Thursday, April 30, 2009

Keeping Abreast of the Situation





I say these words at least 50 times a day at work.

No, I’m not a phone sex operator, stripper or prostitute.

So, what kind of respectable business allows me to say such things over and over again, you may ask?

A breastfeeding helpline.

That’s right, folks – your dear friend Miss Procras. is a breastfeeding peer counselor.

Now, I’m sure a dozen questions have entered your mind upon learning this little tidbit of information about me. Such as:

Have I ever breastfed?

Do I have any children?

Do I even want to have children?
Jury is still out on that one…

So, what makes me qualiifed to dispense breastfeeding advice?
Intensive, intensive training. (I say that with a great deal of saracasm.) And an everything-you-need-to-know-about-breastfeeding manual I keep within arms reach at all times.

How do I keep a straight face during these calls?
It’s very difficult sometimes, trust me.

You’d giggle like a twelve-year-old, too if you had to talk about nipples, engorgement, latch and positioning all day. It’s kinda like in sixth grade when the teacher said “turn to page 69” and the whole class erupted into laughter…but way more graphic.

There’s never a dull moment. You encounter all sorts in this line of work:

-The parnoid moms who call five times a day because they think their milk has all of a sudden vanished. The stork stole it as payment for your child! It’s never coming back!

-The scared-as-shit dads who don’t know what to do. Stay far, far way. She’s pissed enough that you knocked her up in the first place. Go get wasted with your friends – she’ll thank you for giving her some peace and quiet.

-The medling grandmothers who don’t agree with how mom’s raising the child. (The child is two days old.) Do you hear that? B-11 was just called! You won! Hurry! Go claim your $25 gift certificate to Cracker Barrel before Bertha steals it from you again.

Then there are the people who shock you with their stupidity. You wonder why the government hasn’t initiated some sort of mandatory test for people to take before they’re able to reproduce. Really, it’s a burden on humanity for them to be transfering their stupidity to another generation.

Example of a question these people ask on a regular basis:

I just smoked weed. Is it okay for me to breastfeed my baby? Sure, go right ahead! Your kid’s probably gonna be a fuck-up anyway – may as well start him down the path to failure while he’s young. Besides, it’ll make him sleep better.

Actual call that I took today:

Background: Mom is breastfeeding her one-year-old but wants to wean him because he has started biting her. She wants to wean abruptly and has been trying to refuse to let him feed, but her baby screams and throws a fit at night and so she relents and lets him. She wants to know what she can do to get him to stop.

Me: The best thing for you to do is gradually wean your baby. It’s best for you and him. Your body will be able to adapt better and your baby won’t be so upset from the sudden strike on nursing…

Background voice: Hi, how can I help you?

Mom: Yes, I’d like a burrito with everything and a kiwi strawberry smoothie.

Background voice: Would you like to add a pina colada with that?

Mom: No thanks.

Background voice: Okay, $7.50 is your total, please drive around.

Homegirl was definitely ordering from the drive-thru in the middle of our conversation and neglected to even ask me to hold on a second! I about died laughing when I realized what was going on.

Like I said, never a dull moment.

All kidding aside, I really do give all the moms I talk to credit. Breastfeeding is challenging and takes practice. And there aren’t always a lot of support and resources out there, which makes it even harder. So kudos to all the mom’s out there!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Anatomy of a (Sober) Kiss


First kisses. You always remember the first one – even if it was awful.

I had mine when I was 13. I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing, or even much about the kiss. I just remember my heart racing and my stomach flipping over and over again.

That feeling never really goes away. Sure, it’s a little less intense after that initial experience, but it’s always exciting to kiss someone you really like for the first time - even if it makes you feel like you're going to vom.

Then there are those once-in-a-lifetime, heart-pounding, heel-popping kisses, that make you completely lose yourself in that moment, so much so, that you want to stay there forever. They’re the ones that make love stories great, and can catapult an otherwise boring date into exponential proportions.

I experienced that feeling – maybe for the first time, ever – last night.

The Hoff and I went out to dinner. Over the weekend, we talked and decided we want to try and work things out. I suggested that we come up with a list of ways we want our relationship to improve. I figured it was the first step to starting on a clean slate.

After dinner, we were going to go to a movie, but decided to walk around the mall instead. The whole time, it seemed like there was an unspoken tension between us. Maybe because we’re so used to the way things were that we weren’t sure how to act around each other.

