Remember playing dodgeball in elementary school PE(gym) class? If you didn't, you either didn't grow up in this country, or I went to a way more WASP-y school than I thought. I was awesome at dodgeball. Most of the time, I was the last player standing after everyone else had been tagged out. If we were playing the 'prisioner' version of dodgeball, I was usually able to 'rescue' most of my team, because I played softball, and I could throw accurately. I loved playing dodgeball because I wasn't terribly awesome at any other sport - ever (yeah, I was pretty bad at softball too).

Though, despite all my aweseome feats, I dreaded the beginning of class when it came time to pick the teams. Since I wasn't popular in just about any group, I was picked last every time. You know, the last two people are a) the most unpopular girl in class, and b) the smelly/weird girl. Usually the smelly/weird girl got picked first. I'm sure everyone's been the last one picked at some point, and it sirs up a host of insecurities that you thought you got over in high school.

I call it the Dodgball eEffect.

I've been going to Muay Thai 3-4 times a week for a steady 2 months now, and you would have thought by now that most of the guys in the class wouldn't be scared to hit a girl. Yet whenever our sensei, Marcelo, tells us to pair up, I know that if there's an odd number of students in the class, I'll be sparring against Marcelo for the first round. As soon as I look around me to non-verbally ask, 'You wanna pair up?' with anyone, their eyes dart away and search for someone else. This happens a few more times. The Dodgeball Effect. I hate it. I am left without a partner and Marcelo steps in to spar with me.

I guess I can't blame it all on the fact that I'm the only girl in class, it could be because I'm new. But I know most of the guys there at least by name by now. And I should be excited to spar with Marcelo, after all, it's practically like I'm getting a private lesson from him, but sparing with anyone who is a black belt or above is terrifying. Not because I'm afraid they're going to hit me (black belts have more control over their movements; and as I've discussed before, sparring is not code for being the crap out of someone), but because I feel like every second I'm being judged. I know I'm not, and I know no one expects me to do practically anything right because I'm a white belt. But since I am overly critical of myself and I always expect the worst, no rational argument has been able to keep me from thinking that all Marcelo is thinking is, 'This girl sucks.'

I know I'm getting better though, because everyone from Marcelo to the other instructors in class have told Sean (he does Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu there) that I'm doing well. And Sean doesn't ask them how I'm doing, so there'd be no reason for them to say that if it wasn't true. It sounds stupid, but I really do feel the need to be better than 'average.' And yes, mainly that's because I'm surrounded by boys. Even though I'm a total tomboy and I've always run with the boys, this feels different. This is competetive. Fun, yes, but competetive. I'm already thinking about how I might want to fight in a year or two. Though I'd be fighting only against other girls, they also would be as tough as the boys, and that's what i want.

Toughness. It's not enough for me to be 'tough for a girl,' just tough.

Sidenote: I weighed myself in the morning and right before I went to bed last night(yeah, i know i shouldn't weigh myself so much, but i just couldn't help it), and I actually weighed less in the evening than I did in the morning! Thank you Muay Thai practice and 5 mile run!

It helps a lot to have a dog who can adapt to a new routine like clockwork within a week.

For the past few days I've been getting better at getting up at 5:30 and going for a short run. Most days, I took the dog with me, to kill two birds with one stone. I still don't really like taking Snow out on my runs. Picture yourself getting out of bed and lazily putting on your running clothes and shoes. You're just about out the door when your 8 year old starts crying and begging you to take him with you on your run. You agree begrudgingly (pretend you're a really slow runner and you're not going far at all). You and your kid start running, and all goes well for about a half mile. Then the kid gets bored with running. It stops to look at something, darts in front of you making you lose your stride, at one point the kid just starts sprinting towards a busy road and you have to run after it to stop your silly child from being flattened (or pretend you've put the kid on a leash, you still get pulled every which way by their movements). This continues for the next mile or so. After that, your kid gets tired, they fall behind, they use any excuse at all to slow down or stop completely. You tell yourself that you'll never take your kid on another one of your runs. The next morning, the kid comes into your room, 20 minutes before your alarm goes off, jumps on your bed and starts whining about why you haven't gotten up and taken him to run yet.

