CawfeeMate, not Rufus.
Let me be honest (‘cuz, y’know, I’ve been lying this whole time): of all the ways that one could refer to CawfeeMate, “partner” is one of my least favorite (behind “special friend” and “roommate”); by now, most of you know that words matter to me. When I hear the word “partner” I think of two things: 70’s/80’s cop shows like Cagney and Lacey and Starsky & Hutch, where you were bound to hear one refer to the other as their partner when talking to a third party and Bewitched where Darren worked for McMahon and Tate; we always saw Larry Tate, but never his partner, _____ McMahon*. I’m a child of the TV generation; sue me.
Anyway, the point I’m driving at is this: to me, “partner” is such an emotionless and clinical term for a relationship; it purports that the relationship would not be there if the two people weren’t working towards a common goal and removes all romantic connotations. Even the alternatives provided by the MS Word Thesaurus sound decidedly unromantic (“associate”, “colleague”, “cohort”, “equal”, and “co-worker”). While one might certainly argue the homo-erotic subtext found in both Cagney and Lacey and Starsky & Hutch, the relationships were work related. That’s not my relationship with CawfeeMate; he’s my husband. Emotionally, spiritually and legally.
Showing posts with label "work" is a four letter word. Show all posts
Showing posts with label "work" is a four letter word. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Open for Business
So after about a year of kicking the idea around with CawfeeMate, and with Magenta as my seasoned business advisor, I’ve finally started selling my wares to my adoring public on Etsy! The shop has been up and running for about 2 weeks and I’ve already had a couple of special orders; a former co-worker commissioned a puppy sweater like one I made for Rufus and her friend commissioned a pair of fingerless gloves. I’ve also created a Facebook page to promote the business, so people can see other stuff I’ve made and get ideas for what they may want.
Friday, January 06, 2012
Reading Listening is Fundamental
Before I became an avid knitter, I was an avid reader. My utterly ridiculous commute lends itself to between two and three hours of downtime a day and I’m not the “sit around twiddling his thumbs” kinda fella. I would spend that time reading (or playing my Nintendo DS) and was able to bang out a book or two every week. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly reading the Idiot or Gone with the Wind, I was mostly reading fluffy fiction that didn’t weigh too heavily on my brain (or my bag); ‘escape reading’ I call it. It was a great way to kill the time between work and home, though it still left me antsy and frustrated when the trip took too long. It wasn’t like knitting, where I often hope for a subway delay or traffic so I can work a few more rows; it also taught me the valuable lesson of having a 2nd book in my bag (or, later, queued upon my Kindle) which now has become having a back-up project with me in case I finish what I’m working on. Anyway, I’ve always loved to read and, as much as I love knitting more, I miss it. There are more than a few authors who’ve put out new titles since I stopped reading and I’m sort of anxious to find out what they’re up to. So, how can I get back into reading without sacrificing my coveted knitting time? Audio books.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
What're You Sellin'?
I absolutely love posting pics of my FO’s on Facebook. It’s incredibly gratifying when my FB friends treat everything I post like the most awesome thing they’ve ever seen and pepper the pics with comments dripping in praise; It’s a total ego boost and I fully intend to keep posting as long as they continue to oooh and aaah.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Tic Toc Tic Toc Tic Toc
Okay, I’ll admit it: I live by certain sets of rules. I have rules for just about everything: being a straphanger, grammar, workplace etiquette, winter driving; the list of lists of rules goes on for days. These rules (and many more*) have taken me 35 years to craft and have served me well over that time. There’s one rule, though, that I’ve come to think of as a matter of social convention; one that almost everyone must should abide by: punctuality.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Wishful Thinking
I'm a simple and reasonable guy, i think. I really don't want alot in life. If Aladdin's genie gave me three wishes, I'd probably be at a loss for what to do with the third one. In fact, with my birthday having just passed, I found myself wishing for only two things when it came time to blow out my candles: time and money.
Friday, July 22, 2011
You Don't Have to Be Crazy to Work Here...
It seems there are a few things that weren't covered in the new hire orientation or in the employee handbook we need to read and affirm annually:
1. Elevator etiquette: if you see someone running towards the elevator, and there’s room, hold the door for them. We’re all in a hurry to go somewhere, whether it’s home or up to your desk, would it kill you show some courtesy? Oh and when/if they do make it in time and cause the doors to re-open so they can get on, don’t give them attitude/face; you’re the jerk, not them.
2. Speaker of the House: unless you’re in your own office, with a door that closes, speakerphone is incredibly irritating to those around you. how 'bout picking up that receiver, buddy?
3. Potty Mouth: guys, if you’re too pee shy to use a urinal, at least have the decency to lift the seat in the stall. Or, if you can’t wait that long, clean it off afterward, y’filthy animal.