So, we found a bench and talked. And then hugged. He kissed me on my cheek, softly, but intently. My heart started racing as I grew anxious with anticipation of what was about to happen.

I moved my face closer to his and kissed him a couple of times. After a few minutes, our faces got closer again and we started kissing.

It was the most involved I’ve ever been in a kiss. I picked up on everything – his smell, the softness of his lips, his fingers brushing against my cheek and then through my hair. I know it sounds cliché, but everything around us faded. I felt like we were in our own bubble – nothing else mattered but that kiss and that moment. I have no idea how long this went on, all I know is I didn’t want it to stop.

When we finally parted, after sitting in silence for a few minutes, I finally asked, “Was that what our first kiss was like?” (Our first kiss was at a bar on my birthday when we were both wasted. I remember him being a really good kisser, but I don’t remember any of the details from it like I did from the one we had just had. The Hoff doesn’t either.)

Then, he said, “I think that’s the most passionate kiss we’ve ever had.”

Agreed, The Hoff, agreed.

I started thinking, and the last time I remember feeling anxious and excited about a kiss was my senior year of high school. Probably because a majority of my kisses in college and post-college have been alcohol-induced. Making out when you’re drunk can be fun, but you can also wake up the next morning, find pictures of your scandalous smoochfest from the night before, and wonder a) the name of the person you played tonsil hockey with all night and b) why you left your standards at the bottom of an empty Jack Daniels bottle.

Holy shit, the feelings associated with a sober kiss (unless you’re making out with Slobbery Mcslobberson or someone who hasn’t shaved in eight months), are so much better than a drunk one. How the hell did I go seven years without feeling anything remotely close to what I felt last night?

Or maybe that kiss was just that good…

Either way, I’ve decided I want more of the sober kisses and less of the drunk ones.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Michelle, My Belle


Last night tops the list as the coolest event I’ve been to in D.C. Just Jack works for a huge theatre company here, and invited me to accompany him to an event they were hosting. Needless to say, he was able to snag us AMAZING seats-I’m talking seven rows back, smack dab in the middle, unobstructed view, seats.

And the best part? We were two rows behind the First Lady herself! In case any of you are wondering, she is just as poised and beautiful in person as she is on t.v. and magazines.

And holy crap, I’ve never seen so many secret service agents in my life! They really do wear those ear pieces, stand perfectly straight and never smile. Reminded me of “First Daughter” and “Chasing Liberty.” (Don’t judge me, you know you’ve watched those on ABC Family, hungover on a Sunday afternoon, surrounded by Taco Bell wrappers and Advil.)

Mrs. Obama did not attend the reception afterwards, but I did get to mingle with some of the D.C. elite.-senators, ambassadors, directors, singers, dancers… I felt like such the little socialite.

The open bar and buffet weren’t too shabby, either. Thanks to Just Jack, my wine glass was never empty.

But my primary duty was to serve as Just Jack’s arm candy. This was his night. He’s been hard at work on this event for months, and it was so cool to see something he worked so hard on be such a success. Not to mention, everyone was coming up and congratulating him. That always makes the months of hard work and planning that much more rewarding.

I must say, the event also opened my eyes to the diverse performing arts scene in D.C. Funny how much you never realize goes on in a city you’ve lived in for the past three years. But, this gives me lots of new ideas for weekend festivities-especially since Just Jack has the hookup for free tickets.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Subject: (no subject)

I hate having to attach a subject to my e-mails. Usually, I can’t sum up an e-mail in a single word or phrase, so I end up writing a hideously long run-on sentence. Or, I try to be witty so people will be excited to read my e-mail, and it ends up sounding like a lame joke a 5-year-old would crack. Of course, there’s always the obligatory “hey” subject line, but isn’t that pretty pointless when you’re going to address the person with “hey” in the opening of your e-mail??

I digress.

Point of all that ranting is, I sent an e-mail to The Hoff yesterday. Before I get into that, here’s an update on what’s going on with us:

I haven’t seen or talked to him since last Wednesday. I called him on Easter to see how his weekend was going and left a message but haven’t heard from him.