I have no idea why I had to use a kid in the above scenario. I could have just told you about what my dog does and it would have made perfect sense. I've been told that I compare children to dogs a lot. Before you get huffy, think about it. They really do share a lot of the same qualities.

I guess it's not as bad as it sounds, because he gets a little better with every run, but it's tough right now. Hopefully one day he'll be a dog I'll barely notice during my runs, and maybe one day after that I'll really look forward to running with him.

However, he adapts to one thing quite well. For the past few mornings, if I'm not already out of bed and on my way out by 5:50, he whines and cries and begs me to get out of bed. I don't know if he wants to go for a run or he just has to pee, but either way, it gets me up when the snooze button is so tempting to keep hitting (even though Sean hates it when I do that).

And getting up in the morning is actually easier than I thought. I've been feeling better and happier in general, and I wouldn't say I have more energy throughout the day, but it's not as much of a struggle as it was only a few weeks ago. I'll bet there's a lot of other circumstances that have helped attribute to my change of mood, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

Two nights ago, I actually couldn't sleep. Normally I could fall asleep standing up on a crowded train with a screaming child next to me. I can't remember the last time I couldn't sleep.

But my husband Sean had just returned from a trip to Buffalo to see my sister, her new husband, and all of my friends. Why couldn't I go? Because I had to work and had already taken off too much time last month because of all the weddings my family had (I swear, I'm not complaining...). My job doesn't offer vacation time, and if I had driven home with him, I couldn't have worked at the restaurant on Friday and Saturday night, so I would have missed out on making $250. That would have been a double whammy.

My sister and her husband were talking with Sean about having kids, and how they want to wait for a little while. But they're Catholic, and not allowed to use birth control, so I'm giving it about a year before I have a nephew or niece. We all know how well the rhythm method works.

On Saturday night, after I had worked a 9 hour shift, and Sean came home, he and I were cuddling and he asked if I was still sure that I didn't want to have kids. Sean and I have always agreed that we didn't want to have kids, or at least that it wasn't terribly likely. He said he just wanted to keep the idea on the horizon and though he didn't want to have kids now, he maybe wanted to in the future. After about 10 minutes, he and the dog were fast asleep and I was wide awake and feeling constricted both physically and mentally, so I went downstairs to listen to Counting Crows and explore the mysteries of Wikipedia until 5am. I hate and love Wikipedia. It can be so inaccurate, but the level of entertainment is astounding. I went from reading about rock lyrics to Greek Mythology to tentacle erotica(ick) in about 10 minutes.

I've had the 'I don't want babies - ever' conversation about ten thousand times, and 99% of the time it's the same reaction: 'Oh, you won't feel that way forever.' Actually, whenever I say something to the effect of 'I don't want kids,' my old co-worker would reply in a giddy tone, 'Yeah, my wife said that too.' He has a 3 year old kid who actually is cute.

But think about it for a minute, why would you ask if I want kids? Right now, I'm a very angry and bitter person. For the past 3 years I've had to work over 80 hours a week to make ends meet. I see a friend or two maybe once a month and talk to my family about that much. My co-workers don't bother asking me what I did over the weekend on Monday mornings anymore. I'm jealous that most people don't have to be anywhere after they clock out at 5pm. Most of my free time is spent working out, and then feeling angry that I don't have time to do anything else. When I am home, I have a husband who I need time with, I have chores to do, and a dog who is constantly whining for attention.

