On 300...

No, I'm not referring to a movie with Gerard Butler's ripped abs, Spartans, warfare, and did I mention Gerard Butler's abs...

Nor am I referring to a Chrysler of the same name...

Nor a perfect game of bowling....

No, 300 has been an awful threshhold that I have struggled with for years.  No matter how much I dieted or excercised, I couldn't get below 300 lbs.  No matter how many slim fast shakes I drank or stairmasters I climbed, I couldn't drop below that number.

But I swore this year would be the year that I would be fit. This was the year.  These past couple weeks I have anxiously watched the scale dip, pound by sure pound.  And then last week, I hit a wall.  I actually gained a pound, 304. And I came to a crossroad. Because this was more then weight lost or gained, twinkies devoured or denied.  It was about change. How I lived the next week would determine what I would do when the going got tough.  Where exactly would the tough go, to the gym or McDonald's?

I buckled down.  I watched what I ate. I excercised everyday.  And with some trepidation I stepped on the scale today.  With head bowed I peaked at the scale barely looking at where the needle wavered.

299.5

It wasn't by much. My keys and cellphone could have put me over.

But as I laced up my shoes, I smiled to myself as I set my sights on my new goal.

Watch out 200.  Your next.

On St. Patty's Day...

Anyone acquainted with Ireland knows that the morning of St. Patrick's Day consists of the night of the seventeenth of March flavored strongly with the morning of the eighteenth.  ~Author Unknown

St. Patty's Day has always been a special day for me.  Whether it was partying in Tully Cross in 2003, carousing with sister and the AQ Girls in 06 (Rachel hit on a Republican!), and Savannah 08 (Remember when the lights went out in Georgia?).  It has always been a night to renew friendships and celebrate my many blessings.

Until Flint.

See St. Patty's Day isn't exactly big in Flint. Oh we have our fun, our parades and our obligatory green beer. But it lacked the friends and memories of other years.  In all those other places, other times, I fit.  And still on this one day I realized that I didn't fit. That I was still a stranger in my hometown.

Until this year.

I gathered with friends and roomies, and the Jaruzels, the Gentrys, Mama Lu. And so many others. And I laughed. And we eat. And we renewed friendships and celebrated our blessings.

And I laughed.  And I belonged.

And I fit.

On dictation....

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. -Eleanor Roosevelt

So it is extremely unusal for me to write two notes in one night (hell, sometimes I don't write two in one year.) These started out as my musings and flashes of brillance about everyday life that I wanted to share in my amusing mixture of snarky commentary and self-depracating humor. I'm not sure if this story is humorous. But it needs to be told.

I have struggled recently with a bad relationship.  I know, surprise! Pam in an unhealthy relationship? With a man? Gasp! It is a long-standing joke in my family that much like Dillon in Charlie's Angels I have the uncanny ability to pick the bad guy. I somehow always fall head over heels for the one guy who is in the words of Jen Giddings "Bad News Bears."  But this unhealthy relationship has grown unmanageable to the point were it is causing me to live in fear. I'm not sure where teasing becomes bullying becomes abuse.  But the fact that I'm even musing about it tells me that it has gone too far. 

This has a point.  I promise.

As I sat in Cork today, enjoying St. Patty's Day with friends, Amanda began to frantically wave at me that we had to leave. Remember the creepy neighbor? Yeah, he was there. And asking about me. (If you don't know who he is it's a story for another time.) Faster then anyone expected a 299 lb woman to move, I signed my credit card, leaving in my wake several startled friends and co-workers, and tore through the door. Yet another embarassing awkward guy moment that I didn't want to face. As I drove away in my little Mini I berated myself the entire way. Because if I couldn't proudly and confidently navigate my way through that unwanted advance from creepy neighbor surrounded by loving friends, when would I be able to do it all?

And I forgot my cellphone. Balls.

I pulled a U-Turn on Flushing and speed back to downtown. I would not run again. I marched into Cork, head up and smile on my face. I embarrsingly explained the situation. The cellphone. The guy. They all made sympathetic noises and nodded their heads. Yes, they understood.  We talked a while longer, new friends were met, and I eventually gave my regretful goodbye. This time I calmly walked out into the night. I'm not sure if creepy neighbor was still there. His existence no longer dictated my actions.

I'm done being embarassed. I'm done running away. I might not do it the way you want it. But you aren't the one living my life.

I am.

On Jen Lancaster...

