Love In A Bi-Partisan Household

As most of my posts often do, this one was born from my scanning a headline.  This one talking about being married to a person whose political views differ from your own.   While I believe that over the years we’ve discovered that our view on some fundamental social issues are very similar, our take on the other issues differ greatly.  Our opinions on the candidates themselves, the spin that most media outlets put on the candidates that they cover and want/don’t want you to think they support etc., also differ greatly.

Needless to say, this has caused some very sprightly discussions.  Arguments, if you will, in the proper sense of the word.  Now in the realm of the argument structure, Eric has me at a severe disadvantage.  I can usually keep up in the first 10 minutes or so of back-and-forth.  But he was the state champ in debate (or something like that) and did it not only in high school, but in college as well.  Whereas I am of the jump-up-and-down-flailing-my-arms-whilst-yelling-WELL-THAT’S-JUST-STUIPD-STUPID-STUPID-YOU-BIG-BUCKETHEAD school of debate.  If my dad was alive, he’d tell you the same thing.  My dad always said that the lowest form of arguing was name-calling.    He said it was reserved for those who simply didn’t understand the issue, or lacked the proper retort.  Yeah, that pretty much sums me up when it comes to politics.  Even though he made us play “The Devil’s Advocate” beginning when we were about 5, all I really became was passionate.  Arms-a-flailing.   Only winning because people didn't wish to get caught in the hand-swinging-crossfire.   And they would quit.

Granted, my arguments could be much more effective if I really cared to read deeply into the political arguments put forth by our candidates.  Don’t get me wrong, I care deeply about the issues, but I have little to no tolerance for politics.  Politicians, car salesmen, real estate agents.  There is no difference to me. 

Being married to Eric, though, a highly talented debater who can always end by agreeing to disagree, I learned the hard way that I cannot win a proper debate with him.  Even if I’m right (and I can FEEL it in my BONES!).  I’m just not able to put forth a strong enough argument in the subject of politics.  But that’s ok.  In our short number of years together spanning two presidential elections, I have learned an important lesson:  I've learned to stop flailing.  Because ultimately I love him, and it doesn't matter.  I've learned when I've reached the end of my ability-to-articulate rope, I stop.  Because ultimately I love him, and it doesn't matter.  I have learned to appreciate WHY he feels how he does and go on with life.  Because ultimately I love him, and it doesn't matter.  We share a bed, a home, a life and I love him.   And he loves me.  And ultimately, that is ALL that matters.

Target Audience is...me?

At some point in our lives we’ve all either been home sick from work or taken a stay-cation or had something come up that provided us the opportunity to have a gander at daytime TV commercials.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  The ones for trade/technical schools so you can learn refrigerator repair.  Oh, and don’t forget about all those commercials for lawyers who specialize in “Getting your disability claim approved”.  After all, “THEY MEAN BUSINESS”.  Those commercials are targeting a specific audience likely to be watching at that time.  Well, radio is no different, right?  During the course of the day, there will be commercials specifically targeted to the audience who might be listening at that time.  

When I listened to traditional morning radio during my commute to work, I would hear no fewer than 10 commercials for breakfast at McDonald’s.  Wouldn’t I love to try their new McGriddles and a nice hot cup of coco?  “Why yes”, I say as my car steers its way into the McD’s drive through, “Now that you mention it, I think some coco might be nice”.  Corporate commercial mission success: 1. Ilisa’s diet: 0.

I bought a Volvo last year and it came with Sirius XM satellite radio.  I fell in love immediately.  The majority of channels are commercial free.  That said, my two favorite channels, Raw Dawg and Blue Collar Radio (both comedy channels) have commercials.  Limited ones, but commercial’s nonetheless.  Just like any other outlet, they have a target audience.  The audience who listens to that genre. 

Now, I know what genre I’m NOT.  I’m certainly not looking for a disability claim, a payout from a car accident, a new trade school education, or the newest Swiffer mop that will miraculously get my house clean enough to give me enough time to ‘finally read a book’.  I just happened to have a day off and caught the commercial at that time.