"Well, yeah not now obviously, but what about in a few years when you're not working as much?"
When you've been keeping up this routine for 3 years, does it seem possible to imagine life differently? I can't see past how I'm living right now. I have dreams that I only work 50 hours a week. I dream that I get up, go to work at 8, get out at 5, from Monday through Friday. Those are my dreams. When I relax and go to my 'happy place,' I don't think about being on a sandy beach with a mai thai in my hand, I think about going home after work. About having a whole day off without an agenda or a single thing I have to do. Asking me if in a few years I'd like to have a kid when I'm ::snort:: 'not as busy' is like asking you how you'd like living on the moon, when the technology becomes avaliable.

There's enough shitty parents out there who raise some pretty shitty children. At least I know enough that an overworked bitch probably shouldn't have a child just because she has a vagina.

So the month of weddings is over and to be honest, I'm really excited to get back to my normal busy schedule of work, work, and more work. I also can go back to Muay Thai. I missed just about the whole month of training, and I was almost too embarrassed to go back. Practically every thing I had learned I had forgotten, and I was terribly out of shape. Although I hadn't backslid at all. I haven't had a drink since May 5th, and besides one slip up, I haven't had a cigarette either. I couldn't say if I've quit for good, but I'm taking it one day at a time.

But Muay Thai(MT) is a lot of fun, and I actually feel like I'm getting a workout, which hasn't happened on any of my runs in the past year or so. Yeah, I know that's my own fault for not sticking to my schedule and yadda yadda yadda. I'm so full of excuses (A.K.A. shit) sometimes, and I'm really trying hard to not let those 'excuses' get me down. Like I said, one day at a time.

Here's how MT goes down: We run to warm up, we jump rope, do crunches (depending on which instructor it is we might do anywhere from 50 to 'Keep going until I tell you to stop.'), then it's technique for an hour. Our instructor focuses on one combo, starting easy, then working in different variations to make it a bit more complicated. I'm still floundering in the class because essentially I've just gone to a handful of classes. So, while my instructors say I'm improving, I'm pretty sure I look really stupid. Plus, I bruise easily and my skin is ghastly pale, bruises practically show up as soon as I'm hit because I don't have any Vitamin D in my body or something. I think my doctor thinks I'm a vampire. I can't wear skirts this summer because I'm afraid people will think Sean beats me. He doesn't by the way, I just can't block kicks for the life of me.

Tonight, like every other night of MT, we ended up sparing. We switch partners 2 or 3 times and I usually end up being paired with someone more experienced. But not so experienced that they are totally bored by me trying to throw a poorly placed jab low kick combo. But these guys are usually extremely helpful because I'm so new, bless their hearts. And when they hit me, they stop right before point of impact, or the impact is so light I practically don't feel it. And I appreciate that, not because I don't want to get hit hard, but because hitting me during a sparing session is pretty pointless. Not only would I not learn anything by getting hit hard, but blue belts don't beat on white belts. It's just polite.

But, there's another white belt who started just about the same time as I did. Like me, he doesn't have martial arts training, but I'm pretty sure he played football or something, because he's pretty muscular. A lot of times, we'll end up being partners for the technique part of class, since we're on the same skill level. But tonight I ended up sparing with him. I got a sinking feeling when I realized we were going to have to fight. Remember, I'm a white belt, he's a white belt. NO BEATING ON EACH OTHER. I don't think he gets that.

Don't get me wrong, he's not totally laying into me, and I can take a hit, and I should know to block better, or get out of the way, or see his kick coming and counter, but tonight he pissed me off to a level that I couldn't describe. I thought I was going to dig right through my mouth guard, I was clenching my teeth so hard. But every time I stepped in to throw a punch, he lifted his knee and hit me with a front kick, not so easily mind you. I'd stagger back and try to regroup, and I have to hand it to him, he wasn't really doing anything wrong, he'd hit me with some combos of things I didn't know how to block or counter, my only real option was to just step away, out of range. But, I can tell, this early in, that's NOT going to be my fighting style. I'd rather move to the side, or block and counter, maybe take a step back quickly before going back in, but I don't back up a few feet and then wait for my opponent to come after me. I'm way more aggressive than that. I have a feeling that I'll have to change my ways, but not now. Right now I'm all about throwing myself into the deep end and not being afraid to get hit in the face.