4. Spellbound: outlook has spell check, built-in, let it do its job…please.
5. Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood: your cubicle is not a self contained biosphere sealing you off from your co-workers, other people can see you picking your nose, hear you belching and smell your wretched lunch.
6. Door Jam:ladies bitches, having a door held open for you is a privilege, not a right; try saying “thank you” and reciprocating once in a while
7. Finger Print: Printer etiquette has been a pet peeve of mine, for years; so much so, that it had a list of its own, way back when and then again, a few years later. i still stand behind both posts.
ladies
1. Elevator etiquette: if you see someone running towards the elevator, and there’s room, hold the door for them. We’re all in a hurry to go somewhere, whether it’s home or up to your desk, would it kill you show some courtesy? Oh and when/if they do make it in time and cause the doors to re-open so they can get on, don’t give them attitude/face; you’re the jerk, not them.
2. Speaker of the House: unless you’re in your own office, with a door that closes, speakerphone is incredibly irritating to those around you. how 'bout picking up that receiver, buddy?
3. Potty Mouth: guys, if you’re too pee shy to use a urinal, at least have the decency to lift the seat in the stall. Or, if you can’t wait that long, clean it off afterward, y’filthy animal.
4. Spellbound: outlook has spell check, built-in, let it do its job…please.
5. Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood: your cubicle is not a self contained biosphere sealing you off from your co-workers, other people can see you picking your nose, hear you belching and smell your wretched lunch.
6. Door Jam:
7. Finger Print: Printer etiquette has been a pet peeve of mine, for years; so much so, that it had a list of its own, way back when and then again, a few years later. i still stand behind both posts.
ladies
Monday, July 11, 2011
My Semi-Annual Post
Wow. Another six months have gone by since I last blogged. Ain’t that some shit?
So what, you may ask, has happened in those last six months? Quite alot, actually, but here are some of thee highlights…
So what, you may ask, has happened in those last six months? Quite alot, actually, but here are some of thee highlights…
- CawfeeMate finally finished his doctorate in Physical Therapy, making him Dr. CawfeeMate DPT and me a ridiculously proud doctor’s wife. His graduation was marked by a trip to Phoenix, Arizona where I promptly fell in love with another city that is anywhere but New York.
- I finally finished my goddamn Wallaby, after about nine months and love how it came out! Somewhere around the six month mark I hit a proverbial snag and was left incredibly discouraged and frustrated. I put it down for about two months and then went back with fresh eyes and fingers (working on quite a few other projects in the interim). Its completion was a catalyst to broaden my repertoire and challenge my abilities within those categories. I now crank out socks, gloves, hats, coffee cup cozies and (my current piece) a laptop cover, in all sorts of stitch and cable patterns. I’ve learned a tremendous amount from The Yarn Girl, Magenta Sequins and YouTube. I’ve also begun to take requests from friends and family and have started making gifts for people other than CawfeeMate.
- My other great obsession, which rivals knitting, is Words With Friends on the iPhone. I’ve got eleven games going, at the moment, and usually spend half my commute (and part of the day), trying my best not to have my ass handed to me by the likes of Breen Lantern and Magenta Sequins. Luckily, Bri-the-Pie-Guy doesn't play.
- Very recently, I left the department which caused me nothing but heartache and misery for more than two years; choosing staying within the same company. this follows a huge bout of layoffs which pared down my old department to bare bones and had me working 60+ hours a week. So far, it’s been a better move for me, at least inasmuch as I finally get to spend time with CawfeeMate and Rufus. Plus, it’s great knowing that the job which I did now takes three people. I’m really looking forward to all the challenges that have come with the move.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Knit Wittery
I'm sure you remember, back before I'd taken my "blog hiatus", that I was in a desperate search for a way to focus my creative energy; work was slowly sucking the life out of me on a daily basis and blogging just wasn't cutting it. i felt like i spent 90% of my current life being a soulless automaton in an enormous corporate production of It's a Small World and it was incredibly depressing. I needed to make something; put something...anything..."out there".
as some of my readers know, before I was a white collar drone I was a retail queen. retail offered oodles of time for creative pursuits. when worked retail I wrote hundreds of really bad poems and drew, in my spare time. back in college i was an "actor" in the campus' theater group, starring in 3 productions a year four the four years I was
there. in short, I'd never not had a creative outlet or arena of expression.
