Posts from — June 2010

Somewhere deep down in The Man, there is a vulnerable, sensitive guy. Science told me so.

Sometimes I’ll poke fun of a study because the researchers spent mullah to discover something incredibly obvious. (It’s genius, of course. Which is why I’m soliciting funding to determine whether water is healthier than Tang.)

Today, though, I’ll tell you about a study that shocked me. Nah, it didn’t find that steak cures headaches—though that’d be nice because I’m craving a steak right now and have a massive headache. (What else is new? My brain hates me and I’m considering that brainectomy idea.)

Anyhow, I read about a study today that found men are more affected by the ups and downs in a relationship than women are. Yeah, men.

Maybe you’re not shocked, but I stunned that guys benefit from the happy times—and feel the pain of the bad times—more than women.

Apparently after a big fight, while you’re stuffing your face into a pint of Chubby Hubby, your spouse is doing the same. Only probably not literally since guys don’t have that drown-your-feelings-in-sugar gene. But he’s mentally gorging his inner chick.

The researchers guess that women can better handle the relationship pits because they have strong relationships with friends and family. But guys don’t get all emotional with their pals, so if your relationship with them sours, so does their life. (Maybe that’s too dramatic, but I think it’s true.)

Anyhow, when life sucks, women call their girlfriends and vent for four hours straight. Guys grunt, tell their buddy chicks suck, then talk sports. So I can see why the whole relationship thing is so important for men. Even if they’d never, ever admit it. Ever.

Or, you know, guys are more sensitive than I give them credit for.

Does that surprise you? Could you ever in five gazillion years imagine that your husband or boyfriend would be feeling the hurt in your relationship more than you?

photo by foto lervolino
What, you expected the view from my window to be boring?*

There are many things I love about the weekend, but nothing is better than the lack of alarm. Are you tired of my sleep deprivation–restoration cycle yet? Sorry. I’m a teenager, what can I say?

The Man surprised me by waking up with the cleaning bug on Saturday morning. When I stumbled out of bed he was cleaning our windows, load of wash in the machine. (Yes I did a double take. Yes I wondered if this was an intruder.) Lemme tell ya, unmarried women: This is better than flowers. It’s better than diamonds, really. Gifts are overrated. Find a man who can wield a bottle of Windex and life will be easier.

The end.

Except one more thing.

[Read more →]

This is what you look like every day. Minus the bed. And minus the closed eyes. All other signs of sleepiness are there, plastered to your face.

There are several things that happen when your husband takes a great job in a far away land (in D.C. speak, that’s anywhere further than 10 miles) and you only have one car. One of those is that he becomes cheery and excited about his new job. You like that part. The other is that you wake each morning at an hour no human should be awake. Honestly, I’m not even sure non-humans—vampires, zombies and the like—are awake at that hour.

From there, your days go something like this:

1. Contemplate showering.
2. Wonder if anyone will notice your third-day hair.
3. Decide to shower.
4. Curse the fact that people see you daily.
5. Go to work. Stare at your computer screen.
6. Wonder if your eyes can really focus so early in the morning.
7. Let your mind wander.
8. Realize you don’t remember how to write a cursive I.
9. Realize how pointless cursive is.
10. Wish you didn’t waste fourth grade learning cursive.
11. Wish you spent that time saving up sleep instead.
12. Wonder why you took trig, too.
13. Realize trig was even more pointless than cursive.
14. Contemplate coffee.
15. Wish Starbucks delivered.
16. Give up on coffee. You’re too tired.
17. Work way too many hours.
18. Wish The Man didn’t hit an hour of traffic on his way home.
19. Wish someone invented hovercrafts.
20. Wonder why The Jettsons was created in 1962 and it’s still futuristic.
21. Think about how much time you’d save tonight if you could press a food button instead of cooking a meal.
22. Cook a meal.
23. Consider hiring a chef—to clean up dinner.
24. Clean up dinner. Dread what comes next.
25. Make breakfast and lunch for tomorrow.
26. Flop onto the bed and will the clock to turn back two hours.
27. Sleep.
28. Do it all over again.

Which is why I’m so excited—no, more than that—it’s Friday. And I can relax, and unwind. And pretend I don’t have five 11-hour days ahead of me next week.

I’m not alone, am I?

photo by okaycitynate
Yes, this is how you write. Sit in front of the computer like this long enough and suddenly there will be 1,000 words on your screen. I swear.

There’s one question I get asked more than any other, and it’s this: How do you have such gorgeous hair?

Kidding. I actually have pretty sucky hair. I got my mom’s thin locks while my sister stole my dad’s thick hair. I spend hours a day trying to coax body into this mane while my sister takes her thick, Pantene hair and throws it up into a messy bun. Go figure.

