Thinning the Herd: An Adventure in Weight Loss and Improv

So, I am in an improvised weight loss show called Thinning the Herd. It’s amazing. You should check it out.  So, over the course of the next few months, fifteen of us are trying to lose weight and get in shape all the while making funny twice a week. There will be improv. There will be funny videos. There will be dancing. I love it already, and we had our opening night show last week.

Of course week one, I was the only one to gain weight.That's right ladies and gentlemen, I am currently in last place. For shame!

I told my friend Danielle, and her response was,“But you’re so competitive!”

Now that's competitive.

I know, right? I am indeed very competitive. I have, on occasion, crushed children in games of boggle, my family plays cut-throat scrabble, and I can’t watch college football cause it makes me *crazy*. So, a weight loss competition show should be right up my alley. 

So why the weight gain? I think it was two things really (or like fifteen, but let’s stick with two).

One, I was very stressed out. And two, chocolate is delicious. I think we have covered the chocolate is delicious part before in this here blog, but it really is worth revisiting. And here’s what I’ll say. Chocolate is delicious.

If these were my neighbors, they would be dead.

But my competitive drive has kicked in, and I’m on track now. So, expect to see a bajillion postings about this journey into exercise and eating food made of vegetables.

And dear readers. You will be happy to know that for the month of October, I am committing to posting every day. What? Yes. Every day. And I don't mean "every day." I mean every day. So get ready. Cause I think it’s about time I actually got my shit together.

Kisses,

Jen

New Vocabulary: College Application Edition

Hey there kiddos, here are a few new words care of my high school students and I.It's college application season, so busy busy. And some genius ideas.

Frankenessay (noun) A college application essay that you cobble together from your other application essays, hoping that it makes sense.

Did you write your essay for Duke yet?

Yeah, but it’s a Frankenessay.

Run-on-and-on (to the tune of Mannah Mannah Do do do do do): (noun) A sentence the length of a paragraph, or you know a short novel.

You need to cut that run-on-and-on; it’s like fifteen sentences strung together, and admisions committees don’t like it when your sentences are too long, and they don’t make good sense all of the time--know what I mean? 

Yeah, Like I"m totally sorry, or whatever. 

Apololie (noun) To apologize even though you don’t mean it AT ALL. Often this is clear from your tone of voice. (Thanks Lacy for this one!)

Teacher: Did she apologize to you like I asked?

Student: Yeah, but it was an apololie.

New Words for All

Hello all, So today I would like to introduce some new words that I have heard recently, and would like to enter the mainstream. Yes, like in Mean Girls, I am trying to make fetch happen, but let’s give it a shot anyway. 

Voluntold (v) To be volunteered for something, possibly against your will, definitely when you do not have a choice. Often used in families.

Sentence: I was voluntold to pick my sister up from the airport.

Provided by Cynthia 

Facebook First Responder (n) Someone who comments on your facebook status before you are even sure that it has posted.

I had just uploaded my photo when Stacey told me that she liked my haircut. She is such a facebook first responder.

Provided by Julia H. 

Gardening Stigmata (n) Not to be sacrilegious, but you know how sometimes you hurt your hands doing yard work, and it may or may not make your hands look like the hands of The Lord.

Sentence: Person 1: Are you the savior? Person 2: No, I’ve just been weeding. Person 1: Oh. Gardening stigmata.

(Sorry Mom!) Provided by Brent

Toolbox (n) Someone who is such a tool, that being called just one tool simply will not suffice.

Sentence: That toolbox stole my parking spot and cheated on my sister.

Provided by me

Where did Jen go?

Loyal readers, all 63 of you, I totally apologize for leaving you Jen-less for these long, hot months? What have you done with yourselves instead of reading my oh-so-fantastic blog? Have you been pining away by your inbox, waiting for just one more hit? Have you been crying yourselves to sleep? Or have you been doing, you know, kind of fun summery things that were just awesome? 

There is no good excuse for not writing. Well, Maybe one.

