Friends Do Not Send Friends to The Grommet

My (now-former) friend Mona Shand directed my attention to the latest in avocado-ripening technology today, despite the fact that I am THAT PERSON who generously offers any avocado found on my plate to appreciative dining companions.

Apparently what all you avocado-aficionados really need is a $17 Avocado Sock for your avocado ripening needs. It sounds a bit…risque, doesn’t it? I mean, “avocado sock”…and the photo…

The description just adds to the hilarity - “Ripen avocados fast with an adorably small sock (yes, a sock) made just for the job. The Avocado Sock is made from pure Shetland wool that helps move along the ripening process, thanks to its natural lanolin and cozy warmth. It’s scaled to snugly fit an avocado as it gently and evenly encourages ripening in about 48 hours and makes for a super-cute addition to the kitchen counter or fruit bowl.”

Oh. My. God. “…it gently and evenly encourages ripening…” WHO WROTE THIS. It’s Gwyneth, right? “…natural lanolin and cozy warmth…”, “…scaled to snugly fit an avocado…”, “…properly prepares your avocado for insertion into your…” OOPS - or should I say GOOPS - it doesn’t actually say that last thing. Honest mistake, though, right?

Turns out, the Avocado Sock is not the only pricey and unnecessary item to be found on The Grommet, a site devoted to helping you “discover and shop innovative new products from local Makers and small businesses. We spend thousands of hours searching for unique finds - and helping the people behind them succeed.” The Grommet claims you will find “amazing gifts they’ve never seen” and, wow, they really mean it.

You can get this handy and not-at-all wasteful Personal Pill Pack System, which seems to entail separating your daily meds into a dispenser AND THEN, pouring each compartment into a little plastic pouch AND THEN sealing each pouch. This system makes it easier to toss your meds in a drawer and forget about them (not kidding, the description really says that)(well, except for the forgetting about them part). I am sure if you ever get stopped by airport security, these little baggies will not look AT ALL like contraband.

It was all fun and games as I scroll along, chuckling at hard-boiled egg peelers, and table-top horse racing, UNTIL…I got to the Women’s Pelvic Floor Trainer , $139.

I think I know which part goes where…(screenshot from The Grommet)

It’s…a smart device. I CAN’T EVEN. WTF.

And that shape. Like how…what is that tail for…why would anyone…<gazes into distance>…<alternate uses pop into brain, unsolicited and unwanted>…<cleans tea from keyboard. Again.>

This waterproof 100% medical-grade silicon device (no free shipping and - surprise! - no returns!) is connected to an app “that provides feedback (and encouragement)” and I do not even want to speculate. Yes I do. Your phone will be chatting with your vagina. This is the world we live in now.

I want to know what kind of inspirational messaging is involved. Like - “Keep up the good work, <your vagina secret name>! One more squeeze, now, there’s a good girl!” Or - “One more kegel, you goddess, and you will beat last week’s record!”

And then there’s the storing of…vagina data?… in an app. Now there’s a privacy policy I would scrutinize.

Dear reader, there is so much here…I hesitate to insist you click the link but OMG CLICK THE LINK. You can unfriend me later.

The Aging Taking Place On Top Of My Head

Several recent events converged that made me think about - of all things - gray hair.

I know. I should be spending time laughing (or fuming. I’m often not sure which is appropriate) about the clown show in Washington DC, the dilemma of all of our social media being controlled by rich geeks with no social skills (irony really is dead, isn’t it), and whether I should be handing out pot-laced gummies at Halloween…wait, scratch that last one.

Anyway, I recently had my “salt-and-pepper” hair complemented, which is unusual of course, and resulted in a conversation about hair coloring amongst middle-age women and the bravery associated with “going natural.” Bravery had nothing to do with my own decision, it was more about laziness and having better things to spend my money on. I can buy a very nice bottle of wine for the cost of a few highlights.

Then I visited an old friend who was sporting an absolutely gorgeous head of gray hair. After years of coloring, she started to see younger coworkers who purposely colored their hair gray, and figured fuck it. Why am I bothering? So she stopped bothering, with no regrets.

Of course, I have many female friends and colleagues, in all stages of life, who choose to color their hair because, why not? (I also have a very few who do not color their hair…but seriously, it’s definitely a few). As they get older, it’s just a thing they have always done, because they want to, but now it serves the purpose of covering up the gray that society assures us is undesirable, unattractive and makes us “look old.”

It’s that insidious messaging that I’ve been thinking about, ever since I attended a board meeting last week and noticed that I was the only middle-aged woman in the room who did not color her hair.

The men were all sporting their natural hair - with plenty of gray and white and, in some cases, little to no hair at all.

When I posted this observation on social media, the comments - all from women - were along the lines that not everyone “looks good” with gray hair and wasn’t it just the sad truth that men did not need to concern themselves with this issue.

Not everyone looks good with gray hair. But men don’t need to worry about it.

Hard-to-avoid translation: women need to worry about it. Because it’s unattractive.

Set aside all your “but what abouts” for a minute - yes I know there are plenty. Men color their hair. Comb-overs are a nightmare. Lots of women color their hair because it’s fun and it looks good and it pleases them. There’s nothing wrong with it! There really isn’t. Well, except chemicals sitting on your scalp maybe, but ha ha I’m sure it’s all fine! Probably.

Not everyone looks good with gray hair. But men don’t need to worry about it. THIS is the subtle sexism we often have trouble articulating. It’s so ingrained, it’s the first thing out of our mouths and it doesn’t even occur to us where it came from and whether it actually makes any sense at all - and this is from women about other women.

And then, as I am musing about all of that, a friend of mine published an essay on the very topic of aging and defying societal convention while doing it - and who recalls considering just “going gray” and the horror of her female friends who assured her it would age her instantly. Instantly!

Well, I guess I’ve been instantly aged for a while now. On top of my head, anyway.

When Typos Go Horribly Yet Hilariously Wrong

We all make mistakes. We all type an email in a rush and hit send and…maybe should have taken a second or third look at the thing. Most of the time, the typos and errors are pretty minor.

Sometimes though…

A recent email from an organization mentioned a staffer who had been “dong marketing and special events” before moving on to - presumably - a more, uh, conventional position (oi, sorry about that).

DONG MARKETING. And special events!

I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Like, who knew dongs even needed to be marketed? Don’t they just market themselves, as needed? Well, honestly, and as NOT needed right? Anthony Wiener’s wiener, sent worldwide back in the day, in case you need an example of completely unnecessary dong marketing.