So who, you might ask is Jen Lancaster? Only the snarkiest, plus-sized writer to ever grace my bookshelves. Unfortunately, she is the leading cause of failure of my diet.

Maybe I should back up a bit. I enjoy reading, what one of my friends termed as "Saccharine, sarcastic chic lit." I enjoy reading others slightly absurd happenings in their day-to-day lives. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is amused, amazed and befuddled by life. I actually got to meet Jen Lancaster at a book signing in Farmington Hills.

Going with Jenn G., Kate and Jackie, we bought her a cupcake and wine in a sweet if not slightly stalker gesture figuring she will need the sugar and liquid strength after a night of signing. We then go to the gourmet grocery next door and gorge ourselves on dumplings, sushi and kobe beef panini. Realizing that we just spent way too much time eating and we most likely will get crappy seats we rush next door. As we run through the doors we notice a driver and car pull up. Wait, driver and car? In Farmington Hills? OMG! It has to be her! In walks Jen Lancaster, the cool kid, the plumpy princess. Jackie and her talk and joke like old friends as Kate and Jenn presents her with our gifts (which she loved. Or at least pretended to.) I want to dazzle her with my wit and snarkiness too! I am funny and lovable! In a lull in the conversation, she moves as if to go inside, waiting for the people in charge to lead her to her podium. I'm going to miss my chance to wow her! Say something quick!

I squeak as I try to squeeze something out. She looks at me expectantly.

"We don't work here."

Bazinga!

Giving me the, "This is why I carry mace on my book tour look" she is rescued by a Border's employee, a snippy little thing who gives me a withering look. Hmmm. Note to self: Just keep quiet next time I see famous people.

So as I sit here today, reading another of her books, chortling to myself, (Oh Jen, you ARE so witty.) I get the munchies. Hush tummy you just got a very large fattening breakfast of eggs, sausage, deep fried potatoes, deep fried french toast, and deep fried bacon. But it's hard to ignore. I mean the chic is talking about food every other page. And alcohol. And I have a good two weeks of forced sobriety before I leave Magnus, teenagers, and Pam's Prohibition 2010.

And every page my munchie craving gets stronger and stronger. This is going to get ugly really soon.

I rummage through my shelves as she describes chocolate ganache and foie gras. She lives in Chicago for pete's sake. Damn. All I have is Ramen and Slim fast. Yuck. And chocolate. And bacon. Hmmmm...

If you are going to crash your diet, crash it big. In all of its chocolatey bacony glory.

See how I am outside of the Jen Lancaster-Love-Fold? Sigh...

On eHarmony...

So in a recent spat of tequila, boredom and facebook stalking exs, I began to get a little low.  And when I get depressed, and throw in alcohol and the internet what usually results is incredibly stupid but usually amusing stories.

So I joined eHarmony.

Now before I get the usual assortment of complaints, comments and warnings about Internet dating.  Trust me.  This I know.  But after trying the gym, bars, clubs, Starbucks, B & N's, church, my neighborhood, other cities, other countries, oil change places, the library, work, and networking events, I am flat out of options.  Since trusting serendipity to play matchmaker isn't working I thought I would try the world wide web.  Cause nothing bad every happens on the internet.

At first I looked at each profile with a certain amount of nervousness.  I sent introductions to 90% of the guys on my list.  Whenever I closed a match I did it with a certain amount of apology, wanting to tell them, it's not you it's me. I waited, and hoped, and pined, and dreamed.

I received absolutely no response.

I don't mean I didn't get a response i.e. that led to a meaningful relationship, or a phone call, or message.

Zip. Nada. Nothing. Nyet.

The guy panhandling in front of the Taco Bell on Ballenger and Corunna got more acknowledgement then me.

Over 150 guys. Not a single one. So I consulted some experts in the field, i.e. the one guy I can ask dating questions to.  And he said, "Most likely they are scared." Really.  How can you be scared? I mean who wouldn't want to date a girl with a profile pic like this -

Seriously this is my profile pic.

Is it my rambling lack of sentence structure...which often works stream of conscious...often referencing things like ooo cheese...I really want popcorn right now...where was I? Oh yay, my profile. Could it be that?

No, rather it was the same fears I had. The same fear everyone has. What might happen in a relationship, both good and bad.  Relationships leave us vulnerable and nobody wants to be that.  Apparently I have no sense of self preservation though and had no problem contacting strange guys on the internet.