I'd thought about taking a cake decorating class at the local Michael's or A.C. Moore, but couldn't find one to fit into my schedule. plus, how much cake can you really eat? then I thought about ceramics/pottery, but there's nothing like that on La Isla del Staten; apparently SI housewives don't like mud, who knew? manhattan was out of the question because of the commute. i was completely frustrated. i hated my job, had no time to myself to do the things i wanted to do and was angry because of the overwhelming feelings of suffocation from both.
then one weekend Magenta and Chewie came over and M had a project she was itching to show me. now, she'd been knitting for a couple of years and, while I'd always been really interested in seeing what she was cranking out, it never seemed like a viable hobby for me. I mean really though, how many guys do you know who knit? knitting was for grandmas and creepy, crunchy, cat ladies; it's a woman's hobby. then I had a two pronged media inspired epiphany.
first, I'd just finished reading Joel Derfner's Swish (My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever), the first chapter of which was all about being a guy who knitted. I was inspired. I mean, yeah, the whole idea of a guy knitting is stereotypically gay, but jumpin judas priest on a pogo stick, I'm secure enough in my masculinity (as fleeting and negligible as it is) and my gaity to march in parades and walk through the mall holding my husband's hand; why not try knitting? surely i'm that gay.
secondly, we'd just watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy where crazy cancerous Izzy spent the entire episode, in bed, knitting a hideous orange and green ribbed scarf. if Katherine Heigel could do it, so could I!
so, about a week after my initial mishap, armed with two size 10's and YouTube, it clicked. a week later, i had made a scarf! the next thing I knew, I was knitting all the time in my spare time; 'cuz see, my "spare time"' is my commuting time and my hour and a half in between getting home from work and going to bed. so, there I was, on the bus, train, subway platform and bench outside my office before work, knitting and purling like a man possessed!
like Joel Derfner, I learned the lingo, the mechanics and the nuances of "good yarn" and "fast needles". scarves, hats, blankets, needle rolls, tea cozies, coffee cup sleeves, iPod socks and headphone pads all tumbled out of my needles. i felt like rumplestiltskin...only taller. i was creating, again and it felt marvelous.
I've been knitting now for about 8 months and am working on my 1st sweater/hoodie, thanks to a great class at my local yarn shop, led by a truly terrific teacher. it's a continual learning process that, sometimes, makes me want to stick a size 6 in my ear, but I'm loving it. I've found a hobby that works for me and makes me feel great; MS and I bounce ideas and patterns off each other and I've never felt closer to her. i also can't thank her enough for introducing me to this art, which under the right circumstances, could turn into a life long habit/addiction that could, potentially bankrupt me. i mean have you seen the price of a good silk/cashmere blend lately?
as some of my readers know, before I was a white collar drone I was a retail queen. retail offered oodles of time for creative pursuits. when worked retail I wrote hundreds of really bad poems and drew, in my spare time. back in college i was an "actor" in the campus' theater group, starring in 3 productions a year four the four years I was
there. in short, I'd never not had a creative outlet or arena of expression.
I'd thought about taking a cake decorating class at the local Michael's or A.C. Moore, but couldn't find one to fit into my schedule. plus, how much cake can you really eat? then I thought about ceramics/pottery, but there's nothing like that on La Isla del Staten; apparently SI housewives don't like mud, who knew? manhattan was out of the question because of the commute. i was completely frustrated. i hated my job, had no time to myself to do the things i wanted to do and was angry because of the overwhelming feelings of suffocation from both.
then one weekend Magenta and Chewie came over and M had a project she was itching to show me. now, she'd been knitting for a couple of years and, while I'd always been really interested in seeing what she was cranking out, it never seemed like a viable hobby for me. I mean really though, how many guys do you know who knit? knitting was for grandmas and creepy, crunchy, cat ladies; it's a woman's hobby. then I had a two pronged media inspired epiphany.
first, I'd just finished reading Joel Derfner's Swish (My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever), the first chapter of which was all about being a guy who knitted. I was inspired. I mean, yeah, the whole idea of a guy knitting is stereotypically gay, but jumpin judas priest on a pogo stick, I'm secure enough in my masculinity (as fleeting and negligible as it is) and my gaity to march in parades and walk through the mall holding my husband's hand; why not try knitting? surely i'm that gay.
secondly, we'd just watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy where crazy cancerous Izzy spent the entire episode, in bed, knitting a hideous orange and green ribbed scarf. if Katherine Heigel could do it, so could I!
so, about a week after my initial mishap, armed with two size 10's and YouTube, it clicked. a week later, i had made a scarf! the next thing I knew, I was knitting all the time in my spare time; 'cuz see, my "spare time"' is my commuting time and my hour and a half in between getting home from work and going to bed. so, there I was, on the bus, train, subway platform and bench outside my office before work, knitting and purling like a man possessed!
like Joel Derfner, I learned the lingo, the mechanics and the nuances of "good yarn" and "fast needles". scarves, hats, blankets, needle rolls, tea cozies, coffee cup sleeves, iPod socks and headphone pads all tumbled out of my needles. i felt like rumplestiltskin...only taller. i was creating, again and it felt marvelous.
