Wednesday

4 December 2019

At first, I thought it was a joke.

Oh looky! Peleton is fat shaming women! Hahaha that's so funny because she's already fit!

But then people kept weighing in (no pun intended) and it hit the forking news, and I sat here wondering what the hell is wrong with people.

It's just a commercial.

That's it.

In the minds of way too many people, though, there's a backstory. Obviously, this man thinks his clearly-fit wife needs to drop a few, so he gifts her with the most horrendous of things: a method by which she will, by God, work hard until she looks better for him. And it's obvious, because she looks terrified as she gets ready for her first Peleton class, and because it's super funny to document one's humiliation, she's creating videos of it!

Hahaha no.

Look, if we're going to assign some imaginary backstory to something only intended to sell merchandise, let's take our clues from the commercial.

Listen to her tone when she says "You got me a Peleton."

OMG you listened to what I wanted for once!
That's a woman who has wanted one. Her other half didn't just pull a whim out of his ass; he's not trying to body shame her. She wanted it, didn't think she would get it, and is happy.

She did not say, "You got me a Peleton?"

She did say, "You got me a Peleton!"

She was surprised, but a happy surprised. (Oh for you who keep saying, but maybe she was just acting surprised...well, yeah, she's an actress and was paid to act happy and surprised. I think she nailed it.)

Okay, we move past that part. So now she's getting ready to use it for the first time, and she looks a little nervous.

That means she didn't want it and is only doing it because he says so!

My butt's gonna be on fire after this, isn't it?
Have you never undertaken something new that scares you a little bit? Put me on one of those bikes for my first live class, I'm going to look like that, too. I looked like that before I set foot out the door to train for my first 3 Day. I looked like that at the opening ceremony. I have been that nervous about something while also being super excited to start it hundred of times in my life.

She didn't know what to expect; that workout looks hard. So yeah, she was nervous.

But she's making videos to track how her body changes and she's not even fat!

People track what they do for a lot of reasons. Why does it have to be for weight loss? There is never a point in that commercial where anyone says anything about weight. Why can't she just make videos to see how she changed over the year? Not body weight. Perhaps body composition. Perhaps thriving confidence. Perhaps to remember how much she feared but absolutely loved this gift she received.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's nothing but a freaking commercial with no social judgment intended, other than what the Internet Social Justice Warriors attached to it.

And if you got your shorts in a knot and began nodding your head in agreement with the SJWs and started grunting, "Yeah, Peleton bad," while tearing them apart online, congratulations.

You did exactly what was intended.

You're online talking about it.* You're putting their name in front of even more people. You're giving them the free advertising they were surely counting on.

Yes, their stock took a 9% hit yesterday, but it will surely rebound and will surge past its December 2nd high as more people admit to their SOs that yeah, they actually do want one, and as people decide that they either want to get one for themselves, or use it as their gift to each other for the holidays. And that is effective advertising.

*Yes, I am fully aware that I, too, and doing exactly what they wanted. Go me.

Saturday

30 November 2019

Not a frickin' thing to really say, but I had to do something to get one more post for November. And holy carp, in a just a few minute IT'S DECEMBER and what the fork happened to the rest of 2019???

Thursday

28 November 2019

Considering I didn't cook...holy fark, I ate too much today and I'm feeling every single calorie of it. Good thing Thanksgiving is only once a year...

Oy.

Wednesday

27 November 2019

This was a mock cover thrown together in roughly 2 minutes for my NaNoWriMo profile. I used it this year to knock out the rough drafts for two short, thinking I would write 4 in that time.

Yeah, no. The two ballooned into long shorts, and one, the one I'm still working on, is probably going to wind up novella length. And that's fine, but it'll present a problem when all of the shorts are pulled together with additional material added to turn them into one reasonably cohesive story.

The first five are available (for free) at The Wick Chronicles, and there are a few more coming. At the very least, the next two will post to the Wick website, but now the discussion is what to hold back for print These stories might be the last of the Wick Chronicles, so we kind of want to hold something for print...but they are not going to be the last Wick books.