And if they DO need marketing, how would one go about it? There are some advertising rules, so I guess you would have to be subtle, like those dumb Cialis ads. I mean, you can’t just slap a color photograph up there with “AVAILABLE NOW, REASONABLE RATES” in 36 pt Helvetica, at least not in the usual advertising markets. However, it seems “dong” is not on any FCC lists of forbidden words, so you could actually use that in something like “For all your in-home dong needs, call 1-800-WE-DONG and order yours today!”

Which prompts the question - are these independent dongs, or are they still…ah…attached? If they are independent dongs, one presumes they are synthetic? I guess? But then they would be dildos I suppose. If the dong is still attached then you gotta market all the baggage that comes (and, SORRY AGAIN but the entire topic is RIFE with innuendo…) with THAT. “In-home dong delivery by Henry, who has some issues but the dong is perfectly functional…” Lord, we’ve all been there already, haven’t we?

Are the special events related to the dong marketing? And just what exactly would that entail? Is it like a police line-up? An in-home show, like candles or kitchen gadgets? An in-home show with candles, kitchen gadgets and dongs? That sounds a little dicey (shit. sorry?). Wait a minute. I think there are in-home shows for dong marketing already, those male revue deals, right? Hmmm.

I ended up googling “dong”…and, the results are somewhat alarmingly innocuous. Mostly definitions, and most of those start off with the Vietnamese currency and then try to jump to the musical sound before diving into the gutter with “vulgar slang: penis” and I am sorry but my brain went right to the slang - and don’t try to tell me that’s not where your brain went either. We both know better.

Octopus Apocalypse. Now There's Science!

Back in 2015, I wrote about the pending octopus apocalypse and just this morning, we have new evidence of their nefarious plans.

Cosmos (not to be confused with Cosmo) published an extensive article on the intelligence of the octopus, along with increasing scientific evidence that they are bioengineering themselves - sometimes within minutes - to adapt to their environment and thus take over the world.

OK, the scientists did not actually state that last thing. But, c’mon.

The article starts out with what seems to be a funny little story about Otto, a young octopus living in captivity in Germany who was so annoyed by the bright light shining into his tank 24/7 that he climbed out and used his siphon “like a firehose” until it shorted out the entire electrical system. Three nights in a row. The humans finally figured it out and got the message, and he moved on to juggling hermit crabs for entertainment.

But then the article does a deep dive into octopus brains and adaptation, and it is not comforting, let me tell you. They definitely have PLANS.

In addition to their oversized brain, each arm has its own mini-brain, the better to control each appendage and hundreds of suckers. And if half of you stop reading right here, I will completely understand, because did you know that an octopus can choose to detach an arm and that arm will continue to move with purpose for up to 10 minutes?

In addition to the arm brains, these creatures have “camera eyes” to scrutinize and assess their environment, in order to trigger their camouflage, referred to as a “thinking skin” throughout the article. That’s not creepy at all, is it? In addition to being capable of instantly changing color to blend in with its surroundings, an octopus can also change pattern - and texture! - for a better match.

One of the more disturbing developments is the uncooperative nature of the octopus as a scientific research subject. They do not want to be studied, thank you very much, and unlike those dumb lab rats, they are well equipped to take care of the problem. They remove probes, wires, electrodes - thanks to those tentacles that can operate somewhat independently - and if they can’t remove the thing, they just shut down the “neuron firing” that scientists are trying to record.

Scientists, rather than being alarmed by these discoveries, seem amused and intrigued and spend quite a bit of time throwing shade on all the mollusk relatives - “Nautilus – the stupid cousin,” and “They do things like clever animals even though they’re closely related to oysters,” - and fondly summarizing their frustrations with their subjects: “Everything about this animal is goofy and weird.”

That’s what they want you to think, you fools.

The gist of the article is that octopus genetic adaptations, while along the lines of mammalian ones (i.e., us), do not follow the rules. They have the “brain-forming genes” of complex vertebrates. They edit their brain proteins “on the fly” and with abandon, and damn the consequences.

One of which may be, thank goodness, a short life span.

48 Hours in Washington DC

My husband and I spent two nights in DC recently. This is the first trip we’ve taken without small children, which means our last trip was a long time ago…and since there were no small children involved, we did NOT have to go the Natural History museum. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great place…but I am enjoying a bunch of gap years from dinos and insects, let me tell you.

Hotel

Pod DC. Located right across from the Gallery Place metro station and less than a mile from the National Mall. I love the Pod Hotel chain. Clean, modern, relatively quiet and no more space than you need to have and sometimes less. Generally a cheaper option - and a really cheap option if you go for the shared bath (room key access, so it’s shared but not like other people are in there with you. I mean, unless you want that I guess?). Fair warning - even the en suite bath is not terribly private, with a sliding frosted glass door.

What We Did

Side-by-side exhibits at the Library of Congress by Pure+Applied of NYC, where our son is a lead exhibit designer and occasional project manager

The main focus of our trip was to check out two exhibitions designed by our oldest son, that were overlapping at the Library of Congress. “Base Ball Americana” continues through July 27 there, and highlights the history of baseball (including a re-creation of a section of bleachers, as seen from the player’s point of view). “Shall Not Be Denied” is a timely presentation, open through September 2020, that showcases the women’s suffrage movement, and includes fantastic artifacts, photos and video montages. They were both, OF COURSE, fantastic but hey I am The Mom so of course I would say that and I also say, go see them if you can because they are great. Especially “Shall Not Be Denied.”

We had a limited timeframe but we also hit up the National Museum of the American Indian, the National Museum of African American History and Culture and the Newseum. The American Indian museum was oddly disappointing. Maybe it was the heat affecting our perspective? The building itself is beautiful, and huge, but the exhibits were underwhelming (our opinion, of course; yours may vary). Lots of open space, not much in them. The African American museum was, by contrast, fantastic and we needed more time than we had. Timed entry tickets are generally required, but as with all the Smithsonian museums, they are free. We were able to download ours while standing in front of the museum. The Newseum was also amazing, and since it is either closing at the end of 2019 or relocating back to Arlington, you need to get there now.

The fact that a museum devoted to explaining journalism, media and news coverage (the good, the bad and the ugly) is closing in 2019 after a few years of pervasive administrative and national ignorance on the topic…it’s just sad and demoralizing and a bunch of other adjectives I’m not going to list here.

Food

There was so much Iberico jamon on this board we traded with the table next to us for some roasted potatoes

I had a tentative plan to get to Jaleo, one of Chef Jose Andres’ tapas establishments, assuming we could even get a table. We accidentally had lunch that day at another of his places, Oyamel, a Mexican restaurant that got definite “would eat here again” marks from both of us (we did not know at the time that this was part of the Jose Andres empire). Jaleo was one of the best tapas restaurants I’ve been to outside Spain, plus reasonable prices and generous portions (trust me, these two things do not often go together with tapas). We also hit Reren for Cantonese ramen and other dishes, and that was OK. Avoid the gelato cafe Pitango - not sure what they are serving but it is not gelato.