I've been knitting now for about 8 months and am working on my 1st sweater/hoodie, thanks to a great class at my local yarn shop, led by a truly terrific teacher. it's a continual learning process that, sometimes, makes me want to stick a size 6 in my ear, but I'm loving it. I've found a hobby that works for me and makes me feel great; MS and I bounce ideas and patterns off each other and I've never felt closer to her. i also can't thank her enough for introducing me to this art, which under the right circumstances, could turn into a life long habit/addiction that could, potentially bankrupt me. i mean have you seen the price of a good silk/cashmere blend lately?
Friday, November 27, 2009
Bleeech Friday
this is the 1st Black Friday i've worked in about 6 years and, lemme tell you: never again.
my tradition of taking off, the day after Thanksgiving, dates back to my days in retail. See, for those of you who don't know, i was a retail whore for close to ten years. The Staten Island Mall was my stomping ground, and i worked the corner of a Ma & Pop suit store (where i spent nearly 9 years) and Sam Goody, throughout college and beyond. looking back with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, smeared with the vaseline of being a corporate/finance drone, i can honestly say that those were good days; the hours were great, the pay was good (well above minimum wage) and i liked the people. Black Friday was the high holy day of retail, which meant a guaranteed open-to-close work day for senior staffers and commission on the sales you made (or those "given" to you by the cashiers). Black Friday set the tone for entire Christmas Season, and its psychotically frenzied atmosphere was a harbinger of the crazy days which lasted till New Year's Eve. it was not at all uncommon for the hours to fly by like minutes, leaving you hungry and thirsty because you'd skipped both breakfast and lunch. it was glorious.
the meaning of Black Friday changed, post-retail. sure i'd haul out the Christmas CD's and start writing out cards, but it also meant i didn't have to work, to make money. joining corporate america meant "paid vacation days" and what better way to use one than to give oneself a 4 day weekend following a bi-annual schlepp to Long Island*? after our 1st Thanksgiving spent on Long Island, i realized that getting home close to midnight and having to get up for work the next day was about as palatable as CawfeeMate's WASP aunt's cooking. There began the tradition of taking off on Black Friday.
Black Friday now took on a new meaning: post-Thanksgiving clean up and Christmas decorating! it was a glorious tradition which went wonderfully smooth, until this year. just like all the previous years, i put my vacation request in on January 2nd and didn't give it a 2nd thought. That is, until K---y, my dimwitted co-worker, came to me in September to let me know she'd be off this week. When i asked her how that was possible, she shrugged and told me that Cunty had granted signed off on her request that day. Apparently, Cunty never put me in for the day; livid does not even begin to explain how i felt.
so, here i am, at work on Black Friday wishing i wasn't. Everybody else in the world seems to be off, but i'm here at my desk (despite the numerous commuting hurdles i had to jump this morning, which got me here half an hour late). it could be worse, though. my office could've had a Door Buster.
*When the huz and i had 1st met, we realized that the holidays would be dicey. Both coming from Italian-American backgrounds, the holidays are a big deal to our mothers; in the interest of fairness, equinimity and to minimize agita, we decided to alternate the holidays: Thanksgiving at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Christmas Eve at Chateau CawfeeMateMom, Christmas Day at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Easter at Chateau CawfeeMateMom; the following year we'd switch (despite my mom swearing we spent all the holidays with my in-laws). on the years we'd spend Thanksgiving with the CawfeeMate family, we'd drive out to Long Island which meant leaving early in the morning and getting home late at night (the drive between LI and SI is nothing but bumper to bumber traffic).
my tradition of taking off, the day after Thanksgiving, dates back to my days in retail. See, for those of you who don't know, i was a retail whore for close to ten years. The Staten Island Mall was my stomping ground, and i worked the corner of a Ma & Pop suit store (where i spent nearly 9 years) and Sam Goody, throughout college and beyond. looking back with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, smeared with the vaseline of being a corporate/finance drone, i can honestly say that those were good days; the hours were great, the pay was good (well above minimum wage) and i liked the people. Black Friday was the high holy day of retail, which meant a guaranteed open-to-close work day for senior staffers and commission on the sales you made (or those "given" to you by the cashiers). Black Friday set the tone for entire Christmas Season, and its psychotically frenzied atmosphere was a harbinger of the crazy days which lasted till New Year's Eve. it was not at all uncommon for the hours to fly by like minutes, leaving you hungry and thirsty because you'd skipped both breakfast and lunch. it was glorious.
the meaning of Black Friday changed, post-retail. sure i'd haul out the Christmas CD's and start writing out cards, but it also meant i didn't have to work, to make money. joining corporate america meant "paid vacation days" and what better way to use one than to give oneself a 4 day weekend following a bi-annual schlepp to Long Island*? after our 1st Thanksgiving spent on Long Island, i realized that getting home close to midnight and having to get up for work the next day was about as palatable as CawfeeMate's WASP aunt's cooking. There began the tradition of taking off on Black Friday.