However, I listen to the comedy channels religiously on my way to and from work.  They play the classics like George Carlin, Eddie Murphy, and Bill Cosby.  I really like the newer stuff too.  I’m a huge fan of Kathleen Madigan, John Pinette, Ralphie May, Ron White, and Bill Engvall.  The only thing that bothers me about these two stations in particular are the commercials.  They are geared solely towards men and are all about penis function and sex.  Seriously.  Every commercial is either for penis enhancement or enlargement, prostitution (trying ineffectively to disguise itself as another “dating” website), porn websites, and stores that sell sex toys. 

After several months of being bombarded with these commercials I’m beginning to have a complex.  These companies spend big money on research and development to ensure they are advertising to their target audience.  Obviously the predominant audience is the lonely, hard-up, male pervert.  Is there something wrong with me?  Could I really be a lonely, hard-up, male pervert in denial???

Fighting my obesity one step at at time...

A couple of posts ago, I was at a real low point in my efforts to lose weight.  I really felt like I was doing everything right and then some, but seeing zero results.  I increased my activity level by over a 1/3, and have been doing my workouts 9x per week.  40-45 minutes 5x per week and 40-45 minutes twice per day on Saturday and Sunday.   I’ve been doing this for two months and have lost a grand total of 1 pound.  And even that one pound is questionable.  Today the scale informed me that it was actually only ½ a pound.   On the bright side, I haven’t GAINED any more weight.   So there’s that.

Still, I bought the Fitbit which is basically a pedometer on crack, and it has really been key to keeping me honest and motivated.  I enjoy the progress and the little badges you earn for your workouts.   Between that and tracking my entire food intake on myfitnesspal.com, I know eventually this is going to work for me.  It just HAS to.  I never really ate poorly so food has never really been a battle.  Even so, I had been making an effort to eat even better.

I say all that to say this…this past Friday I had my annual PHA.   For those of you not in the military this is the annual physical that the military makes you do.  I was quite tickled at the results of my blood work.  My total cholesterol went down over 40 points, my triglycerides went down SIXTY points, and my vitamin D levels were back into the normal range for the first time in 5 years (only by 5 points but normal is normal dammit!)  Obviously I am doing SOMETHING right.  It’s been very difficult to work this hard and see no outwardly result for my effort.  But knowing that it’s doing me some good, even if it’s only on the inside, makes me happy. 

He did scold me about my weight though.  The funny thing about that whole discussion was that when he looked at my chart, he said, well, for your height you are at exactly where you need to be weight-wise.  Uh…what?   I said, um…doc, I’m obese.  He argued with me and said, nope, “…at 5 ‘ 7” you should be right at the 135 mark which is where you are.”  Now I KNOW this man looked at me, cause I was lookin’ at him when he was lookin’ at me.   But he was reading the chart and mistakenly thought that the chart said I was 5 foot 7 inches tall when in fact my height was just written out in inches which, in my case, is 57 inches.  He said, “oh, you’re right.  For your height you should really be less than 100 pounds.”   I’m not sure I completely agree with THAT number.  Unless of course I was 11 years old (the height of the average 11 year old American girl is my height).   I mean, really…my chest alone has to weigh 10 pounds.  To be honest, when I weigh 115 I’m smokin’ hot.    Methinks he didn’t account for the fact that I am an adult.

All that aside, I’m a hefty little fatty, and as hard as it is proving to go from the “obese” category into the “overweight” category, it’s an even LONGER journey from the “overweight” category into the “normal” weight category.   Eventually I’m going to get there though.  Me, my fitbit, and my lower cholesterol.  Yeeha.

Civility

I hired a woman to clean my house a couple of times per month.  I’ve been budgeting for this luxury for about the last 12 years or so.   Having grown up dirt-ass poor, this is something I don’t take lightly and is one of the reasons I work as hard as I do.  

I have been very fortunate that I have found really good, trustworthy, people to do this.  After all, these are people who get unrestricted access to my home.  I prefer to hire individuals as opposed to big cleaning companies (like Merry Maids or the like).  They are still licensed and insured, but you can really get to know the person providing the service since they are the only one who comes in.  After a time, they have all become part of my life.  The woman I hired here in Northern Virginia, Mirna, is no different.   She is wonderful, sweet, efficient, and I trust her completely in my home when I’m not there. 

