Monthly Archives: April 2004

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Resurfacing Shark Obsession

Some of you may know that when I was a kid and even well into my adult years I was fascinated by sharks. I would collect National Geographics featuring sharks, I participated in debates about why sharks are amazing creatures (4th and 5th grade), and I loved watching movies and specials about them.

The funny thing is I was terrified of them. That was part of the appeal. I think because I viewed them as untouchable, in another world from mine, knowing if I swam with them (as was a fantasy of mine) I would be extremely vulnerable and it would probably end badly, ultimately this drew me to them and made me respect and admire them. So blah blah blah. I love sharks.

My sister Maddy has the same fear and fascination so when we went to Hawaii recently it took a lot to get the both of us to stop freaking out about the recent shark attack and just enjoy the water. So in honor of that fear, this link is for you, Maddy. I stumbled upon it and was pulled in for a good half hour figuring out where I’m probably not going to swim.

Recent Shark Attacks

So here’s to Sharks and my uncomfortable strange obsession with them.

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It’s my neurosis and I’m keeping it.

First off, Happy Birthday to Debbie and Charity today and Happy Birthday to Ruth yesterday! (thanks Kris, I stole Debbie’s picture from you.)

I shared a drink with Debbie last night and then moved on to share a few with Ruth, but let me just say that eating only a salad during the day, having a few vodka tonics, and getting home at 1am does not make for a fun 7am XGym workout. Argh.

Onward. I discovered something about myself this week. Whenever I use a public restroom, I do the usual checking out of each stall to find the cleanest one WITH toilet paper. Okay, nothing strange there. What I realized though is that from there on out, if I return to the bathroom multiple times that day, I always return to the same stall. First I thought, well maybe I like the idea of minimizing the number of new germs I expose myself to, but we all know that this is not just an unavoidable bathroom conundrum, but most women also know that we run by the rule of “Hover, Cover, or Go Home.”

I have a lot of friends who fret when there aren’t any toilet seat covers (someone’s genius idea of a top notch paper protection plan). I also have a few friends who simply won’t use the restroom in public at all (you know who you are). But I follow the Hover plan. The way I see it, the only exercise I get sometimes is hovering over a toilet seat. It’s my very own version of squats. With this in mind, the only thing I touch is the door to the stall and the toilet paper. I use my foot to flush and I always wash my hands after (Kris likes to shatter my crushes on people by telling me who does and does not wash their hands, so beware).

You’re probably wondering what this gripping tale has to do with my neurosis. Well, I just find it peculiar that I pick a stall or a single person restroom and stick with it. Not just on that day, but any time I return in the future. At work, I always seek out the same restroom and stall. When in a new section of the building, I find a new designated spot. I won’t go so far as to walk all the way back to my original bathroom if I’m far away. I’ll just stake claim on another one in the new area.

When I was at Western I remember someone telling me they wanted to use every stall in every bathroom on campus before graduating and I thought that sounded kind of cool. But on further reflection I realized that I form a special bond with my stalls, as if to say, “Hey, missed ya, thanks for being there for me.” As if we share a special secret, my commode and me.

So here’s to all the toilets who have been there for me.
�The second stall at “The Garage” on Broadway
�The first stall on the first floor of Miller Hall
�The Team 2 handicapped single bathroom on the fourth floor of the South building at Central Group Health
�The second stall in my high school humanities hallway where I once cleaned up all the stray paper by setting it on fire
�The foyer bathroom of my parent’s house when I was in 6th grade where I would soak my short hair in the sink and slick it back so it would feather just right by the end of the day
�The yellow bathroom at home as a kid where I was potty trained.
�And numerous other toilets that I’ve cradled in sickness and in…well, unnecessary drinking induced sickness.

My sister just told me she has chosen a stall at work that nobody uses because the door was damaged a bit from the last earthquake. This makes her feel as if she has her very own clean untainted stall.

So be honest folks, how about the rest of you?

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Let’s Get Physical

XGym – 6:45am Saturday morning. Am I insane? Apparently not. It seems there is a good chunk of the population that partakes in this thing called exercise and most of them do it in the early morning while I’m usually curled up with my cat in bed. I tried to convince myself that they were the abnormal ones, but this is quickly proving to be wrong.