Black Friday now took on a new meaning: post-Thanksgiving clean up and Christmas decorating! it was a glorious tradition which went wonderfully smooth, until this year. just like all the previous years, i put my vacation request in on January 2nd and didn't give it a 2nd thought. That is, until K---y, my dimwitted co-worker, came to me in September to let me know she'd be off this week. When i asked her how that was possible, she shrugged and told me that Cunty had granted signed off on her request that day. Apparently, Cunty never put me in for the day; livid does not even begin to explain how i felt.
so, here i am, at work on Black Friday wishing i wasn't. Everybody else in the world seems to be off, but i'm here at my desk (despite the numerous commuting hurdles i had to jump this morning, which got me here half an hour late). it could be worse, though. my office could've had a Door Buster.
*When the huz and i had 1st met, we realized that the holidays would be dicey. Both coming from Italian-American backgrounds, the holidays are a big deal to our mothers; in the interest of fairness, equinimity and to minimize agita, we decided to alternate the holidays: Thanksgiving at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Christmas Eve at Chateau CawfeeMateMom, Christmas Day at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Easter at Chateau CawfeeMateMom; the following year we'd switch (despite my mom swearing we spent all the holidays with my in-laws). on the years we'd spend Thanksgiving with the CawfeeMate family, we'd drive out to Long Island which meant leaving early in the morning and getting home late at night (the drive between LI and SI is nothing but bumper to bumber traffic).
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thursday Morning Cop Out Post II
ach. i'm totally swamped after an almost* depressingly unremarkable four day weekend. i've got 3 or 4 posts in my head but not nearly enough time to get them on paper. sorry kids, maybe tomorrow...
*the highlight was monday's all-too-brief lunch with Mrs Bri-the-Pie-Guy and their bouncing baby boy, which really just served to make me miss her even more than i already do.
*the highlight was monday's all-too-brief lunch with Mrs Bri-the-Pie-Guy and their bouncing baby boy, which really just served to make me miss her even more than i already do.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Top 10 Reasons Why I Don't Like Vacation
10. my job always seems infinitely more pointless and unfulfilling when i get back
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6. no matter where we go, it seems like we have to go through New Jersey to get there
9. people are exponentially less hot the further you get from New York (or any other major city, ie. San Francisco or Chicago)
8. hotels always feel like such a mammoth waste of money. I don't need turndown service or spa tub, but a clean room with a comfortable bed, thick comforter and thirsty towels should be the standard, not luxury.
7. 217 unanswered e-mails and faxes waiting for me when i get back.
6. no matter where we go, it seems like we have to go through New Jersey to get there5. road signs outside New York look like this:
4. i'm a horrible over-packer and bring at least 3 outfits, 2 pairs of shoes and a jacket i don't need; whatever i forget to pack always winds up being really important (ie. cell phone or iPod charger)
3. chain restaurants and the tourists who love them.
2. i don't get to work out like i should because i feel like it's a waste of valuable time which should be spent maximizing the fun.
1. five days is not nearly enough time to relax. in fact: i usually need another five to recover from attempting to squeeze as much fun as possible (read: clubbing, late nights, etc) into the five days i have off and wind up exhausted.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Supersize Me
i have an incredibly "love/hate" relationship with food; i love to eat, but i hate to gain weight.
i love food; meat, vegetables, bread, cakes, sweets. i come from foodies and my mom and dad raised me to try everything before saying i don't like it. lately i've even begun to re-visit things i hadn't liked in the past, attempting to see if my taste really has changed*.
the problem is, i like food a little too much. over the last 33 years i've lost and gained and lost and gained to an almost ridiculous degree; i'm starting to feel like Kirstie Alley. here are the highlights:
but, in the end, all the rest of the ups and downs all come back to food.
i almost always want to eat, but i know that i can't.
i could snack all day at work; i could drop $5 a day on the lady who sits 3 desks over and sells snack-sized bags of chips and cookies and pretzels and things...but i walk by her every day and only say hello.
at home, i'd gladly indulge in second helpings of whatever we make for dinner***, and then sit down to watch tv with thebag of pita chips and a tub of hummus we got from Costco...but, instead, i measure out one portion of chips (admitedly about 2 cups) and about half a cup of the hummus. and dessert? i could easily down half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cake Batter ice cream or half a package of Oreos or Mallomars in an evening, instead of stopping after one scoop or 3 cookies.
if i didn't exercise restraint, i'd feel terrible about myself. i'd be racked with good old fashioned catholic flavored guilt about not being able to overcome my basest urges. because that's what it's all about, at the end of the day: being able to lie in bed**** and say "your will-power stopped you from eating today". well that and being able to fit in size 32 pants.
i slipped this morning and indulged in the craving i've had for McDonald's breakfast. There's alot of fat and alot of calories in a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel, folks, but i had to give in. there was no way i'd be able to make it another day without one. so, as "penance" i skipped lunch and will forgo my after dinner chips and hummus. as i finish writing this (i started about 4 hours ago), i'm unbelievably hungry. Debbie, the chip lady, has one bag of Cinnamon Scooby Snack graham crackers left (only 55 cents!) but i'm going to walk past her, on the way out the door, no matter how tempted i am to slip twice in one day.
i have to will myself not to because each time i do, it's another step closer toward 210...someplace that i refuse to ever see again.