That’s why so many TV shows go on hiatus for the summer, cause when the snow melts and people can have actual good times outdoors, they forget about television. Well, not quite so much in Texas, where the uninhabitable summer months are just starting. 

So, here is my explanation, and I will tell you many ridiculous stories from the past two months that will have you giggling openly in the quiet section of the library. 

Mostly, I was traveling a good bit (wedding, play, cruise), and I had a pretty severe flu-like illness for about half of May (maybe 2/3). Yes, through the miracle of crappy immune systems I am able to get the flu in the middle of the summer. Oh, good times. I in fact found a half-written, fever-induced entry about how I had ebola and how lifetime movies saved my life. 

Anyways, just wanted to let everyone know that I am back on track, and you will be hearing from me soon. 

Kisses,

Jen

The Rocky Road to Employment

I hate cover letters. 

More specifically, I hate applying for jobs and interviewing and working on my resume, but mostly I hate cover letters. I bet there are people in this world who write a mean cover letter. I imagine it goes something like this. “I am the shit. You would be a fool not to hire me. Do it.” And then I imagine, that if they did not write that in crayon, that they get the job. I myself prefer writing cover letters wherein I: 

          1)      Forget that I have strengths

          2)      Say they should probably give the job to someone else, and

          3)      Remind them that I am only in it for the money. 

I try to be all cocky and confident, but it just is not in my fluffy little nature. 

I just finished interviewing for a full time job.  So after a lengthy process which involved doing all sorts of things which demonstrate my fabulousness, I was given a list of my strengths and weaknesses. They listed my number one strength as being able to build relationships. For serious? That’s my number one strength? Why don’t you just say I’m pretty. Or I smell nice. My number one strength, after six years of teaching and six years in graduate school is something that I mastered when I was eight years old? Great. Good to know. 

Then, one of my weaknesses is that I have been in graduate school for six years. One of my weaknesses. Oh fuck me. What did I go to graduate school for? I mean, technically, they are right because I have been studying youth and the media for six years, and this position is not in youth and the media. So why am I not applying for positions in youth and the media you might ask? Because there aren’t any. Not here anyway. And this job is wicked awesome.

So now, while I wait to hear back, I am trying to write yet another cover letter. Aaarghhh!!!!!!  “Dear potential employers. Please ignore this letter. Sorry to bother you. Jen Diggity.” 

I think I’m better off making up a job to do.   Or just enjoying my last year of student loans before this shit gets real. 

Kisses,

Jen

Spring Break or The Day that Doctoral Poverty Broke Me and I Started Looking for a Real Job

Your Typical Graduate Student

When I think about graduate school, I think about the novel Confederacy of Dunces. If you have never read Confederacy of Dunces, it is a story about a 30 year old man who has been in graduate school for about 75 years and who still lives with his mom. The story is awful and tragic and kinda funny and he is a total toolbox. When I started graduate school, I promised myself I would never be that guy. And people, I think we’re on the precipice. 

I shall now relate to you the progression of the breaking down of the part of the human brain known as “Pride” as told through spring break vacations. 

*Year negative one through negative six of doctoral studies: I am a teacher. My bestest friend D—and I would go on vacations together pretty regularly. Sometimes they were good adventures. Sometimes they were crazypants adventures. Those are stories for another day, some of them with burned skin in broken Spanish. Some of them with cinnamon tequila shots (don’t do it!) and crappy Vegas hotels. But always, always we would split the bill 50-50. 

*Year zero of doctoral studies: I decide to give up my reasonably paying teacher job for a doctoral program that pays bootie, and D- is now working as a school administrator making a beautiful salary, not unlike what people our age should be making. 

*Year one of doctoral studies: I can’t afford a vacation, but I totally refuse all help. The closest we get to a vacation is going to an Indian Casino. I wouldn’t even take $20 dollars to gamble with.  I have my pride you know. 

*Year three of doctoral studies: I agree to go on a Jamaican vacation with D-- after extensive discussion. I really don’t think this is right. But I think it will be fun, and I pay for my plane ticket to help assuage my guilt. 