A bit of a whirlwind, you betcha - but when you are done with your dinosaur purgatory, a quick trip to DC has a lot to offer!

An Evening With The Millennials

I read this piece at “Letters From Livingston,” a fundraiser for LACASA (Livingston County’s domestic violence shelter https://lacasacenter.org) in June 2019.

An Evening with The Millennials

 I walked into the bar and thank god I did, interrupting what had to be a stimulating conversation amongst a group of NYC millennials about – dentistry.

Prior to that, they had apparently been discussing potatoes.

I was a little intimidated when my oldest millennial (I have two, bless my heart) announced there would be dinner with the gang while I was in New York recently – he and his partner and 7 of their closest friends. Then he sent me screenshots of their replies, all of which were a version of “I can’t wait to meet your mom!” or in classic millennial-speak - “Vonn: The Prequel”.

You know, no pressure.

In addition to having my very own millennials, I knew all the usual stuff about them. Time Magazine called them the “Me Me Me generation” in 2013 and noted that they were lazy, entitled, and living at home. Years of being handed participation trophies trained them to expect raises and promotions for simply existing. We – the parents – raised them with a focus on developing self-esteem as a character trait, rather than the natural result of success and failure experiences and so now we have 20-somethings who crumble when they discover the rest of the world doesn’t think they’re special.

My kid did not turn out especially shallow, and none of these kids were living at home, so I was optimistic about the upcoming encounter. Still. Even the Time Magazine article could only manage to conclude that “They're earnest and optimistic. They are pragmatic idealists, tinkerers more than dreamers, life hackers. They want constant approval--they post photos from the dressing room as they try on clothes” I paused when I read that last one, because, I do that. What’s wrong with that?

Now I was even more worried. How much earnestness was I going to have to deal with? I mean, I was on vacation for god’s sake.

After I interrupted the dentistry conversation – and got an eye-roll from the kid when I asked for a wine other than the happy hour swill they were all drinking - the conversation moved at a rapid pace. They wanted to know what I had been doing in the city and chimed in with commentary including concern that my lunch at the Church of Heavenly Rest may have, in fact, actually been a soup kitchen. (I had a smoked salmon brioche with arugula, so if it was, it was a pretty high-end one).

From there we explored the pros and cons of arugula (it can be too pointy), hair styles and color (which can lead to anxiety), multitasking (some of them are “one thing at a time” people), astrology (Pisces! You get along with everyone!), the upcoming gay pride parades (Pride and the Queer Liberation March, which is pushing back against corporate “pink-washing”), Vonn’s bird shirt (a favorite of his clients), matcha (I was firm in my opinion that there is no reason to inflict that on anyone) and then moved on to TV shows (they watch Real Housewives – god knows which one, RuPaul, Game of Thrones, Fleabag, Killing Eve, Black Mirror, Queer Eye and Chernobyl)

I have zero input here. The last thing I binge-watched was the Great British Baking Show and I even did that wrong, starting with the latest season, then the previous one, then going back to season one and working forward. Both my children were appalled.

As Vonn announced to the group – “She doesn’t watch TV she reads BOOKS” – there was a moment of silence, the kind that comes from a polite group of youngsters who haven’t had too much to drink yet and are considering the proper etiquette for navigating this unexpected turn of events. A couple of them offer up that they read books, but the majority of the group does not.

I smothered the intellectual snob/mom response - “What do you MEAN you don’t read books” which would have been expressed in a mild screech, with an undercurrent of “this is what’s wrong with the world today” and a dash of “get off my lawn.”

But it’s not that they don’t read. The conversation often referenced news sites, podcasts, online magazines. If you consider books as vehicles for information, critical thinking, entertainment and escape – it’s all there in a different format. They are a lively well-informed bunch and if the discussion never went deep, hey it was a Friday and there were 10 of us and we had wine. And who doesn’t need to know that you can close your hand around an egg and squeeze and it won’t break?

At dinner, I impressed the crowd by offering to buy the first two bottles of wine, and not picking the least expensive bottles on the list. I handed Vonn a retirement investment newsletter from his dad, which - rather than starting a round of good-natured teasing - launched a much more serious discussion about retirement accounts, savings and debt.

I was sitting at a table with a bunch of young adults who had a combined student debt load of $100K – this after being out of school and working for 4 or 5 years. No one has their own apartment and most shared with at least 2 other people. They all had savings, but probably not enough to cover their rent for a month – which is a minimum of $1000 per person, probably more. And you thought Livingston County was bad.

None of them sounded entitled. They certainly weren’t lazy. A little resentful at all the adulting required in life? Sure – but you know...anyone else? Raise your hands now. You know you are.

They are worried about climate change, national politics and the lack of civility, retirement savings, and the struggle to pay for health insurance. They know what good wine tastes like now, but maybe can’t afford it.

And they thought I was a cool mom. They even had a group chat about it, which I suppose is a millennial thing and trust me, I am flattered as hell to be the subject of a millennial group chat about my perceived coolness. I won’t bore you all with the comments here, but among my favorites: she was dressed like an architect, her opinions on matcha, staging an article to force us to tell her why she’s cool, she threw shade on our boring dentistry conversation, her face when she tried the house wine at Smithfields, her involvement in local politics aka walking the walk.

In case you were concerned that there is NOTHING in the millennial stereotype that rings true - the top comment, mentioned at least 3 or 4 times, was my “dope scarf.”*

Which I am wearing all the time now. With new sense of confidence.

* The dope scarf, in action:

That Time I Didn't Go To Jail At My Class Reunion

"This so high school," my co-conspirator mumbled as we left our high school class reunion on a secret mission. The goal was not very high school at all - we were off to find a palatable wine choice. As if we ever cared about that back then. But the goal required that we sneak it in, and turns out we were very out of practice with that part.

I knew there might be a problem with wine selections, but I did my due diligence and checked the online menu of the venue.  There was a chardonnay that would work, but just in case...I called midweek and asked if there were other wine choices. No. I asked if I could bring my own and what would the corkage fee be. I had to explain what that was - I bring a bottle of wine and you charge me a fee to open and serve it - and they were pretty sure it wasn't legal (it is). Alrighty then.

The event space has its own bar, and when I arrive I ask about the chardonnay. They don’t have it. But I can go downstairs to the restaurant bar and get a glass there and come back up - which entails going down and then out of the building and around in the front door, because there’s no interior access. 