* i have CawfeeMate to thank for this, since his way of cooking and tastes aren't quite the same as mine. he's a brilliant cook, so chances are if he makes it, i'll like it.
** truth to be told, i probably should've been wearing a size 32, but i was 23 and had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of and make change, so why quibble?
*** 99% of the time, whatever we cook is made in a way that the WW gurus would approve of: low fat or no fat cheeses on our pizza, chicken sausage, green vegetables every day, measured portions, little or no oil, nothing fried, etc.
**** maybe this explains why CawfeeMate tells me that i "sleep eat"; that is: make noises like i'm eating and drinking, in my sleep.
i love food; meat, vegetables, bread, cakes, sweets. i come from foodies and my mom and dad raised me to try everything before saying i don't like it. lately i've even begun to re-visit things i hadn't liked in the past, attempting to see if my taste really has changed*.
the problem is, i like food a little too much. over the last 33 years i've lost and gained and lost and gained to an almost ridiculous degree; i'm starting to feel like Kirstie Alley. here are the highlights:
- (1999, about a year after graduating college) i was 165 lbs and wearing a size 30 jeans*, thanks to a really hot mexican guy who gave me mono.
- (2006) a year before CawfeeMate and i tied the knot i was 210 lbs
- (2007) thanks to Weight Watchers, i was down to 172 by the time we got married, on October 6th.
- (2008) a year later, i was up to 190 lbs, when we got married (again) on October 11th.
- as of this morning, i'm down to 173 lbs.
but, in the end, all the rest of the ups and downs all come back to food.
i almost always want to eat, but i know that i can't.
i could snack all day at work; i could drop $5 a day on the lady who sits 3 desks over and sells snack-sized bags of chips and cookies and pretzels and things...but i walk by her every day and only say hello.
at home, i'd gladly indulge in second helpings of whatever we make for dinner***, and then sit down to watch tv with thebag of pita chips and a tub of hummus we got from Costco...but, instead, i measure out one portion of chips (admitedly about 2 cups) and about half a cup of the hummus. and dessert? i could easily down half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cake Batter ice cream or half a package of Oreos or Mallomars in an evening, instead of stopping after one scoop or 3 cookies.
if i didn't exercise restraint, i'd feel terrible about myself. i'd be racked with good old fashioned catholic flavored guilt about not being able to overcome my basest urges. because that's what it's all about, at the end of the day: being able to lie in bed**** and say "your will-power stopped you from eating today". well that and being able to fit in size 32 pants.
i slipped this morning and indulged in the craving i've had for McDonald's breakfast. There's alot of fat and alot of calories in a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel, folks, but i had to give in. there was no way i'd be able to make it another day without one. so, as "penance" i skipped lunch and will forgo my after dinner chips and hummus. as i finish writing this (i started about 4 hours ago), i'm unbelievably hungry. Debbie, the chip lady, has one bag of Cinnamon Scooby Snack graham crackers left (only 55 cents!) but i'm going to walk past her, on the way out the door, no matter how tempted i am to slip twice in one day.
i have to will myself not to because each time i do, it's another step closer toward 210...someplace that i refuse to ever see again.
* i have CawfeeMate to thank for this, since his way of cooking and tastes aren't quite the same as mine. he's a brilliant cook, so chances are if he makes it, i'll like it.
** truth to be told, i probably should've been wearing a size 32, but i was 23 and had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of and make change, so why quibble?
*** 99% of the time, whatever we cook is made in a way that the WW gurus would approve of: low fat or no fat cheeses on our pizza, chicken sausage, green vegetables every day, measured portions, little or no oil, nothing fried, etc.
**** maybe this explains why CawfeeMate tells me that i "sleep eat"; that is: make noises like i'm eating and drinking, in my sleep.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
September Resolutions
1. write something every (week) day, instead of just updating my Facebook status every fifteen minutes.
2. continue working out regularly, upping the weights accordingly and not plateauing when it gets easy.
3. find some kind of cardio workout that doesn't make me wish i was dead.
4. increase blog traffic on this tired old corner of the internet that i call my own.
5. find reasons to hate my job less.
6. find a creative outlet.
2. continue working out regularly, upping the weights accordingly and not plateauing when it gets easy.
3. find some kind of cardio workout that doesn't make me wish i was dead.