So I pulled up my big girl pants, and decided I wouldn't let the affirmation or approval of a couple hundred eHarmony guys ruin my day.  I dusted the dirt from my sandals, quit the account and looked on to better days and dating in real life.

Until eHarmony contacted me and said I still had two months left of my commitment at the tune of $49.95 a month.

I guess one more look wouldn't hurt?

On underwear...

Things I learned about my body after losing weight number four- You will wear smaller size underwear.

Obviously, not the ones I wore. These are just for illustrative purposes.

New runners have the most interesting conversations. And by interesting I mean disgusting. When you run, all sorts of interesting happen.  Your body changes, and most of the time it isn't pleasant. Blisters, torn muscles, fatigue are just the beginning. Runners will often dehydrate and vomit while running. I've heard of stomach cramps so bad you literally shat yourself. But the worst is the chaffing...

Chafing - definition
1
: irritate, vex
2
: to warm by rubbing especially with the hands
3
a : to rub so as to wear away : abrade chafed his skin> b : to make sore by or as if by rubbing

Yep.  That would be number #3.

We are encouraged by our team leaders to try out new equipment, energy supplements, etc on our runs now to make sure everything works great for race day.  So as I began my run yesterday, 3 miles through downtown Flint and along the river, I decided to try out a new pair of running tights.  And stupidly enough, my new cotton briefs.

Now the underwear were dangerously close to falling through most of the day, but I thought perhaps I could struggle through the run, occasionally tugging them back into place.  I was wearing my underoos, the running tights, and then cotton shorts over them.  Well after the first 100 yards that clearly was not going to work.  My underwear were going down.

And taking my tights and shorts with them.

So what began as a fun jog through Flint turned into an ungraceful waddle through the city, with me desperately holding up my clothes to keep me from showing my business to municipality of Flint. Within a 1/4 a mile I had to get rid of the tights and underroos to keep what was left of my modesty.  That left me with a scanty pair of cotton shorts.  You what happens when you add cotton, sweat and friction?  You get chafing.

Refer to Definition #3 above.

After about 1 mile I was uncomfortable. 1.5 miles I was in pain. 2 miles and it was agony. My thighs were literally raw meat. (Your welcome for that visual.) And I wanted to quit so bad.  I wanted to sit down on the curb and call my roommate to pick me up. But I kept running. Not because I found some point of zen contemplation. Or came to a great breakthrough. Or pure stick-with-it-ness.

No, I wasn't in the best part of Flint and really didn't want to wait for someone to pick me up.  But it worked out. I finished the run and I learned a valuable lesson.

Cotton Shorts + Sweat = Walk of Shame

On death...

Benjamin Franklin once said, "In the world nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes." If I may add "And they will hit at the most inopportune time."

So the culmination of the past four weeks of Magnus is the two performances happening this Saturday at the Whiting. And for some of the faculty and staff this performance has been a year's worth of hard work and sweat.

The head of our program just found out today that her father-in-law passed away. And the funeral is Saturday. Four of our staff members are family of the man. On a day that should be about celebration and breathing a sigh of relief, now is about mourning. Which got me thinking.

Why is death so inconvenient?

In a world of flat tires, dropped calls, traffic jams, and missed chances it would seem that at least our final moments would have some sort of order or planning.

Instead we spend so much time filling our lives, that when a death happens, it always feel sudden and unfair. One more day. If only I'd known. I would have done things differently.

And perhaps that is why things are the way they are. That we need to live each moment like it's the last.
Cause death is inconvenient. Of that, I'm certain.

On Jen Lancaster...

So who, you might ask is Jen Lancaster?  Only the snarkiest, plus-sized writer to ever grace my bookshelves.  Unfortunately, she is the leading cause of failure of my diet.

Maybe I should back up a bit.  I enjoy reading, what one of my friends termed as "Saccharine, sarcastic chic lit." I enjoy reading others slightly absurd happenings in their day-to-day lives.  It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is amused, amazed and befuddled by life.  I actually got to meet Jen Lancaster at a book signing in Farmington Hills.

