Enough

I opened my computer to look at the news on CNN.com.  Because I cannot bring myself to watch the news on TV right now.  I can't do it.  It's too heartbreaking.  It's too draining.  It makes me cry.  It brings overwhelming sadness.

And when I opened up the CNN website, I couldn't even click into anything other than the "entertainment" section.  I have no desire to know about Linsey Lohan's latest rehab, or the Kardashian's exploits, or which movies are getting awards.  But it's easier to read about those mindless, unimportant events than it is to read about the victims of the shooting in Connecticut.

Enough.

Enough already.

Can we please, as a nation, acknowledge that we have a problem with guns?  Yes, we do have a problem with the people who shoot the guns.  But the people who shoot the guns HAVE the guns.  And that's a big part of the problem.

We need to address how easy it is to get a gun.  We need to make it less easy.  We might need to consider that we need to make getting some types of guns illegal.

No one but a trained military soldier should have access to an automatic weapon.  No one.  Let me say that again.  No one.

You want to hunt?  Feel free.  With a rifle.  That you have to re-cock each time you want to shoot.

You want to unwind with target practice?  Feel free.  With a gun that you have to re-cock each time you want to shoot.

Does that cramp your style?  Does that infringe upon your perceived second amendment rights?  You're alive to have your style cramped.  You're alive to be infringed upon.  Count yourself lucky.  There are twenty innocent kindergartners and six brave adults whose lives are lost too soon because we, as a nation, couldn't get it together to prevent this.

Enough already.

I Need Longer Arms

I need longer arms.

And they aren’t likely to get longer, so yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.  Because my dilemma is that words are getting smaller.  Not length smaller.  Not syllable-smaller.  Size smaller.  As in height.  Font size.  

The written word is shrinking.  I used to be able to read an ibuprofen bottle.  It was so simple.  Just hold the bottle up in front of my face and read it.  It was that way for everything--the newspaper, mail, my computer screen, my iPhone screen.  All of it clear as a bell, right there in front of my eyes.  I would look, and words would reveal themselves.

And then... one day the words just started getting smaller.  I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland.  It was all shrinking right before me, and there was nothing I could do to make it better.  Except start holding things farther and farther away from me.  My arms are only so long.  

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  It’s the words.  It’s not me.  Or my eyes.  

Because if it was me and my eyes, then that would be a sign that I am getting older.  And while, yes, duh, I know I’m getting older, I don’t want to encounter any actual physical signs of my aging.  Like having to hold my iPhone so far away from me to read a text that I had to activate the “large text accessibility” function.  I may or may not have had to do that recently.  It may or may not have really helped a lot.  

Unfortunately, at some point my arms (which, by the way are in direct proportion to my height, which is 5'4", which is a bit on the short side) are not going to be able to outstretch far enough for me to read the correct dosage on the ibuprofen bottle.  Hey, ibuprofen manufacturers, you know that the majority of the people taking your product are doing so because they have a headache, right?  They already aren't feeling top notch.  Possibly they have one of those nasty behind-the-eyeballs aches.  Why not throw people a bone and make your packaging readable?  If you eliminate all the crap you can make the instructions a normal, readable size.  Perhaps you can eliminate the entire section that reads:                                                                            

Stop and consult a doctor if: 

• you experience any of the following signs of stomach bleeding:
  • feel faint
  • vomit blood
  • have bloody or black stools
  • have stomach pain that does not get better
• pain gets worse or lasts more than 10 days
• fever gets worse or lasts more than 3 days
• redness or swelling is present in the painful area
• any new symptoms appear

I mean, really, you have to actually put that on the package?  Isn't that all kind of common sense?  I mean, who would think to themselves, "Hey, I've been taking this medication for three days and it not only doesn't seem to bring my fever down, but my fever is getting worse.  Think I'll keep taking it and hope it starts to work at some point..."?  I say get rid of that section and use the extra room on the bottle to bring the dosage information to a size that does not require ape-like arm length, a magnifying glass, or your kid to read.  

Several people have suggested that, if in fact I cannot get my arms to stretch out to a suitable length, I try “cheaters” reading glasses.  Um, why attack me?  Why do I have to suffer when it’s the words that are the problem?  

And while we're on the subject, grey hair is a sign of increasing intelligence, right?

All Over the (electoral) Map

Today's post has no theme.  You'd think from the title that it's going to be about politics.  It might be .  For a little bit.  But my thoughts are literally scattered today.

I ordered Steven's cap and gown this morning.  That was a little dose of hard reality.  His cap and gown.  For graduation.  So he can graduate.  And go to college.  And leave home.  Yeah, today's going to be a long day.