I’ve been in limbo all week, not knowing if The Hoff and I are over or if we’ll be able to work through this. As torturous as it is waiting for some sort of resolution, in some ways, it’s better than finding out we’re done for good. Though I guess it’s not healthy clinging to a false sense of hope day after day, either…

There are days where all I do is read our past e-mails and look through his Facebook pictures while I’m at work, and then come home, lie in bed and replay our conversation from last week over and over again. I haven’t moved the water cup he left beside my bed from the last time he stayed the night and his towel is still hanging up in my bathroom. I can’t bring myself to move them – it’s the only trace of him I have left in my apartment.

Then there are days where I keep myself occupied by reading the books my counselor recommended, grabbing dinner with friends or watching t.v. (Though movies like “Gone with the Wind,” “Say Anything” and “Sleepless in Seattle” aren’t exactly the best way to get your mind off a broken relationship.)

Most mornings, I wake up an hour before my alarm goes off so anxious I can’t get back to sleep. It’s like the feeling I used to get as a kid on Christmas morning or the first day of school, except I’m not excited for what lies ahead – I’m scared out of my mind. It takes every ounce of my energy to push off the covers and face another day, knowing what I’ve done and what I may have lost.

Anyway, back to the e-mail.

I sent one to The Hoff yesterday morning to let him know how I feel and try to explain why I did what I did. To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convey that to him. It’s not really something you can ever justify to someone else – they're your feelings based on your past experiences. (It’s just taken me a long time to realize I need to confront mine instead of run away from them.)

So, I decided to keep the subject line blank. There’s just no way to categorize an e-mail like that.

“I’m sorry”=trite.

“Hey”=too casual.

“PLEASE READ”=desperate. I’d probably delete it if it were me.

(Shining example of how subject lines can be obsolete and unnecessary.)

...I have yet to receive a response. Not that I blame him.

So, my goal for the weekend is to keep myself as busy as possible. Although my bedroom seems like a place of solitude, it’s actually the complete opposite. I can’t keep torturing myself by lying in bed and flooding my mind with things I have no control over.

I’ve put myself out there. It’s up to The Hoff to decide if he wants things to work.

PS-Sorry for such a heavy, downer post. I promise my posts won't be like this forever. The lighthearted posts will return. But I promise, no lame subject titles. (At least I'll try.)

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Careful...Hell May be About to Freeze Over

I was the first one to arrive to my office this morning. I don’t think that’s happened since…well, ever.

I need a reward, stat. I’m thinking a gigantic bowl of ice cream, glass of wine, raise/promotion – at least one of those “Super!” stickers elementary school teachers but on your papers when you got a good grade. (Side note: I saw a pack of those over the weekend, and I kept thinking to myself: "Why didn't teachers have stickers that said, 'Better luck next time, dumb ass!' That would be way more affective than an 'F' or a :( Clearly, I'd make a wonderful teacher.)

But seriously, it’s very eerie being the first one in the office. The door is shut, all the lights are turned off – basically a setting you’d expect to find in a horror movie. After searching for serial killers, I checked every clock I could find to make sure it was really 8:30. It was. Turns out everyone else was just stuck in traffic. I don’t know if this happens in every major city, but in D.C., if it precipitates in any form – hail, freezing rain, snow, mist – everyone forgets how to drive and your commute time doubles. Not fun.

I’ve spent the rest of the work day trying to regain full movement in my legs. I went on a mile run Sunday with my Dad and can barely walk. It probably didn’t help that we decided to run at a park full of hills. I’m seriously surprised I didn’t collapse in the middle of the trail.

I really want to follow through with my goal to run this 5k, so I started researching training regimens for 5ks online. Almost all of them say to jog for a short amount of time and then walk for a longer amount of time in thirty minute increments. I don’t really see how this is effective –
I don’t want to walk/run the 5k, I want to run the whole thing! Maybe I’ll just develop my own training schedule. Who cares that an Olympian created one of them? I’m an Olympian, too – in shopping and wine-drinking.

If I can actually force myself to run tonight I can mark this as a highly productive day. Since when did I turn into such an over-achiever?? Soon, I may not be able to call myself Miss Procras. anymore!

Friday, April 10, 2009

Good Vibes

I'm trying to focus on the positive, so I decided to list some perks of my day:

1) It’s Friday.

2) I had Arby’s curly fries for lunch.

3) I wore my Sam Endelman flats for the first time in weeks. They are black with white polka dots and make me happy everytime I put them on.

4) After work, I’m heading home for the weekend to see the fam.

5) When I arrive home, I will be greeted by loads of kisses from my Pomeranian, Pepper.

6) Get to see my high school friends over the weekend=guaranteed good time.