The bartender there pours half a glass of the chardonnay and that’s the end of the bottle - and it was the last bottle as well. I ask him about other wine choices, and he rattles off the same choices as the upstairs bar. 

I traipse back upstairs with my half a glass of chardonnay, thinking I have never had to work this hard for a decent glass of wine in my life, and run into a classmate who has the same dilemma - she ordered a glass of red wine and it was undrinkable.

I said “We should scoot over to the grocery store and get our own bottle.” She looks at me and says “Maybe we should...” And next thing you know, we are driving 1/2 mile to the store and each buying a bottle of cabernet and a corkscrew, all which she stashed in her big ass purse to smuggle into the event.

We go into the ladies room, open her wine and break the corkscrew opening mine - but did we recognize that the universe was telling us to drink something else? Hell no. We find another corkscrew, get the second bottle open, congratulate ourselves and decide the bathroom cabinet is a decent hiding place and we hide the bottles behind a bunch of trash bags and toilet paper.

Despite some discretion - making sure bathroom was empty when getting refills - we got busted by the venue manager. She complained to one of the event planners -  a good friend - who knew exactly who the guilty party was; he was just surprised to find out there were two of us. To make matters worse, apparently they actually sell the cabernet that I was drinking. I was trying not to ruffle any more feathers than we already had, but I felt compelled to point out that I had called about this midweek, and spoke with two bartenders that evening, and no one had mentioned this, ever.

In a way, this was also very high school as I was deploying a version of the classic "I wouldn't have been an idiot if you hadn't been an idiot first" argument. 

We finally get to the negotiation portion of the conversation and the manager seems to be telling us she wants a $30 corkage fee - yes, she knows what that is -  for EACH GLASS WE POUR. 

While we are again apologizing for being jerks, we are also gently explaining that this is not how it usually works. Some part of my brain is weighing jail time vs. exorbitant corkage fee and deciding that arguing about the fee is more important.

I can't even blame the alcohol. I've had half a glass of chardonnay and one glass of cabernet; I think my co-conspirator has had two glasses. The manager counters with $25 for each bottle. My classmate and I say fine, but we want the bottle with the most wine in it. I mean, that makes sense, right? Anyone would respond that way. Right?

The manager, bless her heart, does not march off and dump it all down the sink at this point but offers a $15 fee for each bottle. We hand over the cash.

I walk away with my glass of suddenly premium wine, and another friend helpfully yells across the room “Hey, are you going to jail?” 

NOT TODAY.

"Premium Editions" 2: The Sequel You've Been Waiting For!

I got this postcard yesterday and thought "Oh no, not AGAIN." I wrote about this same thing, twice, in 2016 ( see here and here). Gannett went on to charge me an extra buck on a very irregular basis for these "premium editions" in 2017 and so far in 2018 (and for the life of me I cannot recall ever even seeing these wonderful additions to the print news scene, but find it hard to care since I don't want them, and can't unsubscribe from them).

At least this time they aren't even pretending this is an amazing supplement to my local news, and that they are responding to my interests. So, that's refreshing? I guess? This time it's just a straight-up "we're delivering this product you haven't signed up for and will be charging you." 

And apparently, charging me whatever they feel like, at the time. "Beginning August 1, 2018, you will be charged at the then current price for each edition according to its delivery date." This sentence left me gasping and wanting someone to come up with some kind of grammar-anxiety medication I could take with my morning tea. But once I untangled the sentence, and realized that a) no price range was indicated, and b) it seemed like the price might vary by edition, and c) this would depend on the delivery date? I think?, I decided to check it out.

Of course there is no link for this information in your account profile online. Of course not! You actually have to type in the URL provided on the card (click the link to avoid all of that!). And it's there that you'll find that these sure-to-be-exemplary examples of fine journalism or maybe at least pleasant advertising design are "included" in your subscription, but will cost you an extra $3 each. 

That's right - three times the previous price of these classy "premium editions." 

You will also find out that they are charging you the "newsstand price" for the Thanksgiving edition. There is another instance of the phrase "the then price" <stops to breathe into paper bag> but no mention if this is determined by weight, or number of duplicate sales flyers, or what.

Dear Gannett, please research the definition of "included." Some examples from Merriam-Webster: 

1. The price of dinner includes dessert.

2. Admission to the museum is included in the tour package

My subscription cannot "include" editions and services for which I am required to pay extra. 

Needless to say, I fired off an email to customer service. I don't think they've blocked me yet.

Rebecca's Super Top-Secret Packing Tips

A few of you were impressed with my recent social media post that I packed for a two week trip to Germany using just a standard-size carry-on bag. To be fair, this is also supplemented by a backpack (see tip #5) which is bigger than I need actually but that gives me some flexibility.

Even with a free checked bag for international travel, I opt for the carry-on bag whenever possible (which I will check for this trip). Because I simply don't want to lug anything bigger around - on trains, subways and down the street to hotels. 

I'll provide my basic packing list at the end (Tips #4 and #5). Because you don't really care how many pairs of underwear I am taking, right? Or, maybe you do. But you are here for the secrets! Right?

Secret Packing Tip #1: Woolite and Febreze

Yep.

I am not kidding. These two items require a bit of a mind re-set from the American "OMG I HAVE TO WASH EVERYTHING AFTER I WEAR IT ONCE" to a more global "scratch-n-sniff" perspective. Woolite is great - you can wash pretty much anything, it's good in all water types (low suds). Febreze is handy for emergencies or for spritzing that sack of dirty laundry before your toss it back in your suitcase.

Secret Packing Tip #2: An elastic clothesline

Elastic clothesline, no pins needed!

You can get these at pretty much any camping or sporting goods store. Just pull an edge of your freshly washed stuff through the twisted elastic (or drape over top). String it in the bathroom, closet or wherever. I didn't need this is Japan, where they sensibly include a retractable line in the bathroom above the tub.

These two tips can automatically cut the amount of clothing you need for two weeks (or more) by half. Caveat: if you aren't staying anywhere for more than a day, this may not work as well. You do need some drying time!

Secret Packing Tip #3: Packing cubes

Packing cubes OMG genius

I think I paid maybe $20 for the set of 4 or 5 with different sizes. Keeps everything neat and organized and easy to find. No more rummaging through the suitcase to find the socks. Lightweight. I fit 8 t-shirts, 3 pairs of shorts, 2 capris into one of these:

Packing cube in its natural habitat

Obviously, packing for a summer trip is easier than packing for winter. And it helps to have a few items that are dri-fit or similar. While I don't especially like the fabrics (too nylon-y), I do have a couple pairs of travel pants (Columbia, Eddie Bauer) and some dri-fit type shirts - they generally don't stain and dry quickly.