And incidentally, to order a cap and gown, you have to put the graduate's height and weight down for the sizing.  Today I also found out that my 6'3" son weighs the same as his 5'4" mother.  Yeah, yeah, different builds.  Whatever.  That's an eleven inch height difference with a zero pound weight difference.   So yeah, that really helped make my day better.  I'll be spending the next hour or so at the gym.  Possibly trying to stretch myself on a rack.

It's also election day.  Nervous.  Very nervous.  Pennsylvania, do NOT go red on me now!  I want to turn the TV on, but I've decided not to until at least 4pm, when polls start closing on the east coast and the news channels can post actual results as opposed to hypothetical speculation (yes, I know speculation is hypothetical--did you not get the part about me having a hard day? Leave it alone, ok?).

I cannot fathom the possibility of a President Romney.  My whole body just shuddered.

Talked about the election excitement this morning with the kids as we ate breakfast.  After discussing our fervent hope that Obama prevails, I asked the kids what they'd like for election night dinner.  Sloppy Joes was the resounding answer from both of them.  Then we decided maybe they should be called Sloppy Mitts.  Or Sloppy Romneys.  Which in theory was fun, but actually sounds kind of gross to eat.  We decided just plain old sloppy joes would be fine.

A quiz for you, to see if you've been reading this blog entry with your full concentration:

Kim should go to the gym today to:
(a) run off nervous election-day tension
(b) try to make her mother/son weight/height ratio more acceptable
(c) get out of the house so she doesn't turn on the TV before 4pm
(d) run hard enough on a treadmill so her tears at the thought of her kids leaving home look like sweat

Yeah, today's going to be a long day.

Go Obama!
(Don't go, Steven!)

WOW!

Why are everyone's pants so tight?
Can you put your phone down for just a few minutes?
Girls' shorts are just too short these days.  It leaves nothing to the imagination.
Those boys are going to have hip problems wearing those pants so low and trying to keep them on.
That's not a homecoming dress.  That's a cocktail dress.  You're too young for cocktails.
Too many piercings.
Too many tattoos.
Why on god's green earth would anyone want a gauge in their ear? It just looks gross.
We rode our bikes everywhere, or we walked--you kids drive or are driven everywhere.
I know it's only nine o'clock.  I'm still going to bed.

I don't have much commentary to add to this.  It's just a list of things I've caught myself saying the the last couple of months.

Somewhere along the way I turned into a cranky old lady.

I'm going to work on it.  I can change.  I can be positive.  Here goes:

Wow, I could never pull off pants that tight.  You're lucky you have such a great figure.
Wow, that phone is so small it's as if you can use it and not even realize you're using it.
Wow, those shorts really make you look like you have long legs.
Wow, it's gravity defying how low his pants are,  yet he can keep them from falling all the way down.
Wow.  You look very mature in that dress.
Wow, how did you find someone who would pierce that?
Wow, your psychiatrist must love you.
Wow, do you love the way it looks, or were you just trying to piss off your parents? (sorry, I couldn't find anything positive to say about the whole gauge thing)
Wow, you kids are lazy.  (again, I tried but failed to find a positive spin on that one)
Wow, I've been up for sixteen straight hours!  I'm going to bed.

Not bad.  I can do this.  It's just going to require a lot of sentences beginning with Wow!

So This Is What It Feels Like to Get In Shape

  This is probably not the best time for me to be writing this entry.

  I am on day three of my new workout routine.  I thought I was in decent shape.  I thought my new workout routine would get me into better shape.  As it turns out, I am not in shape at all.
  "Why, Kim, do you think you are not in shape at all?" you might be asking yourself.  Or perhaps you're more of a realist, and you are saying to yourself, "Well, it took her long enough to figure that out!" I'm not really going to address you realists.

  However, I will answer the first question, and I will do it with brutal honesty and complete humility.  I know I am not in shape at all because I am sitting here writing this blog.  I have been doing my 50 minute workout for two hours now.  I was supposed to do two sets of a circuit (a mix of weight lifting, push-ups, leg lifts, planks, etc...that takes about twenty minutes total) followed by 30 minutes of cardio.  Here's how that panned out:

  I did one set of the circuit.  My heart was racing.  I had to stop for water.  I was dripping sweat.  Slightly out of breath.  I paused to check my email (you know, to catch my breath).  I laid down on the couch because it felt cold against my body.  Closed my eyes for a few minutes (I did NOT fall asleep, thank you very much).  Got back up.  Went out to do circuit number two.