4. increase blog traffic on this tired old corner of the internet that i call my own.
5. find reasons to hate my job less.
6. find a creative outlet.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Principle Return
Jay the Summer Intern: i hate that when i Google a particular stock company, the 1st thing that pops up is information on who that company donated money to.
CawfeeGuy: why (do you hate that)?
JtSI: what to i care who they donate money to?
CG: why would you want to invest in a company donating money to causes that are in direct conflict with your beliefs?
JtSI: huh?
CG: if you were black and found out that the company you were going to invest in donated money to...i dunno...the Klan, would you still invest in them?
JtSI: if they produced a significant return, yeah! but these are political donations...who cares about shit like that?
CG: i guess you have to be a minority to understand.
JTSI (laughing): yeah...whatever.
CawfeeGuy: why (do you hate that)?
JtSI: what to i care who they donate money to?
CG: why would you want to invest in a company donating money to causes that are in direct conflict with your beliefs?
JtSI: huh?
CG: if you were black and found out that the company you were going to invest in donated money to...i dunno...the Klan, would you still invest in them?
JtSI: if they produced a significant return, yeah! but these are political donations...who cares about shit like that?
CG: i guess you have to be a minority to understand.
JTSI (laughing): yeah...whatever.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
CawfeeGuy is busier than a hooker during Fleet Week
ok so those of you with whom i'm friends with on Facebook may have seen yesterday's status update (referenced above). it's true though...i'm a bit overwhelmed, at work, lately due to cutbacks and power shifts.
that having been said, i'll only be posting sporadically for a while, till things calm down or power shifts back. feel free to e-mail me or hit me up on Facebook.
that having been said, i'll only be posting sporadically for a while, till things calm down or power shifts back. feel free to e-mail me or hit me up on Facebook.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
In the Pink
once upon a time*, i was afraid of the color pink. now, i don't mean i would hide when Pink Panther cartoons came on or would cringe from strawberry milkshakes; i mean that at some point i drank the kool-aid that makes kids believe that certain colors are "girls' colors" (which include, but are not limited to, yellow, purple and anything in the pastel family) and certain colors are "boys' colors" (blues, red, brown, green and black). pink is the king (or queen, as it were) of all the girls' colors, and it was well known that for a boy to wear pink was social suicide because it meant all sorts of gender confusion issues that kids are not equipped to deal with. Barbie wore pink. Roses were pink. Bubblegum was pink. Frenchie's hair was pink. if a boy liked pink, he didn't let anyone know, because boys don't like pink.
anyway, by the time i reached HS i'd pretty much stuck to the prescribed boys' colors and made sure that the clothes i didn't pick out myself fit the same criteria. school was easy: the Xaverian uniform only came with three different choices for pants and shirts all of which mixed and matched well and maintained stalwart maleness, and after school i was usually found in blue jeans and a sweatshirt or t-shirt. everything was going well until my Sophomore year, when mom decided to break the rules and bought me the most gorgeous (in an early '90's hideous sorta way) sweater, with the smallest spots of pink threaded throughout (pink that i didn't notice because, well, i'm friggin' colorblind and tend not to notices small threads of light pink on a field of beige and white reminiscent of a Cameo cookie). i made the mistake of wearing this new sweater to school one day and everything was fine; everyone seemed to as oblivious to the pink as i was (or just didn't say anything) until the gym teacher spotted me in the cafeteria and pointed out the...pink elephant...in the room: "Nice sweater; what're you, some kinda faggot"?
well, we all know the answer to that question, now don't we? but, despite the fact that i'd been occasionally sucking cock for the last 2 years, there was no way i was gonna pull a Melissa Etheridge and say Yes, I Am. not in Brooklyn, not in an all boy Catholic High School; hell no. i promptly took the sweater off and never wore it to school again, because only fags wear pink. oh and the other new sweater mom had gotten me? the solid, baby pink, cable knit one? Right back to Caesar's Bay Bazaar with that, mom. no, i will not explain. exchange it for turquoise blue one, please. see, the word blue is in the color's name.
for years, i wouldn't even think of wearing a stitch of pink; even after i had come out to everyone i could think of, so ingrained in my brain was my aversion to the color. "i don't look good in light colors" i would say. or "i'm more of blue person", i'd retort. pink was still an admission that yes indeedy i was a quiche eatin, Cosmo sippin', Bette Davis quotin' 'mo. Cruising the men's room at Sears was one thing, but a pink tie or shirt (no matter how gorgeous) was tantamount to having a pride flag tattooed on your forehead.
this worked very well for a long time until pink became "the new black". straight men were wearing it, gay men were wearing it; everyone was wearing it. it was everywhere, it was hot and i liked it! y'know what? i'm an adult now! if i wanna like pink, who cares? besides whatever they're gonna say about a "guy who wears pink" is true!
so, true to my nature, i waited till about six months after the height of it's popularity; when it was simply "cool" and not "fashion forward", and added it to my severely limited wardrobe (those who know me best will attest that all i really wear is blue or black) in the form of occasional pink shirts or pink ties and lemme tell you, it looks hot.
the other day i had a pink shirt on in the office and a guy remarked, "real men don't wear pink". my only reply was "real men don't care".