Secret Packing Tip #4: Be strategic

There's really an unbelievable amount of stuff in there! And some snacks (lots of train time on this trip).

In both your clothing choices and how you pack them. What do you really really need? And don't just thrown it all in there (packing cubes help!). This standard-size bag contains: 2 pairs of shoes, 8 shirts, 3 shorts, 2 capris, 6 pairs of underwear, 2 bras, 6 pairs of socks, raincoat, umbrella, small dual-voltage travel hair dryer, pajamas, string bag, small fabric purse, kit, woolite/frebreze/clothesline. And probably some other stuff.

Secret Packing Tip #5: Supplement with a backpack

Depending on the airline, you can get away with a carry-on bag AND a reasonable backpack or messenger bag as a "personal item." I got this one at Target for $40. Lightweight nylon, huge interior, lots of pockets. I used another packing cube to house a shirt, socks, underwear, meds, toothbrush and toothpaste as insurance against late/lost luggage.

2 shirts, underwear, socks, a hat, gaiter that can be used as a face towel/headband/kerchief/etc, meds, toothbrush/paste

Into the backpack also: gray cardigan, lightweight black hoodie (super thin, from Uniqclo), nylon messenger bag for day trips, snacks, empty water bottle, passport, wallet (slimmed down to essentials for travel - you're not gonna need that JC Penneys card, are you? and all the rewards cards, etc) and all the usual "purse" stuff like ibuprofen, lip balm, etc. BUT NOT ALL THE PURSE STUFF LADIES. Seriously, I've seen some of the bags you all lug around. Unless you have a bunch of kids under the age of 9, you do not need all that shit.

And of course, electronics: iPad mini, phone and all the charging debris. I use another packing cube for this!

Ear buds, power bank, adapter with USB ports, a few charging cables, a wall charger

Now I always to get to this point in the packing and think "What am I missing? I know I am missing something..." but usually, it ends up I am not. And if I am, well, it's likely not critical. My trip isn't ruined because I should have packed that certain pair of pants, you know?

My Son Is Safe But We Are Stupid

My son is a senior at Central Michigan University. And he is safe.

It's more than ridiculous that I feel compelled to lead with that statement. The well-meaning instinct is to express some variation of "I'm glad he is safe" (and please do not think I don't appreciate hearing that!), but the fact is none of us are safe anymore, are we. Not our children, no matter how young; not our families, no matter how successful or normal or ordinary or functional; not our coworkers, friends, or public figures admired or not admired.

At about 10:15 am, I was still browsing the Interwebs on my Friday day-off, like ones does, when I ran across a news item that indicated a breaking situation with an active shooter on the campus of Central Michigan University in Mt. Pleasant. Spring break was about to start; son was to come home later in the day. I sent him a text: What is going on at Campbell Hall? He replied: idk, shots fired I guess with some dude still missing.

My kid is in off-campus housing, and had no classes today, so he was still at the apartment and, let's face it, probably still in bed. Which may account for the rather casual response (well, and we are texting, so...).

I told him news was reporting two people were dead. He hadn't heard that. And that the "dude" was armed and dangerous. He hadn't heard THAT either.

Meanwhile, I am texting a friend who's kid is also at CMU and who lives in the same dorm complex where the incident happened. She needs some phone numbers, she can't get her kid to respond. "He's probably sleeping, but..." Yeah that "but." It's a little word that is always in the back of a mom's mind (and dad's too) even when there isn't an active shooter situation going on in the vicinity of your kid.

The collective stress level increases dramatically from moderate to...not so moderate. To everyone's relief, her kid is at my kid's apartment.

Meanwhile, the entire campus is on lockdown, as well as much of the city. The suspect is still at large. News updates continue with descriptions of the shooter, who is 19. 19. He shot his parents. In his dorm. And three hours later, he is still on the run, presumably with his weapon.

No other casualties. Yet.

It's the "yet" that is getting to me. My son is safe. So far. So are other students, staff and faculty on campus. So far. 

So are your kids. So far.

But collectively, as a society, we are stupid. We are (apparently) very very willing to sacrifice our children, singly or en mass, because various vocal groups tell us that a constitutional right crafted by men who could not even imagine, in their wildest nightmares, the technological advances in weaponry, among other changes - that this right enshrines as sacred, easy and open access to guns of all types, by all ages, regardless of  training, ability, and mental health..

We look at a complex problem, and we are stupid. We believe it when we are told we have to solve all aspects of the gun problem in one attempt, and it can't be done, so why try? We are happy to acquiesce to those in power who fill our airwaves with all the reasons even background checks and keeping weapons out of the hands of unstable individuals are somehow violating a constitutional right.

We watch our children die, and we are stupid.

My son is safe. So far. But we are stupid.

Caveats: as of right now, 2:15 pm March 2 2018, the suspect has still not been located and so many details of his weapon, how he obtained it, his situation, whether he is still alive, if he was under the influence, or any of the other "but what about" bullshit things that we think we need to know before we can act, are unknown at this time. 

Birthday Chronicles (or The Day That Hasn't Gone Quite Right)

I don't generally feel the need to chronicle my birthdays. However...

It started out fine. I ate cereal, drank tea and then, as has been a recent development, watched BBC Planet Earth videos with our cat Puffin. There is nothing wrong with beginning the day with the rich sounds of David Attenborough narrating clownfish working together to move a coconut shell, or the drongo bird having a spot of fun with some meerkats. Puffin is super into it and I learn new and interesting things like flying foxes can overheat and so they swoop into the river to get water on their chests that they can lick off later to hydrate. Unless they get eaten by crocodiles.

My modest plans for the day were thrown off a bit first thing when I stopped at the eye doctor to pick up a pair of prescription glasses for computer work, the kind with the special lenses to filter out blue light. At about $100, these are easily the cheapest prescription glasses I have ever had in my life (thanks cataract surgery!). I put them on and the vision was great for the right eye. But it was actually worse for the left. As in - if 1 is my vision with no glasses and 2 is my vision with them, there would be none of that hesitant "Well, about the same maybe? Can I have the choices again?" in picking 1. WTH? So back to square one with that project.

My next stop was sure to be the highlight of the day. Oh wait, no...that will be dinner tonight with my husband. Well it's close though, because birthday shoe shopping is the best shoe shopping and I had a $5 certificate from DSW. And it was sunny springlike day to inspire shopping for something that was not boots. So I piled up some choices in the aisle and started trying things on, traipsing up and down the store, finding more things, putting some back...you know, like you do. Having fun dialog with the more fashion-forward son, like this:

And then...I tramped on a piece of broken mirror. In my barefeet.