  Oh dear god.  Completed the circuit, but then felt like I was going to throw up I was so tired.  Paused for another glass of water.  Checked my phone, hoping there was some urgent message that needed tending to.  Damn it.  Why do my kids only forget their lunches when I'm in the middle of something fun?  Thought about the 30 minutes of cardio that I was now supposed to do.

  And here I sit.  The mere thought of starting that cardio was enough to make me lie down on my now-sweaty yoga mat and say out loud, to no one but myself, "So this is what it feels like to be out of shape."

  I'm telling you this because you would otherwise have no way of knowing it, but since I typed that last sentence, I have been to the grocery store, made the bed, eaten my lunch, and yes, done some cardio.  Maybe not half an hour of cardio.  Maybe not even quite twenty minutes.  Perhaps as little as ten.  But hey, I did some cardio.  After I did all that other stuff.  And again, it winded me.

  Not fun.  This is not a fun place to be at all.  I am utterly unused to not being able to somewhat remotely accomplish my fitness goals.  I've trained for and run nine half marathons (okay, I trained for eight and ran nine--remind me to blog about that one that I ran without training for sometime--good story).  But anyway, I have been in decent shape for most of my adult life.  But no more.

  I let it go.

  Totally my own fault.  After that last half marathon (in Disneyland!), I said to myself, as I say to myself after every half marathon, "Kim, you should just keep running like you're still training.  You're in great shape.  Don't let it all go."

  And yet, after every single half marathon I have run, I have then let all that training go to waste and had to start from scratch again.  I kid you not.  After EVERY SINGLE ONE, I have thought those thoughts and then not followed through.

  But this time feels different.  The base layer, that ability to get right back into the groove and have it feel good to be exercising again--kaput!  Disappeared.  Not making any kind of appearance.  It's just me and my very distraught lungs and my wildly racing heart.  And my profusely sweating brow.  And my slightly wounded pride.

  It's as if my body is older.  Oh, wait....

  Okay, so there's a realization I need to fully confront.  My body is, apparently, not as forgiving as it once was.  It's a little easier to gain a pound.  It's a little harder to lose one. It's going to take more to accomplish less.  Good times, people, good times.

  But, and I am writing this down and publishing it so that it's out there and I cannot deny it, I will get back in shape.  I am determined to follow my new workout routine, eat (more) properly, and generally get my body back to feeling, at the very least, 46 years old instead of any number higher than that.

  I've got my iPod all charged up and I'm ready to go do my cardio run tomorrow. Hopefully, I will not be blogging in the middle of that run.

The Magic Number

I'm wondering, what's the magic number of calories in a can or bottle of soda that will make me actually NOT drink that can or bottle?  I will happily down several Coke Zeros in a day.  Same goes for Pepsi Max (which although it sounds like it would be a lot of calories, is actually calorie free).  I will guzzle Pepsi One.  And Diet Dr. Peppers.  They all, essentially, are calorie free.

Today, however, I discovered a new marketing tactic.  Or ploy.  Or gimmick.  I grabbed a bottle of Dr. Pepper 10.  That's the title of the drink.  I innocently thought it meant that there would be 10 calories in the drink.  Not a particularly bold or, in my opinion, risky assumption there.  But then I noticed, halfway through my refreshing mid-afternoon drink, that in very small letters underneath the very large and bold Dr. Pepper 10 it said, "10 calories per 8 ounces".  Hmmm.  Eight ounces is one cup.  I have never encountered a soda container, be it can or bottle, that was a mere eight ounces.  I did a little detective work.  I read the serving size: one bottle.  Okay, that's good.  I read how many ounces are contained in the bottle: 20.

Twenty?  So my Dr. Pepper 10 just turned into my Dr. Pepper 25.

This seems extremely deceptive marketing to me.

I know that recently the FDA started requiring packaging to show how many calories are in the entire package.  This was done because some foods (junk foods I'm thinking) would put the calories per serving on the front of the, say M&M's bag, and then in very small print on the back tell you that there were in fact 3.5 servings of that 100 calorie/serving food in that tiny bag.

Now, the Dr. Pepper 10 people threw me completely.  They named their product with a 10, causing me to think there were ten calories in the bottle.  They put that it was one serving per bottle, so I'm still thinking I'm drinking a mere 10 calories.  But then they told me that it was in fact 10 calories per eight ounces, and they did it with fine print in a very muted shade, so I wouldn't notice that little fact.  And then to boot, they made the bottle size 20 ounces.  So to my figuring, it would have made just as much sense for them to tell me that there are 5 calories per four ounces and called it a Dr. Pepper 5.  Or perhaps go all James Bond and tell me there are 7 1/2 calories per..... okay, frankly I'm not that good at math and I'm just not going to go to the trouble to figure that one out.  But you get the picture.