*Picture it: Bensonhurst, Brooklyn; the mid-80's.
anyway, by the time i reached HS i'd pretty much stuck to the prescribed boys' colors and made sure that the clothes i didn't pick out myself fit the same criteria. school was easy: the Xaverian uniform only came with three different choices for pants and shirts all of which mixed and matched well and maintained stalwart maleness, and after school i was usually found in blue jeans and a sweatshirt or t-shirt. everything was going well until my Sophomore year, when mom decided to break the rules and bought me the most gorgeous (in an early '90's hideous sorta way) sweater, with the smallest spots of pink threaded throughout (pink that i didn't notice because, well, i'm friggin' colorblind and tend not to notices small threads of light pink on a field of beige and white reminiscent of a Cameo cookie). i made the mistake of wearing this new sweater to school one day and everything was fine; everyone seemed to as oblivious to the pink as i was (or just didn't say anything) until the gym teacher spotted me in the cafeteria and pointed out the...pink elephant...in the room: "Nice sweater; what're you, some kinda faggot"?
well, we all know the answer to that question, now don't we? but, despite the fact that i'd been occasionally sucking cock for the last 2 years, there was no way i was gonna pull a Melissa Etheridge and say Yes, I Am. not in Brooklyn, not in an all boy Catholic High School; hell no. i promptly took the sweater off and never wore it to school again, because only fags wear pink. oh and the other new sweater mom had gotten me? the solid, baby pink, cable knit one? Right back to Caesar's Bay Bazaar with that, mom. no, i will not explain. exchange it for turquoise blue one, please. see, the word blue is in the color's name.
for years, i wouldn't even think of wearing a stitch of pink; even after i had come out to everyone i could think of, so ingrained in my brain was my aversion to the color. "i don't look good in light colors" i would say. or "i'm more of blue person", i'd retort. pink was still an admission that yes indeedy i was a quiche eatin, Cosmo sippin', Bette Davis quotin' 'mo. Cruising the men's room at Sears was one thing, but a pink tie or shirt (no matter how gorgeous) was tantamount to having a pride flag tattooed on your forehead.
this worked very well for a long time until pink became "the new black". straight men were wearing it, gay men were wearing it; everyone was wearing it. it was everywhere, it was hot and i liked it! y'know what? i'm an adult now! if i wanna like pink, who cares? besides whatever they're gonna say about a "guy who wears pink" is true!
so, true to my nature, i waited till about six months after the height of it's popularity; when it was simply "cool" and not "fashion forward", and added it to my severely limited wardrobe (those who know me best will attest that all i really wear is blue or black) in the form of occasional pink shirts or pink ties and lemme tell you, it looks hot.
the other day i had a pink shirt on in the office and a guy remarked, "real men don't wear pink". my only reply was "real men don't care".
*Picture it: Bensonhurst, Brooklyn; the mid-80's.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Drone
been busy busy busy working lately; department shake ups mean double the work. should the tide turn, i'll be back to regaling you with witty anecdotes about my trivial existence.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
His Story
so, we're sitting around this morning, shooting the shit and the subject of Thanksgiving comes up. my co-worker, the infamous K---y, made her usual outta-left-field point:
K: How do we really know that it happened? i mean you weren't there; i wasn't there.
CG: well, people
wrote it down; diaries and letters, etc. it's called
history.
K: yeah,
but how do we know that what people wrote
about actually happened?
CG: wait...you have no problem believing that some guy was born of a virgin, sired by god, walked on water, died and then rose again, but can't wrap your brain around some indians bringing dinner to the pilgrims?
really though...is this what "faith" is?
K: How do we really know that it happened? i mean you weren't there; i wasn't there.
CG: well, people
wrote it down; diaries and letters, etc. it's called
history.
K: yeah,
but how do we know that what people wrote
about actually happened?
CG: wait...you have no problem believing that some guy was born of a virgin, sired by god, walked on water, died and then rose again, but can't wrap your brain around some indians bringing dinner to the pilgrims?
really though...is this what "faith" is?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Test Day: Office Politics
You Are a Post-it |
 You have a good memory. You're memory is so good, in fact, that it can be down right annoying at times. You don't mean to nag, but you like to remind people what they're supposed to be doing. You may be a bit of a pest, but you're awfully cute. So no one minds it all too much when you pop up. You would make a good manger, salesperson or attorney. You can cram a lot of info into that head of yours. |
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