It was nothing more than a pinprick, really, but as I looked around I found three more shards on the floor. So, off I went to find a sales associate - after putting shoes on of course. The youngster I approached took the shards, apologized, and went off to tell someone. Less than a minute later, another associate came over and again apologized profusely, brought me an alcohol swab, offered a bandaid several times, and then asked the first sales clerk where the shards were. 

"I hope you didn't throw them out," he said. And of course that is exactly what she had done, at which point she was instructed to start searching the trash can she had used, and she could not remember which one it was, so she got to search quite a few before finding them. Once the male associate saw the size of them, he called in reinforcements and I was soon surrounded by 3 sales associates and a manager and I am sure everyone else in the store thought I had been shoplifting or something.

They took photos of my foot. They took photos of the mirror shards. They found the source - one of the mirrors under the bench was not screwed in and must have been knocked over and no one had mentioned that the mirror had broken. The manager took me up front, still apologizing, took my contact information, gave me an extra $20 of my shoes and I am also now the proud owner of some DSW wine glasses and a shoe bag:

Note that the wine glasses have "Joy" on them which perfectly describes both wine AND shoe shopping, at least when one's shoe shopping does not include stepping on bits of broken mirror in barefeet.

I am home safely, without further mishap, but I am almost afraid to go to dinner now. 

Women Make America Great

I went to the Women's March in Lansing today.

The "Power of the Polls"  - this year's theme, because I guess we need a theme to unify us beyond being women and being perpetually pissed off - was hosted in Las Vegas January 21, launching a nationwide voter registration tour. Why Las Vegas? The reasons seemed a little forced - a vulnerable Republican incumbent, competitive state elections, perhaps the availability of Cher as a celebrity speaker.

The "sister marches" were held January 20, the anniversary of last year's inaugural event - and the day before the main event in Vegas. Go figure. Of course, Michigan held its march in Lansing today, possibly for the most Michigan of reasons - skip the sunshiny, spring-like day (Saturday) that many of the other marches enjoyed,  for the foggy gray gloom of a 37-degree day instead (Sunday).

Despite the damp and the gray and the mud - and let's face it, a lack of coordination and promotion - the crowd, to my untrained eye from the nearby parking deck, was at least equal to last year's. An improved sound system carried the concise and powerful messages from speakers on a range of issues from Native Americans to gun control to LBGTQ to Black Lives Matter and, throughout all, sexual assault, discrimination, and harassment (see full list of speakers here)

Huh. Wonder what brought all that up. Predictions this year, due to the rise of the #metoo movement, were that anger would be the driving force at these gatherings. And certainly there was anger - God knows women and minorities are righteously enraged right now - but the feel of the crowd was, in my opinion, almost as if the anger had peaked, morphing into that cold, clear stage of rage, that "OK, this is really enough now" that tips into a razor-sharp focus on how to push back effectively.

Last year we were just mad. This year we are Lisbeth Salander in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Like last year, it was empowering to be there, surrounded by people - women and men - who didn't think you were crazy for thinking the current immigration climate is racist. Who agree that government is supposed to be about more than the economy. Who think science is about facts and not opinion. Who think women - and blacks, and gays, and Hispanics, and wow the list is SO LONG - should not sit down and shut up.

This sign is all of us right now:

And more views from the day:

2018...BRING IT

Happy New Year! It is about 6 degrees here, but hey, starting the New Year with such definitive proof that global warming is fake news is a total win. Right?

Not to be a downer, but...you know shit's gonna happen, it always does. Sometimes you gotta work hard to have a good year. And I have a plan! <note that this is not the same as making a "resolution">

I'm drinking all the wine we've been saving for a special occasion. All. Of. It. 2018's gonna be one looonnggg special occasion, my friends.

I will be doing some work on the difference between "being nice" and "ignoring/quietly putting up with too much shit." You are probably thinking, "Oh Rebecca, no WAY you put up with any shit at all ever," but oh, honey, if you only knew. Not to pile on the whole new Rise of Feminism that's annoying the hell out of folks, but for Christ's sake, Putting Up With Shit is the default setting of every woman you know. Not lying.

I solemnly swear to continue to read "real news." And call your ass out when you shitpost a bunch of crap from some site that looks like a computer virus waiting to happen. WTF.

Also, I should clean up my language. Right. Which is why this is a Plan and not a Resolution.

I plan to read some good books...and some bad books too so I know what good books are.

Gonna learn something new, maybe not every day 'cuz that's exhausting, but at least a couple times through the year. It's important, and refreshing, and I'll be able to look back on the year and say "Yeah, but hey at least I learned some new things!" And those new things better not be stuff like "Wow, I did NOT know that friend was a bigot" or "Shit, my jeans are too tight."

I am blocking every single ad I see on Twitter and reporting all ads on Instagram as "spam." Yes, it's useless and bitchy but it feels righteous and you need to grab those moments when you can.

Related to Putting Up With Too Much Shit (see above), I will be happy to engage in a spirited debate on our opposing viewpoints. UNTIL you include any variation of following in your supporting arguments: only lazy people use "entitlement" programs; all Muslims are terrorists and support Sharia law; all those women "asked for it;" White Lives Matter; Milo and free speech; gluten is bad for you; football players/actors/celebrities should just sit down and shut up; Second Amendment precludes any sensible gun safety laws; flu shots make you sick; flat earth theory; cleanses; any use of the phrase "opens up" (as in "George Clooney opens up about chasing toddlers through 17-room Lake Cuomo mansion"); the wall; immigrants take jobs/money/welfare/whatever away from the rest of us; climate change hoax; OMG gay/lesbian/trans...whoa. OK some of these are in the pet peeve department, and clearly this list could go on and on and on. I guess come at me with facts? That might do it.

Drinking only the good beer. Wait. I already do that. In the Intolerance Department, you still cannot bring Bud Light into the house. It is allowed on the deck, but you gotta go around. NO, this does not violate ANY of your constitutional rights.

New chickens! In the spring. Which should be either awfully dangerous or highly amusing with the kittens in the house, but either way a nice distraction from whatever shit the world is dumping at the moment. Also, remember that raccoons are ALWAYS assholes, I don't care if you are following that cute one on Insta.

I plan to not feel guilty for disengaging when necessary. I'll be picking my battles, just like when the kids were toddlers and you could stress about whether donuts were a responsible dinner choice, or you could just invent "Donut Night" because the day sucked and everyone was tired and it all goes down in the annals of family history as the Best Dinner Ever. 

 I think I'm ready. Are you?