So no great epiphany here, just an average consumer noticing that in a society where one in three people are obese, a little straight shooting from the good people who package the food would be nice.

It was a good reminder to me, as well, to read the nutrition labels.  I do realize it's my responsibility to understand what I'm putting into my body (although, again, I would so appreciate it if the packaging didn't require me to do math to figure it out).

And just FYI, I drank the Dr. Pepper 10.  The whole bottle.  All two and a half servings of it.

Customer Service

Dear Tyler at O'Reilly Auto Parts Store in Glendora, CA,

You are a life saver.  Truly.  You have no idea.

When I got up this morning, 400 miles from home, and found that my car wouldn't start, it was not the greatest start to my day.

First off, I really needed a Coke Zero to get my day going.  And my car wouldn't start.  The hotel chain I was staying at only carried Pepsi products (that particular chain shall remain nameless, but let's just say that for that reason--and really for that reason only, as they did serve wine and chocolate chip cookies in the evening which was awesome-- in my opinion it is not the BEST hotel in the WESTERN area).  AND MY CAR WOULDN'T START!

I put that last sentence in all caps because there is no such thing as a font called Panic, otherwise that is what I would have used because that is how I felt.  I can't really tell you what was agitating me more, the lack of a Coke Zero (and the complete inability to get one now that MY CAR WOULDN'T START), or the fact that MY CAR WOULDN'T START!

Getting the picture?  Neither of these situations is truly alarm-inducing in and of themselves.  But together, they create a caffeine-deprived woman with no remedy for her distress.

I can hear you saying to yourself (not you, Tyler the life saver--other people who might be reading this blog), "You could just buy yourself a Diet Pepsi and half of your problem would be solved."

If you said that, if you even thought that, then I have no idea how you found your way to this blog.  Clearly you do not know anything about me.  You probably had to press Ctrl•Alt•Delete to even get to this blog.

Sorry, Tyler.  I got sidetracked there.  Back to my recap of how you are a wonderful person.

So I'm stranded hundreds of miles from home on day three of a four day college road trip with Steven, my sixteen year old.  I guess technically that means we are stranded, not just me.  In our defense, we are two cool cats.  We do not panic at all.  We go about our day calmly.

We leave our car at the hotel and carpool with our good friends the Andersons to the college that we are visiting that day.  We have a fantastic time looking around.  We enjoy ourselves immensely.  We are not in the least bit stressed out or worried about the fact that we currently have no working vehicle with which to get to the next college or get home.  We just figured we would solve that problem when we got back to the hotel.

One set of cheap jumper cables (they did not do the trick), a call to a tow truck, one set of really good jumper cables from the tow truck (they did do the trick), and a short drive down the street to O'Reilly's Auto Parts Store, we finally get to you, Tyler.

We told you our predicament,  politely asked if your store installs batteries, and even though your store does not install batteries as a matter of policy, you offered to take a look for us and give us some guidance.

And then you took the next hour and a half of your time and installed our battery.  It was way more involved than you originally thought it would be, but not once did you lose patience or tell us that it was simply too much for you to do.  You scraped off the corrosion.  You loosened the nuts with pliers when the space was too small to get the socket wrench into.  You consulted your manager when it turned out that one of the terminals had a slight crack in it.  You found a way to remedy the crack, at least for enough time for us to get the car home.

It was hot outside, Tyler, and not once did you even mention the heat, even though you were standing in the direct sunshine the entire time.

When you finished and I turned the key, not only did the car start right up, but my automatic locks, which had not worked for over a year, now worked!

So Tyler, what I want you to know is that you are a wonderful young man who went far above and beyond what was expected of you today, and probably far and beyond what your boss usually allows in the parking lot (there was a sign hanging there saying no car work to be done in the parking lot, but your boss seemed okay with you helping a pair of distressed travelers).

You could have simply told me at the outset that O'Reilly's policy is to not do the actual battery changes and just sold me the battery, but you didn't.  You talked to me, asked me questions, listened to my answers, assessed the situation, and decided to help.

Not everyone would have done that, Tyler.  I'm so grateful you did.  We are so grateful you did.

You created an O'Reilly customer for life (and I did send an email to corporate headquarters detailing your good deed, so I hope you get some kudos for it).

More importantly, you set a great example.  You paid attention to the situation and to the predicament of the people involved.  You did not shy away from a hard job.  You were persistent.  You got help from your manager when you needed advice.  You went out on a limb and against standard policy to get the problem solved.

World leaders could take a lesson from you, Tyler.

Thank you for making what could have been a disastrous situation instead a positive, uplifting escapade I will repeat with a smile.

You made our day, Tyler!