Today we were talking about her schedule and making a few adjustments, and I pretty much told her that I didn't have a set preference for which days she comes by.  She knows how often I want her to come, and all I asked was that she send me a text the day before so I can leave her a check.   She was, what I thought, to be oddly grateful for the freedom to run her own schedule.  Then she thanked me for my “civility”.  I wish I could tell you that I was shocked.  But sadly, I wasn’t.  I just felt badly for her.

I have always been appalled by people who lack civility.  You know the type…it’s the person who can’t even manage to eek out a smile to the person taking the toll on the Turnpike.   My father’s last girlfriend was like that.  She would never say so much as a “thank you” to the waiter/waitress who refilled her water, or a simple “hello” the cashier at Target, even when one was initiated by them.  It used to make me nuts.  I would end up saying it for her.  A waitress would fill up her water glass and she would just give them an exasperated look.  I would say to the waitress “What she meant to say was, THANK YOU”.  For those who know me, I’m sure they are able to hear my tone.

My mother was a wonderful woman who imparted a very simple rule addressing this very thing.  She would say “Ilisa, a person who is nice to you but not nice to the waitress is not a nice person”.  She was so right.

I wish I could go to my wonderful Mirna’s other clients and tell them that they should be ashamed of themselves.   Tell them that their momma’s obviously didn't raise them right.  But I can’t.  It probably wouldn’t do any good anyway.   Still…shame on them.

Problems and Challenges

I am not sure when it became politically incorrect to use the word “problem” and instead use the word “challenge”.  I am guessing it was around the same time as they started giving trophies to all the players on a kids team.  Even the ones who lost.   What do you have to reach for if you get a trophy even when you’re a loser??  But I digress.  That’s a topic for a whole other post...

I cannot stand the word “challenge” when it’s used in place of the word “problem”.   Seriously, when did the word “problem” become a bad word?  A four-letter word?  Or a negative word?  I propose that the word “challenge” and the word “problem” aren’t even interchangeable, and every time I hear it in the workplace (oh…EVERY DAMN DAY), it is being used incorrectly.  It makes me cringe.

Problems are a part of life.  Sometimes everyday life.   We don’t chose to have problems, but sometimes we have them anyhow.  My father always told me that a problem was just something in search of a solution.  If no solution exists, then there really isn’t a problem to begin with.

People chose to challenge themselves, though, don’t they?   Absolutely.   Do you want to run a marathon?  There’s a challenge if I ever heard one.  But I don’t think you’d be able to find someone who decides to train for a marathon who would tell you that they have a “problem” they are trying to solve, which is training for a marathon.   Nope.  Don’t think so.  I can say it like that over and over again and it just never rolls nicely off the tongue.

Now, if while you’re CHALLENGING yourself, to run this marathon and you develop shin splints, then THAT would be a problem.  What’s wrong with calling that a “problem”?  That’s what it IS. This isn’t a bad thing.  Well, shin splints suck, but you just have to figure out what’s causing them, and what you can do to make them stop.   Perhaps the answer to this problem is to change your stride.  Perhaps it’s the sneakers you’re wearing and you need to change it up a bit.   Whatever the solution is to the problem of shin splints might make the challenge of running the marathon a little bit easier to accomplish.  Ya trackin’?

If nothing I’ve written here convinces you that the word “problem” isn’t blasphemy and that the word “challenge” isn’t used properly 90% of the time in both corporate America and in menial government work, then I ask you to consider this…

Tom Hanks—Apollo 13:  “Houston, we have a challenge.”

Why bother??

I'm fat.  I say it a lot.  Just last week I was mistaken for pregnant.  That was like taking a bullet.

I hate that I'm fat.  It is all encompassing in my life.  I think about my weight constantly.  All day.  First thought when I get up.  Last thoughts before I go to sleep.

But I am the master of my own destiny.  I don't believe it's going to resolve on it's own.  I don't just bitch and  sit.  I work at it.   I'm in decent shape, I think.  I do well enough on the Air Force's PT test to score an "Excellent".  Can't do that unless you work out regularly.  Well, I can't.

Having just moved to a new city, the place where we live has a great area to run.  By default, it stepped up my workout.  So for a full 4 weeks now, I have been jogging 5-6 days a week.  On the weekends I have been doing it twice a day.  I even added a 40 minute yoga session every night before I go to sleep.  These jogs aren't casual strolls through the streets.  I work out to the point of nausea every time.  My heart rate stays up the entire workout.  I'm still sweating for 20 minutes after I'm done.  I hate every minute of it, but I love how I feel when its over.