But it was all just embarrassing, getting caught with the same stupid front kick again and again. I was trying different combos, and all he was throwing were kicks. I wasn't so angry with him than with the fact that I was falling for it the every time. After about 2 minutes I was ready to just throw down the gloves and beat the shit out of him. I think that's when I started going after him a bit more aggressively, which made me stupid, and so I fell for even more of his boring front kicks. This kid actually had the nerve to make some comment about how I seemed kind of angry. Of course I'm angry you fucking asshole! Whenever I went in, he just backed up a few feet out of my range, and since I didn't feel like chasing him all over the fucking mat, I backed up so we could start this whole dance all over again. Did I mention that last week he hit me square in the face with a Superman punch? Now, I missed a few classes so maybe it was actually taught to him and he didn't just see it in a fight or in a movie, but really, why would you throw that out in a sparing session unless you were trying to just beat up on someone?

I'm really not trying to be a little girl about this whole thing, and I hate that I sucked so bad that I'm complaining about a few hard punches when I'm really just pissed at myself. I know I'll get better in time, and with more practice, but damn. Getting kicked in the sternum repeatedly sucks.

So I've finally found a balance between working, sleeping, running, and free time (arranged in order of importance). For a long time, I had totally unreal expectations for my running and workout schedule, and when I inevitably slept in and skipped my workout morning after morning, I beat myself up about it and wouldn't allow myself to enjoy the little free time I had, telling myself that I should spend that free time running or doing something active. I often say I have more guilt than an Irish-Catholic Jew, and let me tell you, that's a crushing amount of guilt. And for no good reason. Guilt, like anxiety, is a useless emotion that doesn't solve anything or do anything or anyone any good.

Fortunately, I finally allowed myself a little break. I acknowledged that I simply did not have the time or energy to run 40 minutes every morning and 2 hours on the weekends. Now, my run schedule is much more friendly to my work schedule, which means my free time more enjoyable, and though my sleep is still horribly irregular, 3 out of 4 isn't bad.

And since Sean and I aren't pinching pennies anymore, we've been starting to indulge a little bit in things that would have been impossible to do a year ago. I've always wanted to study a martial art. The fact that I have zero combative skills has always bothered me. Luckily, I've never been in a situation where I would need these skills, but it's important for everyone to know how to defend themselves properly and if necessary, defend others. And while those 'self defense for women' courses are definitely better than just ignorantly thinking you could take care of yourself if someone attacked you, they are still seriously lacking.

I did a lot of research and decided to join the martial arts school my husband goes to for BJJ (Brazilian Jiu Jitsu). Except I'm not a big fan of submissions and grappling, so I'm studying Muay Thai. Muay Thai appealed to me for a lot of reasons:

1) Toughness. Muay Thai is specifically designed to promote the level of fitness and toughness required for ring competition. The training and conditioning (running is an absolute necessaity) of fighters is generally referred to as 'intense' and 'scary.'
2) It works with my frame. People in Thailand are short and not usually very built, and so the fighting style is designed around people with that frame. Most women have the same type of frame, and they can adapt to the fighting style and make it work for them in the way it was designed.
3) It's going to kick my ass. I've never kicked my ass while I was running. I've run fast, got injured, and done what some people would think is abnormal and unnecessary, but I've never had my ass kicked. I've never had a coach to run me until I had nothing left, and I don't have the decipline to do that to myself (yet). But now I'll have a sensai who won't let me off the mat until I've finished those 50 push ups, or 30 minutes of shadow boxing. I've been told there's no way to train yourself for Muay Thai, even if you've done martial arts in the past. And I am a total glutton for punishment.

And the school my husband and I go to is good. My sensei isn't going to throw me into a sparring match with a huge guy who has been studying Muay Thai for years and will turn my clumsy body into a wad of cookie dough. It's a good group of guys (and one or two girls), who help and look out for each other and help everyone advance. They're deciplined and serious about learning.