Why the change?

New publisher, new vistas, new everything except my editor. And a big part of the discussion, aside from which stories will be held for print...do we keep Max as the author, or does it pass to me? Or do I drop my own name altogether and just continue on as Max for the remainder of my career?

I'm okay with that. I'm not sure Max's friends and fans will be.

We'll see.

But next week...new Wick story. And we're headed into space.


Tuesday

26 November 2019

This always bears repeating...


Be thankful. Be kind. And remember, it's not always about you.

Monday

25 November 2019

I don't remember on whose FB page I saw this yesterday; I laughed and then snatched it up, because that's what I do. I collect the images that make me snicker or think, and post them into an album once I have more than a few.

The thing is, I tried to lose weight this year. I lost a few pounds last year, enough that my endocrinologist noticed without seeing the number on the scale, but it has not budged since March, and between January and then I only dropped four pounds.

This chit is frustrating. I can't really cut my calories any further--I'm already at 1200-1300--and I upped my activity. But the scale is not budging and by now I think I would notice if there was a shift from body fat to lean muscle mass.

Granted, I can feel my quads under the fat, but that's about it. If anything, my waist is flabbier and I damn near have wings (note to all you young people: get in shape now, and stay in shape, otherwise you'll hit 50 and have these THINGS attached to your arms, things that jiggle and wiggle and are in danger of making you take flight if you spread your arms out wide.) I am not satisfied with any of this.

For starters I AM HUNGRY.

Okay, not really. But I have the munchies, like all the damned time. I'm not even high.

And bear in mind, I am not asking for advice. I don't particularly want advice. I'm just whining. I'll either lose more weight or I won't, and my life will go on just fine. But I damn well wish about 30 more pounds would come off.

[Note to whatever genie in a bottle I come across: no, I don't mean drop an arm or a leg. We all know what I mean. Body fat. Don't play your mean little wish-giver games on me. I am hungry enough I will eat you.]

[Note to anyone who wants to tell me to accept myself: screw that. This is about getting healthier. Also, it's about being able to wear a really tight t-shirt and feel good about it. Accept yourself, go for it; I want to be fit.]

[Note to the Cenario's Pizza guy...do NOT tell anyone how often I am in there.]

Oy.

I really want some cake right now...

Sunday

24 November 2019

Overheard in Starbucks (or How the Conversation Should Go)

17ish boy: Um, I got a date coming up. You should know. It's a guy.
Dad: You're gay?
17: Um, yeah.
Dad: You okay?
17: I'm okay.
Dad: Good. Where do you want to go for lunch?

And that was it. No over reaction. No under reaction. No anger. No overplayed acceptance. Just "You okay?"

Oh, and they decided on pizza.

No word on what kind.

Saturday

23 November 2019

1 am, right when I was starting to feel like sleeping was actually going to happen, Max screamed like a little girl. I bolted out of bed and yanked the door open, and in the next room Buddah was trying to climb on top of Max, holding him down with his freaking teeth.

The little chit looked up at me like, "Oh. I thought you were asleep already."

I may have threatened to turn him inside out. Poor Max was terrified. And sleep was definitely not happening for a while.

I headed for the living room, and damned if they didn't both follow me, and it was clear they expected food. I often feed them in the middle of the night when I get up, because why not? But there was no way I was rewarding Buddah for attacking Max, which meant Max wasn't getting anything, either.

He seemed happy enough to get to sit on my lap and watch a little TV with me. BTW, there's nothing good on TV at 1am on Saturday. Hundreds of channels with a lot of suck, sure. But nothing worth watching.

2am, long enough for it to no longer be a reward, I fed them.

Surely by the time they finished, I would be sleepy.

Nope.

Good thing I didn't have any concrete plans for today, because I was awake until after 4:30 and have been dragging around all day. I couldn't take a bike ride--the rear tire on my spiffy pink bike is flat, and because there's a giant TV in the way, I couldn't get one of the others off the wall. So at least I didn't feel too bad about basically drooling all over myself all day.