7) I decided to start training for a 5K this July in Dewey Beach. (I’m going to overlook the fact that I haven’t actively run since spring 2000-the one season I participated on my high school track team.)

Also, just wanted to thank everyone who has been there for me this past week-either by phone, e-mail, gchat, or in-person as I wallow my sorrows in a frozen margarita or a plate of Chinese food. You’ve helped me get through these past few days more than you’ll ever know.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Giving Myself a Much-needed Makeover


Remember in Clueless when Cher reached her moment of epiphany and decided she “needed a major makeover, but this time, [she] would makeover her soul?” I experienced a similar realization this week. (And don’t we all aim to be like Cher?)

A lot has happened in my life since Saturday, but I’m holding to the belief that it’s for the better.

I don’t think there’s anyway to sugarcoat or justify this, so I’ll just come out with it – I cheated on The Hoff.

It was a one-time thing that happened back in February when I was visiting my friend Law Student. I immediately regretted it and wanted to come clean, but after consulting friends and various articles, I decided to bear the guilt as punishment for my actions instead of hurting The Hoff just to clear my conscience.

Bad idea. The Hoff found out after going through my Gmail and finding a conversation I had with Just Jack. I hate that he found out through a lame Gchat convo, even though I also felt betrayed that he invaded my privacy.

Understandably, him finding out resulted in a major blow-out Saturday night, where we decided to talk after we both had a chance to cool off.

The past few days have been miserable. I feel like I’ve been swallowed by a dark hole.

I’m having a hard time recognizing who I am anymore. If I dislike myself this much, I don’t even want to know about what The Hoff thinks of me.

I know this much – I’m not someone to hurt people I care about. So what am I doing with my life? Why did I hurt someone I love so badly?

That’s the question I keep asking myself over and over again. Why?

I think there are a multitude of reasons, but ultimately, it all comes back to me.

On Sunday night, I pulled out my journal – where I turn when things get really, really rough.

I started going through past entries, and noticed recurrent phrases in a lot of the passages:

“Incapable of being loved,” “inadequate,” “undeserving of happiness”

If I don’t even love myself, how can I let someone else?

Thinking back to my past experiences with guys, I’ve constantly let myself be used and mistreated. Then, when a great guy finally comes along, I don’t know to handle it. It’s like I believe every relationship I’m in is doomed to failure, and if the guy isn’t doing the damage, I’ll make sure it gets done one way or the other.

Combine that with the anxiety problems I’m having from work (being laid off from your dream job, stuck at a miserable one and having recurrent dreams that your dream job wants to hire you back really does numbers on your psyche), my self-worth is basically non-existent right now.

Coincidentally, I had my annual pap scheduled for yesterday (sorry for the TMI). When my gyno started inquiring about what meds I’m currently taking, I mentioned my anxiety meds and then completely lost it. In the exam room. While wearing that paper vest and skirt.

Poor doc. She probably thought those anxiety meds need to be upped by about 500 mg.

Instead, she asked if I thought I needed to talk to someone and gave me some referrals to counselors.

I always thought I’d be one to conquer my own problems, but I figure a little help now and then isn’t a bad thing. I have my first session Monday morning. I want to start making positive changes in my life, and there are a lot of demons I need to confront.

Yesterday, The Hoff asked if we could meet and talk about things. I don’t know if I would want to meet with me after what happened, but I’m so thankful he did. We ending up talking for three hours, and it was probably one of the best talks we’ve ever had. Funny how it takes something so painful for you to address other problems in your relationship…

But I told The Hoff about my self-realizations over the week and my desire to better myself. We’re going to try to work through things, but he agreed that I should focus on me for awhile so we don’t find ourselves in the same rut.

I’m optimistic about what the future holds. I want to cleanse myself of all the negative influences in my life – starting with my own inhibitions.

I guess this could be considered my quarter-life crisis...should make for an interesting ride. (Don't worry though, my sense of humor is still intact.)

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Making Purple

Growing up, I went to a lot of church camps. (Bet you never would have guessed.) The #1 rule at all these praise-Jesus conventions: No making purple. I.e.-Girls (color pink) and boys (color blue) should never be in each other's sleeping quarters. The genius who came up with that rule didn't think about the hundreds of alternate locations-lake, woods, staircase-where it did not apply.

Since those tender pre-teen years, that rule has been completely tossed out the window. Enter: adult sleepovers. The most common way for twenty-somethings to make purple.