Going with Jenn G., Kate and Jackie, we bought her a cupcake and wine in a sweet if not slightly stalker gesture figuring she will need the sugar and liquid strength after a night of signing.  We then go to the gourmet grocery next door and gorge ourselves on dumplings, sushi and kobe beef panini.  Realizing that we just spent way too much time eating and we most likely will get crappy seats we rush next door.  As we run through the doors we notice a driver and car pull up.  Wait, driver and car? In Farmington Hills?  OMG!  It has to be her!  In walks Jen Lancaster, the cool kid, the plumpy princess.  Jackie and her talk and joke like old friends as Kate and Jenn presents her with our gifts (which she loved.  Or at least pretended to.)  I want to dazzle her with my wit and snarkiness too!  I am funny and lovable! In a lull in the conversation, she moves as if to go inside, waiting for the people in charge to lead her to her podium.  I'm going to miss my chance to wow her!  Say something quick!

I squeak as I try to squeeze something out.  She looks at me expectantly.

"We don't work here."

Bazinga!

Giving me the, "This is why I carry mace on my book tour look" she is rescued by a Border's employee, a snippy little thing who gives me a withering look. Hmmm. Note to self: Just keep quiet next time I see famous people.

So as I sit here today, reading another of her books, chortling to myself, (Oh Jen, you ARE so witty.) I get the munchies.  Hush tummy you just got a very large fattening breakfast of eggs, sausage, deep fried potatoes, deep fried french toast, and deep fried bacon.  But it's hard to ignore.  I mean the chic is talking about food every other page.  And alcohol.  And I have a good two weeks of forced sobriety before I leave Magnus, teenagers, and Pam's Prohibition 2010. 

And every page my munchie craving gets stronger and stronger. This is going to get ugly really soon.

I rummage through my shelves as she describes chocolate ganache and foie gras.  She lives in Chicago for pete's sake.  Damn.  All I have is Ramen and Slim fast.  Yuck. And chocolate. And bacon. Hmmmm...

If you are going to crash your diet, crash it big.  In all of its chocolatey bacony glory.

On Magnus (week one)...

525,600 minutes...wait...that's not right...that's a year...

Okay so you have to hum "Seasons of Love" to make it work...you ready?

604,800 seconds
604,000 here at Magnus
604,800 seconds
So you might ask, what's all the fuss?

In sore throats, in grown nails, in dorm food and lots of dancing.
In tendu, in demi, I don't know what that means...

In 604, 800 seconds, I hope I don't kill, any of these teens.

This is week.....ooooonnnneee.
Oh God, week....oooooonnnne.
This is week one.

On Magnus....

Let me just preface this post by telling you that after every sentence you should add "And then I walked." Man my feet hurt.

So as some of you know, for the next month of I have signed up to be an RA for the Magnus Midwest Dance Intensive in Flint. I work my normal FIM job during the week but at night I take care of 100 12-22 year olds at the U of M - Flint dorms.

Yesterday was move in day. I spent five hours walking up and down floors the length of two football fields answering questions, reassuring parents, explaining thermostats, etc. After they moved in we walked to the Cultural Center a 1.5 mile round trip (I googled it.) Last night, I fixed wi-fi, unplugged toilets, gave out extra blankets and patiently said no over 50 times. Mostly about things they knew they shouldn't do but just wanted to test the waters. Hey, their parents weren't there. I'll let them get tummy aches from eating too many cookies, but walking the streets of downtown Flint is just too far.

This morning it was showered, dressed and downstairs by 8. Placement classes were today. The students would be placed in three different groups based on their ability. I was warned about temper tantrums, hysterical sobbing, and slammed doors as these best-of-the-best divas found out what happened when all 99 other dancers were the best-of the best too.

The kids did their placements and then we had lunch. It was a lazy day, just hanging out. I would get little visits through out the day and I would laugh at their shenanigans because well they are teenagers and full of shenanigans.

After Dinner, talking with some of the girls about their day and how they were adjusting the elevator doors opened to a mob of students clamoring to see 3 small pieces of paper. Placements. I stood back and watched their faces. Trying to gauge if someone would need a pep talk or hug, and just watching. At first it was hard to see who was placed where. Quick fleeting glances of disappointment, brief moments of excitement. No tantrums, no slammed doors. These young men and women were talking this like champs.

I am sure that tears were shed in private and that moms and dads got triumphant phone calls, but I was really proud of all of their poise today. Now only 27 more days to go...

On guns and garden centers...

Strange bed fellows you might ask? Not in the least.  They have one thing in common.

Outdoors?

Fresh air?

Lots of wood? Closer...

Boys.

So as I was shooting on Saturday with the girls (oh, hush.  I don't kill animals or anything.) And doing a fine job of it when I noticed.  I was surrounded.  By men.  Old, young, cute not so cute.  And they were all interested in the 3 twenty-something females shooting the Ruger22.  Even the cutie wearing the MSU sweatshirt (I'll forgive him that) who let me play with what he was packing.  A single action 22 Magnum. 