I’ve complained time and time again about how magazines and movies don’t depict “real” women with “real” bodies, but at what point did I start believing that a real woman was someone who ate whatever she felt like eating and sat around on her butt watching TV or playing on the computer all day every day? And let me say this applies to men as well. So I’m not saying that we should all look like Nicole Kidman with her flat chest and stomach and her stick legs. I’m just saying that I can’t try and use my claim that a real woman is an out of shape chunky girl when really what I should say is that a real woman is whatever her body can be when it’s healthy. Sometimes curvy, sometimes not, sometimes short, sometimes tall, sometimes thick, sometimes waifish. It’s all about body type. But I am using my blog to confess right now that trying to justify my laziness and poor health by saying I am built like a real woman is bullshit.

With that said, I have started with a personal trainer (because I am still too lazy to get myself to go to the gym without an appointment) and I am going to work at eating better (but not a diet, just realistic portions and foods, moderation baby). No more cappuccinno breakfasts. I’ll still have my cappuccino at some point, but I have to eat something first, maybe with a little protein. So nothing insanely drastic that will ultimately fail or make me rebound when the “diet’s” over. Just a slight life change and little more activity. And THEN whatever body I have when I feel like I’m able to hike without hyperventilating, will be what I consider one example of a real woman’s body. 🙂 What do you think about that?

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Time is on our side, yes it is

The other day as I was rushing to work I glanced at my clock to see if I was running late. It read 8:23am and I was relieved to know that I had 7 minutes to make it to the parking garage and up to the floor of the clinic I needed to be on (which, in my calculation, would take 5 minutes). Sorry to disappoint, but this is not the beginning of an exciting story about me overcoming obstacles and miraculously making my way to work anyhow. This is merely a self-reflection piece. So gear up for cheesy useless Katie thoughts.

I realized at that moment in the car that there was no doubt in my mind that it was exactly 8:23am and it dawned on me that somewhere along the line, sometime in the last few years, I had stopped setting all my clocks ahead. It used to be standard for me, starting back in high school, to set my clocks at least 10-13 minutes ahead. People would always say, “But if you know it’s fast, you’ll just allow yourself to take more time.” This was not entirely true. I wouldn’t watch while I set the clocks ahead. I would close my eyes and hold down the button for a few seconds on each clock. None of them would say the same time and none of them would be the correct time, so there was no way of knowing what time it really was.

Of course, I had to redo this every so often once I would catch on to how fast they were because, yes, I would of course adjust to that time difference and invariably be late anyway. Especially if one clock is 12 minutes fast, but the other is only 7 minutes, because I would get them mixed up and think I had 5 more minutes of dilly dallying to do.

So where does this bring me? Today, all my clocks are within a minute of each other and a few of them are dead on. I find myself on time more often and I am more realistic about how long it takes for me to get anywhere or do anything.

So the other day in the car, I thought to myself, “When did all this start? When did I stop setting them ahead? And what does it say about me? Does it signify anything?”

I thought maybe it meant I was finally growing up. Or perhaps I was just becoming more responsible (those two things could go hand in hand). Then again, having a real job with real people waiting for you (not just people who want their porn, or other teenagers wanting to leave work) might make you take promptness more seriously.

In the end, I’ve decided that the real cause for my new “clock behavior” is due to cell phones. Specifically cell phones that set their time through the magic little signal coming through the air. Not to mention my need to catch a plane on time.

So I ask you this, how many of you set your clocks ahead? And if you did once, but don’t anymore, can pinpoint when and why that changed? Thoughts?

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The Land of Port

KB was kind enough to take me in this weekend, seeing as I was in desperate need to get out of town. In amongst the beer and Charles Shaw, the fire escape cigars, the computer zombie moments, and noon vodka tonics, we managed to make bread.

Or should I say, Kris made bread….

…while I watched like a peeping tom from the dark living room.

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JP is the Shiznit

Happy Birthday Johnny! Here are a few choice pictures that remind me why I love our Johnny so much. Note the creative way he combines the chips with the cheese dip! And we may want to start considering teflon clothing for our dear beer drinking Johnny. 🙂 Happy Birthday, you horizontal stripe lovin’, Old Navy wearin’, ball of crazy!