The Kind of Cruise I Could Afford

*Year six of doctoral studies: No end or vacation in site, D- mentions that her mom doesn’t want to go on a cruise with her and wonders if I would like to go. I do not even let her finish her sentence. I offer to pay for nothing. Doctoral studies have officially broken my spirit and made me a greedy mooch ready to syphon off of other people’s vacations. The shift is complete. 

*Year six and one day of doctoral studies: Jen starts to look for a real job. She begins to dream again about paying her own phone bill and owning a car that was made in this century. 

So friends, here lies the tale of how a once independent young lady turned her bestest friend into a sugar mama. And then, just possibly, she started to get her shit together.

Awkward Encounters with the Male Species

When people are trying to lose weight, some of them might be trying to get back to their “fighting weight.” Or possibly people they want to get to their “pre-baby weight” or their “swim team weight.” Some people think into the future and want to be at their “I’m at my high school reunion and everyone can kiss my booty” weight. I am at none of these weights currently, but it seems that I may have reached my “threshold for awkward encounters with men” weight.

Most awkward picture I could find. 

I have recently lost about ten pounds, and I am now at that level of cuteness wherein strange men are starting to pay me attention again. It was kind of restful running under the radar for a while there. But it seems that I must now choose to either eat more chocolate, or deal with the attention of really random menfolk. And I don’t know about the rest of you ladies, but the dudes I attract are RANDOM. I’m pretty sure that anyone who has traveled with me can attest to this. Of course, that is like eight blogs right there. I digress. 

Now let me make it clear, that while some of this awkwardness can definitely be attributed to the fact that the strangers I attract tend to be pretty strange, I too must take some of this blame. I have the super-helpful ability to turn even a perfectly respectable flirtation into a completely awkward situation. For instance, if another girl had a perfectly normal guy come up and talk to her at the gym, I’m pretty sure she would talk to him and not run away with a look of shock and confusion on her face, only to realize five minutes later that he was indeed flirting and not a serial killer. 

So let me tell you the story that made me realize once and for all that the awkward Olympics was soon to commence. My brother and I often go to this Vietnamese restaurant in North Austin. We have been there many times before. We will often sit there for an hour or two catching up on a Monday afternoon. We have seen this one guy who works there many a time before, and I am a bit under the impression that he owns the place. He is probably around fifty years old, and I would hazard a guess that his first language is not English. 

So, my brother and I have had the check for about five minutes, when the guy comes by, hands me the fortune cookies from off the check, and then hands my brother the check. I start laughing a little at what seems to me to be a) super unexpected, b) pretty sexist and c) some sort of confusion wherein this dude thinks my brother and I are a bit closer than all that, cause I’m pretty sure there is no rule wherein younger brothers are forced to pick up the check (although I would fully support that cultural practice). He then waits there until my brother pulls out a credit card and gives it to him.  (*note: to any waiters in the crowd, he did not do this because he was getting off shift because he was there for at least another hour and a half and there were plenty of empty tables.)

When he walks away, we talk about the unusualness of this encounter, but no harm done as my brother often picks up the check because he feels sorry for me and my doctoral student income. But then, the dude comes back, and he is talking to me and making jokes that I can’t quite understand, which I smile politely at because I have no idea what he is saying to me.  I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere, and he seems nervous about something, and then he tells me he is giving me his phone number and it’s on the bill. What? Surely not. Not after he just made this brotherly dude I am with pick up the check. But there it is, the number of the restaurant. I can make neither heads nor tales of this, but it reminds me strongly of when the parents of my students used to hit on me in Spanish. 

                Parent: “Sus ojos son regalos.”

                Me: Um… como?

                Parent: Your eyes. They are gifts.

                Me. Oh. Um. Okay. Thank you. (Awkward smile)

In any case, this is not the first of the awkward encounters so far, nor is it the last, but it’s the one where I noticed the change in climate. Winter is coming. And you, dear reader, shall be kept abreast of further awkward situations as they develop.