For an hour and half, in all of our delightful gun ignorance we were bells of the ball (if the ball involved Sara Palin, firearms, and safety guns). 

Fast-forward to today when I went to Menards to buy the bricks for my new retaining wall.  And I noticed again.  Boys...everywhere.  I was actually astounded by the lack of female employees.  And they were all interested in helping me (granted they are paid to.... hush, don't pop my bubble) Suddenly, becoming a home owner with only minimal working knowledge of lawncare and plumbing is the best pick up line.

And it gets me wondering...why go to the bar where the men I meet are only interested in casual flings.  Been down that road.  And it left me leaving dirty.  And not in a good way.  More of a mis pantalones son sucios kind of way.  Not that I'm saying working at the Menards makes you a saint or morally superior.  But I'd rather chit-chat about bushes then....er...nevermind.

On temptations...

Mae West once said, "I generally avoid temptation unless I can't resist it," a saying which has been my modus operandi for my entire life. Not today.

Today was a normal day. With it's normal ups and downs. And my normal bit of insomnia. This week it has been strangely 4:36 am. What it is about that magic time, I'll never know. But suddenly I am wide awake as if someone had thrown a cold bucket of water on my body. For the next two hours I struggle with questions, only falling asleep about 17 minutes before my alarm goes off.

I keep asking, when? When will I meet this deadline? When is my credit card bill due? When is my next paycheck? When will I see the girls next? When will the other shoe drop? When will I fall in love? When will I fall asleep content?

Failing answers at night, I struggle to sleep. Failing answers during the day, I find and stuff myself with chocolate.

Not today.

Given 4 separate occasions to fail hard, I didn't. Because instead of being the insidious voice in my head undermining my confidence, the when became at first a plea, then a demand and finally a war cry.

When?

Now.

On happy meals...

Unlike most of my other posts, this starts on a happy note. And unlike most of McDonald's other claims, I do have to agree the happy meal does fulfill its promise.

It's happy to see you!

A coworker just surprised me by bringing me a happy meal. Now unless you are a six-year-old, this would not be the highlight of your day. In a day unremarkable because of its normalcy, where life was neither good nor bad, just life, I now had a colorful box filled with little goodies. Hot french fries, a fun toy and a shamrock shake became a small little break from the mundaness of today. Putting together the toy, racing it across my desk as the hot greasy goodness burnt my mouth. The fries and shake now reside in my belly, the little toy will be absconded by Des tomorrow, but for all the hours in this mediocre day, I had a few happy minutes.

On taxes...

Benjamin Franklin once said, "Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes." Oh, Ben you rascally scamp. How true you are.

I arrived home Monday after enjoying a lovely snow day at Borders. In the mail was a letter from my mortgage company. Hmmm...never a good sign. They were increasing my monthly payment.

By $127 dollars.

While this may not seem a lot to some people, for this single woman buying this house all on her lonesome it is a big deal. A mortgage, utilities, credit cards and two student loan payments mean I have very little disposable income at the end of the month. I freaked.

After several calls to the mortgage company (a mistake in my taxes last year necessitated and increase this year, go to the city fight this assessment, etc.) and the city, I felt alone. More then figuratively. (Literally my roommate was not home.)That cold feeling in your stomach. At that moment, the reality of me being alone in this venture came crashing home. Where was my prince charming to hold me tight and tell me everything was going to be okay? We all now collectively wait for the part where he arrived at the door, rose and fat check in hand.



Yeah. I'm still waiting too. But as the deed says, Pam Howe a single woman is the owner of this house. No Prince listed. I grabbed some power tools and went upstairs to work on the guest bedroom. I had shelves to put up and decor to finish. It gave something productive for me to do. As I worked with my hands it took my mind away from the reality of my situation. My guest room began to resemble that place that friends could come and find respite from their cares. I began to transform that room into my home. Which, as my sister reminded me earlier, is why I bought the house in the first place. It was important for me to create a home. So the belt has been tightened. Expenses cut...brown bags bought.

But regardless of what tomorrow brings, additional taxes, backed-up sewers, leaky pipes, Pam Howe, a single woman will still be queen of this castle.

On love (Agape)...