Saturday morning is my first class, and I'm truly excited.

Sean got a job.


He is working at a pharmaceutical company managing the front desk and helping out on projects when necessary. He's even done a little bit of layout work after he taught himself indesign. He's picking up on design basics pretty quickly actually.

So, Sean has a job and I have a job. Well, two jobs. But I love that if I want to take a night off, I don't have to worry that I might not make rent. I don't have to tell friends that I haven't seen in a month that if we get together it has to be at PF Chang's because I get my 50% employee discount and I can't afford anywhere else. I can start signing up for races again, now that the $15 race fee won't break my bank.

I'm still waiting on my final paycheck from Baseline (which honestly I don't know if I'll ever get). But if I do get it I'm totally going out and getting something really nice for myself and not feel guilty about it.

I forgot to talk about the Boston Marathon in my last post.
The I-didn't-run-it-race report:

I decided to volunteer for the Boston marathon this year, and I was placed with the 'baggage crew' at the start in Hopkington. Most organized marathons have a baggage drop off for the runners at the start point, then pick up when they finish. I'd say at least half the runners use this service, so there are a lot of bags to bus from Hopkington to Boston. There were about 30 school busses, organized by race bib number, and 5 of us got assigned to a bus. We stayed on the bus as the runners found the bus that matched their bib number, then gave us their bags and we placed them accordingly on the bus. The windows wouldn't open enough for even a small bag to fit through (silly child safety windows), so we utilized the 2 emergency exit windows. As soon as I swung open the window I had the urge to scream 'NOBODY SEES THE WIZARD!' because I knew that if the bus was green I would look so much like the Emerald city gatekeeper from the Wizard of Oz.

I was lucky enough to be put on the bus that collected numbers 1000 to 1499. These runners are practically elite. They qualified (easily) for Boston and were assigned in the 1st corral since they all estimated their finishing time to be around 2 hours and 30 minutes. I didn't realize this until about halfway through when I noticed everyone who was coming to our bus were really gangly and muscular and had a very 'hungry' look in their eyes. And all of them were guys. Except there was one girl. I have no idea who she was, but she gets some SERIOUS PROPS and she is my new hero.

After we finished collecting bags and all the marathon had started, our busses made the way back to boston. All 30 busses had a police escort, exits were blocked off for our use only, I had attained VIP status. Even though I knew the plastic bag with someone's sweatpants were the ACTUAL reason for all this special treatment.

After we got off the bus, it was about 2 hours after the elite women had started running, and they would be finishing in about a half hour, so I found a place on Boylston street to watch the elite runners finish before I started my shift. I won't bore you with results, because anyone who cares already knows what happened. Side note: Kara Goucher has got to be the hottest runner ever.

I started my shift at PF Chang's at 1pm, and I can't verbalize how excited I was that I didn't have to deal with any customers since I was bartending the service well. I HATE waitressing marathon weekend. For 2 reasons:

1) Marathoners are snobs. They think running 26.2 miles is something so spectacular that everyone should be in awe. And they all wear their technical t-shirts or the overpriced shirts they bought at the expo of another marathon. Every single one of them looked like a fucking tool. Or even worse, they wear the 2009 Boston marathon jackets before marathon monday. Bad form. They were breaking Race Commandment No.1: Thou Shalt Not Wear the Merchandise from a Race that Thou Hast Not Finished Yet. Plus, those jackets are UGLY. In addition, most of them are from out of town and Boston is pretty expensive. So no one tips well. Even if you tell them to have a great race. They don't care. So forgive me if I judge you because you're wearing a $120 race jacket, $50 shorts and $250 special edition adidas shoes and you order a $40 meal and then tip me $5. Un-fucking-acceptable.