Spices. Knives. Rain. Beck. And where the hell is everything now?

The day got off to a deceptively ordinary start. I just wanted to install a magnetic knife bar. Maybe organize the spice cupboard, which totally sounds like an avoidance maneuver - "I'm sorry, I need to stay home and organize the spice rack!" - but I honestly needed to suck it up and do something about the enormous mess that was my spice shelf.

The knife bar installation meant cutting boards had to be relocated. Spice cupboard reorganization also turned into a relocation project - and why do I have 3 jars of cloves? 

Relocation of spices meant moving oils and vinegars (and I apparently have a vinegar problem, good lord), which meant shifting pasta, and for some reason, bread pans and mini-muffin tins that were stashed above the pasta.

I turned to Beck and his new album for support at this point. Giddyup.

Still a completely reasonable rainy day project. If only I had stopped there.

The new Beck album is very dancey and I decided in the name of safety that I probably shouldn't be on the step stool (and let's face it, the counter too), plus the muffin tins were bothering me so I tackled the cupboards under the island thinking I should have most of the baking things in one spot.

This meant relocating the tupperware - if you are a millennial this is old people code for plastic food storage containers. And that led, of course, to going through all the containers and lids, and I ended up with containers with no lids which were perfect for storing all the food processor and mandolin (the slicer, not the instrument) bits, so I did that cupboard too.

Beck had run out of steam at this point. So had I, but my kitchen now looked like this:

Jesus, what was I thinking?

I sent  that photo to Son #1:

What's happening is your mother is insane, that's what's happening. Don't try this at home kids!

The muffin tins are no longer bothering me. It's still raining. The spices are kinda sorta organized. And the new Beck album is great.

Adventures in Shopping: Sports Bra Edition

I think I sprained some delicate body parts the other day while twisting myself into various contortionist positions. No, I was not doing yoga. I was trying on sports bras - in the comfort of my own home, where I would not be quite as mortified if I needed to call 9-1-1 (as opposed to calling them from the dressing room at Target).

You know, my sports bra requirements are pretty minimal. I need to be able to get in and out of them without personal injury. I want adequate...stabilization.

Medium support. Maximum support. Padded bras that provide "coverage." And what is up with that anyway? Why are we supposed to be ashamed that we have nipples? When is padding being added to men's undershirts and tech tees? Oh, right...it's only women that are supposed to feel shame about normal body functions like nipples and breastfeeding and periods and pregnancy and vaginal odor and sex and birth control and maternity leave and health care...oops, off on a tangent there. A little.

Where was I? Sports bras. I tried three, size medium. Medium support because "maximum" is only for the larger gals, I guess, judging by the available sizes. And those bras must keep everything trussed in like a straitjacket, if my experience with medium support is anything to go by. I gave up on one when I managed to get it over my head, and one arm in, but there was not enough stretch to get the other arm in without dislocating a shoulder. 

Bra #2 was also a pull-over style. I struggled, but managed to get the thing on with only a couple minor muscle twinges. "On" as in, over my head and shoulders, arms through the correct straps, entire back of bra rolled up above my shoulder blades, and boobs sticking out underneath bra band. All women know this is just Step One of The Donning Of The Sports Bra. Step Two is Adjustment. I adjusted. Heard a few popping sounds as I reached around to unroll the back of the bra. Made sure everyone in front was perky and not lopsided (fun fact - this is where being able to see nipples is a useful thing, you know?).

I could almost breathe. This one had potential. Now to take it off. Keep in mind, I was not sweaty and damp at the time. You know, everyone's USUAL state when removing a sports bra. Because, theoretically, you have worked out in some way between the putting on and the taking off.

It seriously took me 10 minutes and multiple attempts before I was able to escape. I felt like Houdini. At one point I was considering finding a scissors and cutting my way out, and then had to take a little break because I made myself laugh a little too hard thinking about what I would tell the returns clerk at Target as she asked "anything wrong with it?" while gazing at a sliced up sports bra. 

I stood in my bedroom, panting from the effort, and looked at Bra #3. This one had hooks in the back, seemingly making entry and exit easier, but what I had not noticed was that it was also a racer-back. So while the bra band had hooks, the straps were still connected in the back, so in the end it was still a pull-over style. With the added complication of hooking the back, while it was on.

As every teen-aged boy knows, unhooking a bra is a cinch. What they don't realize is hooking them is not a cinch, which is why most of the female population hooks them in the front and turns them around. Needless to say, I could not get this damn thing hooked. And I tried. And tried and tried and suddenly realized, this is ridiculous. I can't spend this much time trying to hook up a bra, for God's sake.

I returned $65-worth of sports bras yesterday. Another batch is currently in a bag in my bedroom, awaiting tryouts. I'm considering turning the whole thing into a drinking game this time. Wish me luck!

Shut Up and Play

When Colin Kaepernick started taking a knee during the national anthem last year, and then explained - although not in a very articulate way, granted - why he was doing so, my first thought was "Good for you!" My second thought was "Not sure the anthem is the most effective time for it."

I still think both those thoughts today.

But with the outpouring of outrage this weekend, I have some additional random thoughts as well. 

Your Freedom Might Not Be The Same As Mine

Wanna know what I was hearing, all the time, this weekend? A bunch of white folks agreeing with a bunch of wealthy white men that a bunch of wealthy black men should just shut up and play and appreciate everything we've done for them. That everything white people say that the flag, and the anthem, stand for is exactly what it stands for, for everyone. And you know what? The flag and the anthem SHOULD stand for hard-won life, and liberty, and equality, for everyone. The national anthem SHOULD stand for the freedoms that make this country great, for everyone. But if you are black, or Latino, or gay, or - hey! - a woman! - you have a different perspective on liberty and equality and freedom.

I cannot speak, obviously, to being black in a white world. But I have eyes to see, and a brain to attempt to understand, and most importantly I have empathy . And I can speak, however, to funny little realities like what makes a man a good manager somehow makes me a bitch. Funny little realities like it's OK for men to talk over me, about me, and for me - while I am standing there. Funny realities like being told showing some leg and some cleavage is "asking for it" - while a man can parade naked down the street and the only thing he is "asking for" is some jail time and a fine. Funny realities like my access to healthcare and my choices about it should be dictated by a bunch of men raised in the last ice age.

Freedom and equality doesn't mean the same thing to me that it might to you. And I can say so. However I want. That's the beauty of it.