Everyone seems to have their own set of rules or thoughts on the topic. Here are a couple I've encountered recently.

During my jaunt to Seattle a few weeks back, I read Lauren Weisburger’s new book, “Chasing Harry Winston.” Entertaining, cute, fun—basically your standard chick lit novel. Great way to make a 4+ hour flight seem like an hour.

Anyway, one of the characters in the book is described as a Brazilian goddess (I pictured a Gisele Bundchen look-alike), and prides herself on being an expert in all things relating to relationships and men. One of her dating rules is to never stay the night when you go home with a guy for the first time. After the physical stuff is done, gather your things and leave. I’m calling bullshit on this for a few reasons:
  1. Isn’t it wiser/more satisfying to bring boy toy back to your place? Then, you can be the one to kick him out?
  2. If I’ve gone back to the guy’s place for the first time, chances are I’m wasted and could obviously not drive myself home.
  3. It would probably be too late to grab a cab after everything is said and done. Not many taxis are still running around at 4 a.m.
  4. What’s the harm in being the first to suggest leaving in the morning, when you’re no longer intoxicated, it’s light outside and the chances of you being abducted have greatly diminished?

I just don’t think this rule is practical or safe.

I do, however, think that spending a night with a guy can help us pick up on little quirks we would have never realized without another person around. Maybe it’s because we’re more cognizant of our actions with a boy in the room.

Lo has been dating this guy for a little over a month and has already picked up on some of these tidbits (she’s the one who gave me the idea for this post).

Some of my favs (these are hers and mine combined):

-I need my personal space when I’m trying to fall asleep. No spooning, please.

-I make a comment to myself everytime I hang up the phone. They range from an exasperated ‘okay’ to ‘this is the most ridiculous thing ever’ to ‘aww that was cute.’

-I almost always wake up with all my jewelry on from the night before. I guess that’s not a top priority when you're in the heat of the moment...or after one too many tequila shots.

- I talk to myself to the point where the other person has to clarify whether I’m talking to him or just myself....I know people talk to themselves all the time, but I didn’t know I was so loud.

- I don’t like people to hear me pee.

-I have a tendency to awkwardly scurry off the next morning and avoid eye contact with any roommates, parents (God forbid) or pet goldfish I might encounter. I guess I’m afraid they’ll be judging me or crack inappropriate jokes at my expense.

-I despise having to put my clothes on to run to the bathroom post-hookup, but I prefer not to sleep naked. (Does this make me an exhibitionist?)

-If a guy makes a big deal about “his side of the bed,” I automatically know he’s a douche bag and unworthy of my time. (More on this later.)

Bottom line: I don’t think there are any set rules for “sleepovers” (be it the first or the hundredth.) Make your own. Be safe, have fun and enjoy learning new things about yourself—however quirky they may be.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

April Fool's, April Schmooze-Let's Just Booze!

I’ve never really been a fan of April Fool’s Day.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a sense of humor. It just seems so lame to play a prank on someone and then yell, "April Fool's!"

Not to mention, a lot of people are expecting jokes today, so there really is no element of surprise--unless your middle name is gullible. (Remember in Waynes World 2 when Wayne says to Cassandra: “Do you think I’m a gull-a-bull? Or even a gull-a-calf?” Haha, love that movie.)

Anyway, moving on. Maybe I dislike April Fool’s Day because I’m often the one being fooled and never the fool-ee.

Take last night, for instance. I’m over at The Hoff’s, and while he’s brushing his teeth I decide to take over the remote. To my immense delight, I find that the “Sex and the City” movie is on HBO. Oh, happy day! So, I turn it on and force The Hoff to watch it with me. His face was hidden in his pillow a good majority of the time—until any female nudity surfaced. Then he really perked up. (No pun intended.)

Around 12:35 a.m., he turns to me and says, “Babe, I’m really sorry, but I just farted.” I make my normal, “gross” reaction and scoot away from him. He starts laughing, pulls me closer to him as I scramble to get away and says those two little words that make me cringe. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved.

Five minutes into the holiday, and I’d already been fooled. Wonder how many more times that will happen today...dear God, I hope none.

To make today more interesting/fun for everyone, I have a new proposition: April Booze Day. It’s not like we have an abundance of drinking holidays to look forward to this month, so we may as well ring it in with a bang. (That’s what she said.)

Anyone else in favor?

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