I damn well better sleep tonight.

But if not...I just realized that season 3 of The Crown dropped, and that wouldn't be an awful way to spend a night.

Friday

22 November 2019

No, 20-something Barbie doll in the locker room, old women do not necessarily go into the changing room because they're that modest. They go in because no one needs to be witness to the struggle of getting into a pull-over sports bra or the wrestling into of a pair of support hose when you're 60+ years old. You don't want to see that. Trust me.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Somewhere between the shower and my locker, I lost my underwear. That was, like, 10 feet. Whoever found it...I'm sorry. But it's clean. I wore it in the pool.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

I managed 40 minutes in the pool without filling my snorkel with water. Yes, I am proud of that. It's a first.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

I offset that accomplishment by flailing like a fish on a hook when someone else's hair wrapped around my fingers somewhere around lap 30.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

I will be glad when my appetite catches up to the swimming, because I want to eat all the things and somehow I don't think I'll break this 8 month plateau by eating as much as I want to.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

I'm really upset about the underwear. It wasn't cheap. Dammit.

Thursday

21 November 2019

"Everyone should read the classics at least once, preferably instead of reading contemporary novels."

You know what the classics were when they were first published?

They were contemporary.

You know what contemporary novels will be called fifty to a hundred years from now?

Classics.

Do yourself a favor and just read. Read whatever floats your boat. YA, horror, urban fantasy, sci fi fantasy blend, chick lit, dystopian, literary...pick your genre and go for it. Mix it up and go for it. Graphic novels? They count.

Just read.


Wednesday

20 November 2019

HELLZ YEAH!


Every other mile from here on is bonus...and given that I have, what, 5 more weeks? I should be able to get another 200-300 in. But after falling so freaking short last year I am STOKED.

Tuesday

19 November 2019

3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...3 more miles...

Monday

18 November 2019

:::insert obligatory blog post so I hit 30 days of posts this month:::

I'm tired, y'all. My brain isn't functioning enough to really write something.

OTOH, I totally won NaNoWriMo already.

Go me.

Sunday

17 November 2019

Out of curiosity--like, how hard do I have to work out over the next 6 weeks to make sure I hit 2,000 miles for the year--I checked the numbers tonight.

I'm at 1,989.9...so I think I'm gonna make it.


Unless I totally veg out and do nothing, I might even hit a number that will convince me to push for 2,500 next year.

Maybe.

I'm not getting any younger.

Saturday

16 November 2019


Now that we have decent lights in the back yard, he can see stuff in the evening. Not that there's much to see out there, but the door is open and he seems pretty happy about it.

Friday

15 November 2019

...and after...



So the demolition and building of the new patio cover was supposed to start today, and take three days. It started on Wednesday instead, and they finished yesterday.

Two days.

It only took part of Wednesday to tear it down, so they got a good start on getting the new one partially built, so yesterday they were done by 3:45...and other than the fact there's a new cover, you'd never know they'd been there. Every little scrap they brought in, they took out. And the original plan was to roof-mount it, leaving an inch or two gap between it and the gutter line; I don't remember why we picked that--possible because it left the gutter accessible for cleaning--but the kid in charge of actually building it re-measured and said there was plenty of room to wall mount it and it would look better.

I think he was right.

We can hire someone else to crawl up there and clean out the gutter next year.

In any case, it's done. And done ahead of time. Done while the Spouse Thingy was home, which means I could have gone to San Diego.

I soothe my disappointment about that by reminding myself that my back forking hurts right now and has for a bit, and I don't think going up hills would have helped that any.

I can still ride, though. And I'm getting ready to do those 60 miles, probably week after next. Thirty miles one day, thirty the next...or as many miles as I can do on day one, and finish the next. Who knows? Maybe I can pound out 40-45 on day one.

Why would I do that?

Because that burns mad calories, and that means I can then EAT ALL THE THINGS.