Colin Kaepernick's protest was - and still is - about police brutality and racial violence. Athletes - black and white and Latino and military and gay -  are kneeling during the anthem because it provides a very visible, controversial, national platform to call attention to the fact that a poorly-composed song and a flag are symbols that to many Americans do not represent freedom and equality enjoyed by all.  And here's a true fact! If they chose any of the more subtle forms of protest that all the outraged white folks are suggesting - "give some of your millions to charity!" "you should try helping veterans, then you'll get it!" "spend some of your precious time teaching inner-city kids respect!" (that last one is my favorite - because it's all about black kids not respecting white authority, right?) - none of us would ever listen.

Because we haven't listened. For centuries.

And we still aren't listening. We are making the conversation about something else entirely, no matter how often or how well the protesters and their supporters explain their views. 

Do You Hear What I Hear? Maybe Not.

Wanna know what else I was hearing, all the time, this weekend? That those "overpaid" athletes have nothing to complain about. That their salaries have a direct connection to the amount of perceived respect they should pay to the flag, the military, the country, the president, you name it. How dare they protest social or racial injustice when they have a multi-million dollar contract? They should be grateful to even have the opportunity to make that money.

I was hearing - why would a wealthy professional athlete even concern himself with racial profiling and police brutality, let alone attempt to bring it to national attention, on national television? And on Sunday no less – you know, God’s day and also football. Can’t they do it some other time? Or maybe not at all. Everyone knows being wealthy means you have never been oppressed, or maybe you were, but certainly not now, now that you have money. Because everyone knows the cops check your bank statements before they pull you over, or ticket you, or throw you in jail, or shoot you. Right?

You know what I really hear in these comments? I hear the word "uppity." I hear "we aren't paying you to have an opinion." I hear, “you don’t know your place.” I hear, “shut up and play”

And speaking of shutting up…

That white man in the White House...

And it has been just another weekend of the white man in the White House using his position to amplify his divisive rhetoric, but once those black folks take advantage of a national platform to make a statement, hoo boy...

I can't be the only one who thinks it makes a very big statement that the white man in the White House spent the weekend obsessing over whether a bunch of wealthy black men were showing adequate respect for values he has spent considerable time misunderstanding and actively attempting to erode, and encouraging white bosses to fire them. And ignoring our Puerto Rican citizens  - Latinos - during the greatest destruction they have ever known, other than to apparently blame them and their economy for the situation and worry about the billions owed to Wall Street.

Now you tell me who needs to shut up.

Damn It v.2

You lose some, you gain some I guess. After losing 3 pounds the first week, I gained 2 pounds back the second - and that week included a mini-sprint triathlon and two 2-mile runs.

But other than the ice-cream-for-dinner on Monday, I did well on nutrition and points. I don't dip much into the extra weekly allotment (so far). So what was different?

Beer. Beer was different.

I am mostly a wine drinker, and have found it easy to stick to a 5 oz pour most nights. But I also really like hoppy IPAs, and they pretty much only come in a 12 oz bottle. And that 12 oz bottle comes with 6 points, and apparently some poundage. On occasion, I've cut the pour to 6 oz by offering up the remainder to my husband...but still. And it was a beer kind of week.

Time for a do-over.

It Was Just That Kind Of Day

Hey, it was Monday.

Damn It.

I lost 3 pounds this first week.

BUT, I also found out what those weekly points are for, and they are indeed for getting into trouble. Like when you eat lunch, and then go to a baby shower and eat lunch AGAIN and have an apricot bellini because why wouldn't you.

Or, when you do a mini-sprint triathlon and go to breakfast for your traditional post-race breakfast.

The regular pancake syrup was really pecan caramel sauce, but I couldn't find that listed, so too bad

I did not know it was possible to have a 36-point breakfast. Although I am not too sure about those french toast points, they seem excessive. Right?

Overall, this has been pretty easy though (so far). I feel full most of the time - really full after a 36-point french toast breakfast, let me tell you - and the tracking really hasn't been that hard to do. My only complaint (other than the wine thing - why can't wine be zero points instead of dumb old vegetables?) is the points seem a little inconsistent. That french toast for example - anywhere from 3 points (french toast sticks "fast food") to 11 points for 2 slices.

So, there's some effort in figuring the best way to calculate your meal. We had a small baguette at dinner last night. One "piece" is 5 points, but no info on what exactly a piece is. So, I weighed the baguette, estimated the number of pieces we normally cut, and adjusted the calculation to ounces. Worked great (although you can't always changed the serving size like that, most of the time you can).

On to week two!

Battle of the Bulge (mine)

I seem to be suffering from a "thickening of the waist" lately, and it's irritating. I put myself squarely in the "active" category of people - I run a few miles a week, walk, garden, bike when it's nice. I don't have an unhealthy diet (I mean, could it be better? Sure. But it's not awful. I don't even eat ice cream every night, even though I really really want to.). But my pants don't fit, and I don't like it. What gives?

There is actually a name for this phenomenon in older women. It's called the "post-meno belly." Lovely. But a study by the Mayo Clinic in 2013 showed that we are all basically doomed (ok, not really maybe) because the changes in estrogen levels mean "post-menopausal women burned less fat than their pre-menopausal colleagues. These changes mean that their cells are not only storing more fat, but are also less willing to part with it." LESS WILLING TO PART WITH IT JESUS. That's just great. You can read all about it here.

My two running buddies are struggling as well and decided to take action by joining Weight Watchers. I was a little late to the party, but signed up Sunday for the online version (50% OFF!) - and yes, there's an app for that.

If you have never done Weight Watchers - and I have not - it's based on points. A little quiz at the beginning about age, height, weight and goal triggers an algorithm (one presumes) that calculates how many food/drink points you get each day, plus an extra allotment of weekly points that seem designed to get you in trouble. I could be wrong about that, though.

The whole thing is pretty simple, and the points database seems to be extensive. I plugged in Seeds of Change (I like their rice and grain mixes) and a ton of them were listed (at ridiculous point levels). And if you really want to know the difference between farmed salmon and wild-caught, it's WW points. Farmed is more points.

Lunch today - plus an clementine I forgot to record, but fruit is 0 points, so

My breakfast was a nice healthy 5 points:

Yes, WHOLE MILK. Actually, 2 TBS 1/2 & 1/2 plus 1% milk - because lowfat milk is gross. You know I'm right.

Which means, to my way of thinking, I had points to burn at dinner, baby.

For the record, I did not have a Lagunitas. I had a Victory Brewing Dirt Wolf, a double IPA that is probably more like 8 points but they didn't have any double IPAs on the list, SO.

Wine is a pathetic 5 oz pour and racks up 4 points. So, this is gonna be HARD people.

But I've lost almost 2 lbs since Sunday. And I only dipped into those weekly "oops" points on the first day, when I went one point over on my daily total. 

Stay tuned.