2) I am a snob. And I'm jealous. I haven't qualified for Boston (to be fair, I've only seriously tried once). It's like all these runners are shoving my nose in it. Not to mention they actually have the time and money to train and to send themselves on a little vacation. I'm still in serious debt and work 80 hours a week just to stay afloat. Assholes.

So I was thrilled to not have to deal with any of the stupid marathoners who were celebrating their 'victory.' Honestly, anyone could run a marathon if they wanted to. I wholeheartedly believe that. The only marathon you should celebrate after is if you completed Pikes Peak.

The rest of the evening passed as ordinary as expected. But it was a long day and I was SO glad to be unemployed so I could sleep in the next morning.

I decided my plan for when I qualify for Boston.

Day before: I will attend the expo and oogle at everything. While wearing 4" heels, a short skirt, and a long jacket. While every other runner will look like a total tool 'Look at the marathon I ran before I ran Boston - aren't I awesome?' I will be the girl everyone is wondering if she actually is running and why the hell would she chance turning her ankle in high heels the day before the marathon? I'll tell you why, because no one else will be.

Day of: I'll run the marathon, go home and take a quick shower before heading off to work to waitress the rest of the night. I'd have to keep walking the rest of the day to prevent stiffness the next day anyway. I'll wear my metal around my neck. Then, when any snobby marathoners sit in my section, they'll know as soon as I come up to their table that I am way more hardcore than they are.

Plus, I'll get a ton of sympathy tips.

Since no one reads this blog, I'm sure I wasn't missed. But it was a rough couple of months.

The job(s)
So my contract at Baseline Development Group (BDG) ended on April 7. I knew it was coming, but contract work still sucks. Specifically because I'm trying to sell myself as a designer, yet I don't have a strong design portfolio or even an online portfolio. I've recently accepted that I just am going to have to settle for being a production monkey for awhile. I'm actually kind of ok with that. Production people are way more intelligent and, unlike most designers, aren't hung up on how awesome they think they are.

So I took a few days off before beginning my job hunt, hung out with some friends I haven't seen in forever and picked up more shifts at P F Chang's so Sean and I would still have money for food. Having all this extra time should have meant my running benefited, but that would be a lie. Sleep benefited. Sleep benefited a lot actually.

Right after I landed my next job at Houghton Mifflin (8 month contract - SCORE!), I found out that BDG folded. What happened the last few weeks at BDG deserves its own post, but I'm just going to say that shit went down. And badly. Most people are shocked when I tell the story of BDG's final week. Personally, I'm not sure how I feel about BDG closing its doors. Well, that's a lie. I'm upset. BDG is where I got my first real co-op job at Northeastern, and though I was never there as an 'employee,' I kind of was. I had my spot in production, almost everyone who had been there for more than a month knew who I was, not to say that I was totally popular or everyone's favorite, but people knew I was a solid investment. Not to mention I met most of my current friends there as well as my Captain.

The invitations
My sister is getting married in June. YAY! But, that also meant I was unacceptably late in sending off her invitations. I had to get it done by April 30th. I already had the design, the wording, and knew exactly what I needed to do. I just had to gather the materials and assemble it. Thankfully, Mom was addressing the invitations.

I had ZERO clue how long it was going to take for me to do these invitations. I basically ignored Sean for a week, sat down in front of the TV and my huge coffee table and printed, cut, punched, tied, stacked, and sealed 171 stupid invitations. It took every second of my free time to get it done by the deadline. The only thing that got me through it was the Resident Evil movies. Seriously. I must have watched each of those movies 4 times. Now I'm completely sick of them and couldn't sit down and watched it if you forced me to, but at the time that's all I wanted to watch.

So to sum up: ignoring your husband + evil zombies = beautiful invitations.

The training
It didn't happen. I gained all the weight back I had lost in my last few weeks at BDG when I was really eating healthy and running and doing pilates all the time, which I totally meant to write a post about, but I got too busy.

I think this post shall be a 2-part-er. For now, I'm off to Cottonwood Cafe to have a farewell party for BDG.