To add to my efforts to loose weight I am meticulous about my caloric intake.  I use myfittnesspal.com and track everything I eat.  According to the calculations of the nutritionist at my last base, I need to keep my caloric intake at 1100-1300 calories a day to maintain my weight (high end) or loose (low end).  I never ate poorly, either.  I don't drink any alcohol, don't eat fried foods, fast foods, candy bars, chips, nothing carbonated (soda), etc.  My calorie intake is consistently between 900-1200 calories a day.  You see, I'm a creature of habit.  After 30-plus years of being thin, I didn't just suddenly wake up and become a lazy fucking glutton.  People who know my medical history may say, "Ilisa, your thyroid is completely out of whack, Hashimoto's is the problem."  Fuck the thyroid.  It's bullshit.  A huge percentage of the people out there have thyroid issues.  So what?  I blame the thyroid for 5-8 pounds of it.  The other 10 can't be the thyroid. It's got to be my fault somehow.

I have been so proud of myself since moving here.  This new run with its serious uphills (serious for me), and the addition of yoga, and an even BETTER selection of foods to eat had to have been the key, right?  THIS was what I needed!  Well so much for that.  I've been at this for weeks and haven't lost a single ounce.  NOT ONE OUNCE.  They say that when you first start working out, you loose more weight in the first couple weeks than you do the rest of the time.  Well, since I lost zero pounds the first couple of weeks, where do I go from here?  Don't concentrate on the scale you say?  I never did.  But my clothes scream that I haven't gained any muscle or toned down.  Nothing fits.  I donated my "skinny" clothes over a year ago.   Well, just last month I had to give away my "fat" clothes and now I have to go buy fatter clothes.

Why do I even bother?  Why am I killing myself?  Sure, my cardio is pretty good.  My resting heart rate is about 60-62.  Doesn't make my jeans fit any better.  I have awesome blood pressure.  Doesn't keep anyone from thinking I'm preggo.  I don't recognize myself when I walk past a mirror and when I do and realize that the fat chick is actually me, I want to cry.

I have a good job, a great home, and a husband who I adore and who adores me.  But this isn't about that.  This is about me.  I despise everything about my fat, disgusting, body.  And when you know how you once looked compared to how you look now, and then work so hard and get zero results, you just walk around in a constant state of WTF.

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This post has been brought to you by Ilisa.  A woman who just needed to vent.

Reflections...have I said this already?

I think I may have wrapped up my time here in Goldsboro in a previous post.  But it is probably worth repeating.  Mostly because it’s in my head right now and I find that’s always the best time to write it down.

As my four years here come to a close, there is nothing sad, depressing, or even bittersweet about my departure.  Over the past year or so the people that I have come to know and love have already left.  The people who helped establish the foundation of what Goldsboro means to me now, and in my future thoughts of this place, are mostly gone as well.   Even Julie, who has been here as long as I have (almost to the day) is leaving tomorrow.

Some memorable things took place during the past 4 years.  Some of them, and in no particular order of importance here:  getting to buy my favorite house of all the homes I’ve bought in my life, my deployment to Pakistan, my dog Macy being diagnosed with and then beating cancer, and of course getting my Volvo C70, which I wanted since they came out with the hardtop model back in 2007.

Of course, the most amazing thing that came from my time here in North Carolina was meeting, dating, falling in love with, and ultimately marrying my husband Eric.  It’s pretty amazing what a difference four years can make in someone’s life isn’t it?  The development of the Eric Factor has certainly caused me to eat much crow among my family and friends.  On a couple different levels.  But it’s all good.  Eric is the best thing that I got from Goldsboro and I get to take him with me to DC.

I don’t know anything about what my work-life will entail when I get to DC.  It may be the best job I’ve ever had or it may be the worst.  I’d probably be ok with something in between.  But I know what kind of life Eric and I are getting outside of work and we couldn’t be more excited about it.   The more we “Google” the happier we get.  I seriously think that if we could leave tomorrow we would.

To that end, as I say deuces to Goldsboro, I won’t even look in my rearview mirror as I drive away.  The view out the front windshield promises to be way better.