It is a well known fact that Valentine's Day is the feast day of St. Valentine, a roman priest martyred for marrying and aiding early Christians. What is less known is whether or not Valentine even existed. More likely he represented a couple of people martyred in the early days of Christianity, not a singular person.

So on this Valentine's Day, I got up early. Like 6:30. I had breakfast to make for that special someone. I put on my makeup, did my hair, I wanted to look my best. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, potatoes, ham, oatmeal, juice, the works. There was even yummy dessert - spiced cake, cupcakes, double chocolate cake.

No matter how you say it.

At exactly 8:00 am the doors opened and in walked that special someone. Or should I say someones. They looked like me and you. There were old ones, young ones, even pregnant ones. Smile on my face, I greeted each one.

Today I was at the soup kitchen downtown, trying to live out the service to others that got Valentine martyred over 1,700 years ago. Today I was trying to experience that Agape that the Greeks talked about. Universal love. Love in something greater then us all.

Today, boyfriends and girlfriends, fiances, married couples, lovers and everything in between will share a card or a box of chocolates in love. Today I shared what I could give in love.

I often wonder, as another friend gets married and starts their family when it will be my turn. And maybe that will never come. I can't serve just one man when there are so many that need me. I have to be the auntie taking nieces to ballet, the daughter helping parents clean the basement (I haven't forgotten, dad), the employee working late, the parishioner teaching students, the best friend there when all else falls apart.

So today, I will get ready for church and go to mass with my family and then out to breakfast and time with friends. Because today is about love.

To all my friends today, I wish you love. If it isn't with that husband, wife, boyfriend or lover remember the Greeks and their many types of love. Remember Valentine, not just one person, but an idea that life can be better. And give that as often as you can.

Because today is about love. But so is tomorrow.

On love (Philia)...

It's Valentine's Day. And I'm single. And no this post is not going where you think it is going.


It is a well known fact that while the English language has only one word for love (Luv and like do not count) the Greeks use four. We have Storge, which is the love I have for my waffles, my bed, Sunday mornings and my worn AQ sweatshirt. There is Eros which I don't have to much contact with by myself unless you want to make some uncomforatable John Mayer/Playboy interview comparisons (John Mayer does come up later.) There is Agape but that's for tomorrow. And then there is Philia or that brotherly love. Philadelphia is called that for a reason.

There he is in all his yummy goodness...

Yesterday I went to John Mayer. (See I told you he comes up again.) Now I am not a HUGE John Mayer fan. I bought the tickets for me to go with another person for Christmas. Who couldn't go cause he was going with someone else. A female someone else.

Burn.

So for six weeks I sat on those damn tickets hoping the situation would resolve itself.



The Palace would burn down.
She would back out on him.
John Mayer would have a breakdown and cancel his tour. (Only half right.)


I found myself last Monday with two tickets and no one who could go. Last thing I wanted to do was sit at a concert listening to John Mayer sing about love when, well, I wasn't with the one I wanted to be with. So Monday found me, with a pair of tickets and me cleaning my room. (Yes, there is a point to me cleaning my room.) Still unpacking boxes, I found a magnet my parents or roommates or someone had given me in the past. It said "But on your big girl panties and deal with it!"

Hm. Wow. Really?

Stop being the victim. You bought the tickets. You put yourself out there. Now you deal with it. No the magnet didn't say all of that to. But that is what it made me think. And then I acted. (This is where the philia thing comes in.)

So I called a friend, a really good girl friend who has been with me through thick and thin. Who also happens to love John Mayer. Friday night we got all dolled up. We went to the concert. Listened to FABULOUS music. I do admit I thought of him (the original recipient of the tickets, not John Mayer.) A couple times. But then I would look at my friend, listen to the music, think about how beautiful I looked and I realized. There really was no one nor no where else in the world I wanted to be at that moment then where I was.

Wearing my big girl panties.

On libraries...

This post will not make much sense at first. See I saw a connection between my thesis and the list of things I want a potential mate to have. Trust me. I'll get there.

A couple days ago, after commiserating with a friend the sorry state of my romantic affairs, she told me to make a list of what I wanted in a relationship. Not in a creepy "Be rich like Tony Stark, do push-ups like Christian Bale in Batman Begins, and have the voice of Sean Connery with a little Gerard Butler randomly thrown in" kind of way. More of a what are you willing to compromise in a relationship. What do you want to get out.

So here is my list:
You love that I care. Yes, you tease me about my outreach at church, that I cry when I see homeless people, that I still give money to people on the street. You think I am naive wanting to save the world. But that I do makes you love me all the more.