I want to do that. I want to EAT ALL THE THINGS.

And last night's DRINK ALL THE DRINKS? I am soooo glad I don't get hangovers [knock on wood.] If I did, today would taste like anger and gym socks.

No one wants that.

Thursday

14 November 2019

Dear Cattlemen's bartender:

I appreciate that you don't skimp on the alcohol. I really do. But I count on restaurant drinks being a little lacking and this had twice as much booze as I expected, and now I'm more than a little bit tipsy and it's been a couple hours.

Now, I only had half my steak, but because I'd been drinking I figured the more food the better, so we ordered dessert. Overload chocolate cake. It was really good. Like really good.

So I had half a steak, 4 bites of mashed potatoes, some salad, some cake (cuz we split a slice) and I am forking toasted.

So I appreciate it, but maybe next time add a little more Coke, because I'm more drunk than I like and I don't like this...

Wednesday

13 November 2019


There are people outside making far too much noise, but I don't really care, and you need to get up and open a can for me because I am wicked hungry and I'm not going to help write if I don't get some food in me.

Tuesday

12 November 2019

Before the teardown...ignore the stuff by the fence, it was moved so that it's out of the way during the build
The tearing down of this patio cover was suppose to start on Friday, but the contractor called today and said they could do it tomorrow, and we'll be home anyway, so why not? If they get it down tomorrow, they can start building the new one on Thursday, and be done on Friday.

I'll be glad to get it done, it's needed to be done since the day we bought this house--it's an illegal structure as it is; the people who lived here before us tried to get a permit for it but failed the inspection twice, and just stopped trying. It was so poorly constructed that we had to separate it from the VA inspection before we bought the house, otherwise we weren't getting the loan.

Originally it was covered with plywood and thin shingles, and it was flat, so water pooled on it and warped the plywood, and 80% of the shingles were missing. The Spouse Thingy took the plywood down and covered it with suncloth, reasoning that we would replace the entire structure in a year ot two.

Yeah...we've been here almost 11 years.

Initially when the contractor called I was a little miffed at starting early because I changed plans to be home over the week--I am missing the 3 Day--but then I realized they won't be done until at least Friday anyway, and I still needed to be home because one of us has a real job and works on Friday.

Once the new one is up, we can start working on the rest of the back yard. It's kinda white-trash (though a lot less than it used to be) and we'd like to get it to where we actually want to use it. We might even do the grown up thing and get nice patio furniture and a fire pit. We both want a hot tub, though that'll mean putting down a concrete pad and who knows what that will cost.

Hell, I'd concrete the entire yard if I didn't think it would be $$$$$.Less grass = less water to maintain it. Less mowing. More space to play. And no grass for those damned bees are whatever they are that live in underground hives, lying in wait to make my allergic asterisk miserable.

Fingers cross the giant window doesn't get broken...

Monday

11 November 2019

We're finally sliding into both the best and the suckiest time of year.

It's the best because the temps have cooled down and I can go for a ride any time of day without worrying about it being too hot. And this is Northern California--it's not going to get too cold. Worst thing that might happen is rain or super stiff wind, both of which I can deal with.

The suckiest part, tho...it gets dark so freaking early. Sure, a lot of people ride in the dark, but I'm guessing most of those people aren't night blind. I can safely squeak it out to 5:30 right now, but in a few weeks I'll need to be done and home by about 4:30 no matter what I'm doing.

Still going to try to focus on the not-hot part, even though we're a little warmer than typical for this time of year. We went for a 45 minute ride this afternoon, ending it at the pizza place; tomorrow we'll hit the gym. Tomorrow night I'll whine about my noodle-legs, because that's what I do.

Good news is that I have some really good Havarti cheese to go with my whine.

No, really...I'm not a cheese person but we picked this stuff up at Costco and it's amazing. Crunchy, too. I don't think I've ever had cheese with crunchy bits in it, but I like it.

I'll try not to contemplate having had pizza and then more cheese...its probably not a wise move for someone with lactose intolerance.

I really should have considered that before indulging, eh?

Sunday

10 November 2019

It's early November but my brain is already pondering Christmas decorations. Do we want to decorate outside? Our house is tucked into a court where few people can see it, so it seems like a lot of effort for the 3 other houses around us. And a lot of electricity given that in those 3 houses, there are maybe 7 people.

Inside...no brainer. There will be a Whovimas tree and a Christmas tree, and make no mistake, those are two different things. But if you want to lump them together as Holiday Trees, fine. That's the beauty of things: I call them what I want, you call them what you want, and no one is hurt or gets bent by it.

But if you do get bent by the idea that someone has a holiday tree and not a Christmas tree, or if you bristle at someone wishing you "happy holidays?" You have an issue: it really is you, not someone else.

I'm already not looking forward to what has become the annual online-bitch-fest. "It's Christmas, dammit, say 'Merry Christmas!'"

No, it's not.

It's Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Three Kings Day, Winter Solstice, Festivus, New Year's Eve, New Years, and a bunch of others.

Christians don't own the holiday season. Celebrate it how you want, dedicate it to whatever it means to you...and understand that someone offering you a "Happy Holiday" is being nice, being considerate, wishing you well, and any response other than thank you, you too is mean-spirited and kinda paints you as a bit of a dick.

It's the weight of intention, peoples; if you respond to someone else's "Happy holidays" with a snotty  "Merry Christmas," there's nothing Christlike about it, and you're telling the world you're a raging jerk with no room for what other people believe.

What would Jesus do?

If you really are a Christian, you don't really need the answer...

#OffMySoapboxForNow

Saturday

9 November 2019

I did not hit the pool to swim yesterday. I wasn't as sore as I thought I would be, but my left shoulder--as opposed to the right, which is the problematic one--let me know swimming wouldn't have been my brightest idea. And at this stage of just getting back to it, I'm not willing to push it.

So I pulled a bike out of the garage and decided to ride the long way to Starbucks. Five miles there, five miles back; it's a decent ride given how small this town is. The weather was just about perfect, too, which made me think not swimming was a stellar idea, and I enjoyed every turn of the crank.

If not for wanting to get some work done, I probably would have repeated the circuit and gone back to Starbucks...mostly because I seem to need a destination. But I went home after getting a little work done at Starbucks and cranked out enough to get me up to 23000 words for NaNoWriMo, and I contemplated doing some housework.

Contemplated.

Max jumped in my lap, and the book we're reading was right there, so...yeah. The house still looks like a disaster, but Max was happy and that's what matters, right?

Speaking of Max... I was poking around last night and ran across this picture from earlier in the year.


This was taken after I'd been away for the better part of a week, watching Butters and Lady. He glued himself to me, and looked at me like he'd been sure I was never coming back. I suppose in his mind, that was true. After all, when I'm gone it's usually only for a day or two, so when four and then five rolled around, well, I was probably gone for good.

This cat loves me. Like, unnaturally so. My lap is his favorite place, and he'll smooch me any chance he gets.

Don't tell him I told you this. He has a reputation to maintain.

Now, we've been thinking about going somewhere In January. Spouse Thingy took a weekend off because we'd planned on running in the Hot Chocolate in San Francisco, but neither of us has been able to get our pace down so it seems pointless. Also, I forgot to get a hotel room. That opened up the chance to go to Disneyland, or somewhere else, provided someone could feed the cats.

But I look at this picture, and I'm not sure it's a good idea. He's so old, he's super needy now, but mostly I worry about his feelings. One night, maybe. But I worry if I'm gone much more than that, he'll break.

So maybe day trips instead.

At 18.5 years, he deserves the consideration.

And there's a lot we can do near here. Cheaper things.

And holy hell, I looked at the cost of a night at the Disneyland Hotel and it's over $450 a night now. WTF. Even the off site hotels have gone up.

FOUR HUNDRED FIFTY A NIGHT.

Dood.

No.