We make each other want to be better. We want to do more, feel more, be more in the eyes of our friends, coworkers and family. We will walk taller together.

You want to touch me. And not in a carnal, want to screw you way (at least not all the time), but in a it feels empty when you aren't by me way.

You dream. Obviously at night. But you are always looking bigger. Whether it's our future, your future, your family, my family, you can't sit still. Cause neither can I.

The end.

So last night as I was sitting in the U of M library. By myself. When I could be out at the bar. Having a good time. Instead working on my thesis.

I thought about certain people of my past and what (or who) they were doing. And the lack of what or who I was doing. And then I thought of what I was currently doing again. And I realized, that although I wasn't having the time of my life, I was spending time making my life mean something. My thesis work can actually help organizations...in some small I can make a corner of the world better.

I understand partying...I do it more often then not (Tequila and me aren't currently on speaking terms. I feel he mistreats me, he thinks I should man up more.) But not night after night. Day after day.

Going back to the list. I thought about that and decided, that certain things aren't up for compromise. Even for a moment on a Thursday evening alone in the library.

On addictions...

So I'm trying to quit. It doesn't matter what it is. Just have to do it. What does matter is that I've traded one addiction for another - smoking. It started off as only when I was out drinking, then on breaks with coworkers and now I am aching for one when I get off of work. (BTW Snow Storms + Smoking + Driving = Pam SOL.) Maybe all those years of smoking ads and commercials have finally taken their toll. Because now I think of myself as the coolest thing since sliced bread with a cigarette in my mouth.

Now before you all make those Pam, smoking is bad! comments, got it. I know. My importantly is the addiction. Did I really just jump from one addiction to another? Or am I addicted to....addictions? Is there something sexy about "Just dying if I don't have my starbucks, twinkies, Grey's Anatomy, etc?"

Hmmm....food for thought. I'm going for a smoke.

On deep fried twinkies...

My brother once shared with me that we have beer to thank for the creation of modern civilization and society. The process of brewing beer - having people to farm the hops, people dedicated to brewing vs. hunting/gathering, and safe, non-polluted drinking sources - led to the modern civilization structure as we know it. So what does this have to do with deep fried twinkies, you might be asking?

Well if beer led to the creation of civilization then deep fried twinkies will surely lead to its downfall.

We have an obsession in this country of deep-frying things. Whether it be oreos, ice cream, or even coke (yeah, not sure how that works, but it happened in Texas) we will fry anything. But with child-hood obesity at an all time high, diabetes, heart disease and high blood pressure increasing each year, you got to ask yourself is it too much? Totally. Is it worth it? You bet.

Because inherent in every deep fried treat is an indulgence. A moment of forgetting that you are a twenty, thirty, or forty something office professional giving up carbs and vainly spending 5-10 hours (okay 2-3 hours) at the gym every week. I once spent an entire vacation eating something deep-fried at every meal. No joke. For me, deep-fried food is a chance to be a kid again. Unfortunately it comes with some serious health risks. But that's living isn't it? Besides, if you believe the Mayans the world ends in three years.

So if we are all going to hell in a handbasket, I'll have mine deep-fried.

On New Year's Resolutions...

As 2009 is winding down, I am reflecting on my resolutions from this year. Generally I make a resolution and have forgotten it by February. This year I vowed, would be different. They were as follows-

1. Get my dream job
2. Get my house
3. Fall in love

By February, I was working at the FIM and loving it. By May, I had my house and although it has sometimes been a source of consternation, I love it. By September, I had fallen in love. Successful right? As 2009 progressed, I realized that I had met my resolutions, but I still wasn't happy. Somethings didn't work out (see #3). I was waiting before I took steps - waiting until the time was right to seriously date, to finish my master's, to decorate my house, to get my life in order, etc. I have been waiting for that right time before I did what I should have been doing all along. I thought when the time was right, it would all fall in place and I would be happy. That by waiting, I wouldn't have to deal with pain or failure.

Recently I have realized - the time will never be right. There are people smarter, skinnier, prettier, better organized then me who aren't happy. Why did I think that my life would be better when I was any of those things. I've had to lose some opportunities, had to lose some loved ones before I got it.

Life is too short.

So rather then make a new resolution this year, to make a promise that I will most likely break by February, I just am. Life is not beginning, it is continuing for me. For the first time in a long time, I love me. So here is my statement.

I am not waiting.