Friday

8 November 2019

Oy.

It's a little after midnight, and I think I can safely say I'm probably going to roll out of bed tomorrow like someone who's been on a 2 day Fireball bender, without the headache (I hope.)

I got up from my comfy chair when Max leaped off my lap to inform me it was Snack O'clock and it was not optional on my part, and when I took half a step I realized that all four of my limbs are nothing but noodley appendages. Another half step and my body whispered Beeyotch, you are too old for this chit.

Fortunately, I keep my phone by my bed at night--habit for when the Spouse Thingy works so he can get hold of me in case of an emergency--so if I can only manage to get halfway out of bed, my legs melted and splaying in separate directions, I can call for help.

Or maybe just post to Facebook so y'all can mock me.

I would totally mock me.

Thursday

7 November 2019

Yesterday while running errands, we stopped at the gym and re-joined. The timing was fortuitous; they're running a former-members special, offering all of November for free, with no upfront membership fee. That probably saved us $200-225, given that we were already set on this gym anyway.

We'd decided on re-joining about a month ago, but one thing or another came up and we just never made it over there. I was also dragging my asterisk because the 3 Day was coming up and I always dye my hair for it, but hair dye and swimming don't go well together. I figured I would just cut it super short after the walk, then let if grow until March for St. Baldrick's.

Okay, so we committed to it again. I've missed swimming and finally feel like my shoulder can handle it again. I headed over there this morning with the idea that I would only swim for half an hour, no matter how many laps it turned out to be. No ego in the water for now; when I had to stop because of my shoulder, I was doing a mile and a half, roughly, in a little over an hour. So I'm slow compared to other swimmers, but that was pretty freaking fast for me.

I'm not racing. And I'm not going to do what I did before and get from zero to a mile too quickly.

So I got around 900 meters, a smidge over half a mile, my half hour was up, and even though I felt like I had more in me, I got out of the pool and headed for the locker room.

Now this is where I admit I should have checked the pool schedule before leaving the house. There was an aqua aerobics class going on when I got there (there are 3 pools...they were not in the lap swim pool) and I noted the dozen or so little old ladies bobbing around before I slid into the lone open lane in the lap swim pool.

I have no idea when they finished. When I got out of the water there were still a couple people in the other pool, but I didn't clue into the fact that they might have just finished, so all those older women were probably in the locker room.

They were.

I showered, and when I was done there was a line waiting for the swimsuit spinner, and every changing room was occupied. I didn't kind waiting in line to spin the water out of my suit, and I don't really have a problem changing by my locker. I mean, I prefer to use the changing room because when your skin is a little damp, getting into a sports bra is not always a graceful sort of activity, and I prefer to strangle myself with the straps in private.

I could have waited, but, eh...I'm not that modest. So I started digging my clothes out of the locker and someone sat on the bench near me so she could put on her shoes and wait for a friend who was changing in one of the aforementioned rooms.

It was at this moment I remembered that older women--I'm talking later 70s and up--don't really give a shit about anything. Even in the locker room. They don't care if you're bare-assed naked, trying to dry off, and they don't care if you're wrestling with a sports bra, trying to get it on with still-damp skin, while not bouncing so much that your still-ample gut flops around like a dead fish.

They just don't care, and if they're interested in your tattoos, they will forking stare. Then they'll lean closer to get a better look at the details, and start asking questions about them.

To my credit, when she asked about the tattoo on my calf, I did not turn and let my flab slap her upside the face. I just answered her, relieved that I'd finally gotten the damn bra on. She scooted a little closer and asked about my Max tattoo, and then the Disney tattoos, and really seemed to like them, which I normally wouldn't mind, but...lady, I'm in a bra and underwear, I want to put on my shirt and jeans, and I can feel your breath on my arm.

To her credit, she didn't touch. A lot of people do, especially since my tattoos are mostly on my forearms. Still, she got super close and was witness to my bra-struggle, so we might be engaged now.

I am totally checking the schedule before I go tomorrow...