So the real question I get asked all the time is: How can I become a writer? There are more answers to that question than I’ll give mainly because if I’m going to reveal the secrets to the universe I’m going to do it in book form. Or, you know, I might just feel like I’m not one to advise on the subject.

To set things straight, I’m a writer. I have been since 2002. Well, I’ve been a published writer since then; I think I always considered myself a writer. I’m a journalist, but I’m not a writing rock star. I don’t write for the New Yorker or The Atlantic, and there aren’t Pulitzer’s hanging around my house. (But if there were, they’d be locked away in a safe that was hidden beneath my bullet-proof floor boards.) That’s my disclaimer.

After eight years—sheesh, I didn’t realize I was so old—I’ve come to realize there are four main steps to being a writer.

1. Read. As kids, we learn grammar and vocabulary by reading. But it’s also the way we learn how to structure sentences and how to tell stories. As adults, it’s still the best way to improve your writing. Read sucky stuff and learn what you don’t like. Read the good stuff and mark up what you love.

2. Write. Aside from the fact that’s it’s physically impossible to be a writer without actually writing, it’s one of the best ways to improve your ability. Look back to something you wrote five years ago. Do you see mistakes or faults? I do, and that’s because I’m constantly learning, constantly writing, and always improving. Practice is how I get there.

3. Pitch. The only way someone is ever going to find out about your awesometastic writing is if you show them. So if you want to be a journalist, query online magazines, big sites, or your local newspaper. By doing small work first you can bypass journalism’s catch-22: “We only publish writers who have published clips.” Start small and build clips, then pitch to larger pubs.

4. Grow thick skin. Writing is as much about rejection as it is about words, and that goes for newspaper and magazine journalism as well as book publishing. You’re going to get rejected. Period. So move on and don’t think it’s about you. It’s not; it’s just the way things are.

That’s it. Sure, there are a gazillion other tips I could give you about researching the newspapers and magazines you’d like to write for, or about reading about journalism to learn the industry. Or interviewing, or researching, or finding the best details. I could talk about pacing and suspense. Or why understanding format (say, the inverted pyramid for hard news) and style (is it internet or Internet?*) are so important. But it all boils down to this: Read, write, and get your work out there. Then push through rejection until you hit success.

Any questions?

*It’s Internet, by the way.

While we’re on the subject of cleaning, may I direct your attention to the bestest (don’t doubt that word) green cleaning product of life? Shaklee’s Basic H2 Organic Super Cleaning Concentrate. I discovered this over a year ago when I was sick of spending boatloads of money on chemical-free cleaners* that I went through faster than chocolate chips. (For real.)

I bought the concentrate and three bottles—one for general cleaning, one for windows, and one for tough grease. Varying amounts of the concentrated liquid gets mixed with water in each bottle, 1 1/2 for the degreaser, 1/4 teaspoon for general cleaning, and only two drops for window cleaning.

I’ll tell you what:

It works.

It lasts. Forever.

As in I still have more than half the bottle of the concentrate left after more than a year. And I clean a lot.

Sorry, I don’t sell Shaklee**, though I’d like to meet someone who does. I just bought mine from the Web site. You should, too.

Do it now. I’ll wait. Go ahead.

Welcome back. You’ll be glad you got them. And now you can save your money for fun things, like new jeans. Or shoes. Or both.

Have you ever tried Shaklee cleaning products? Do you use green cleaners?

*I’m not all-green when it comes to cleaning. I still clean my counters with antibacterial spray after I’ve cut up raw chicken. It’s the germaphobe in me.

**And no, nosy FCC, I didn’t get this for free. I used my hard-earned cash on this sucker.

photo by melissa ann barrett

All right, guys. We’ve had some fun the past couple of days, but now it’s back to my serious posts. (Don’t laugh. I can be serious sometimes.)

If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, you may have gathered that I’m a bit of a neat freak. The Man says I have a psychological disorder, but I’m not that OCD. So I like my closet color-coordinated and the labels on my spices all facing the same direction. I think it makes me organized, not psycho. I’ll let you judge silently from the other side of the Internet.

Anyhow, I’m also a big fan of cleaning in general. (That’s a bummer for The Man who has to do the heavy lifting, vacuuming, and other major cleaning since my knees hate me. I give him major props for that.) So I was interested to read about a study that found a connection between having a clean house and being fit. The findings, which researcher NiCole Keith presented at the American College of Sports Medicine’s annual meeting, could mean one of two things:

• Fit people clean a lot.
• Cleaning can make you fit.

The study didn’t determine a cause and effect. The researchers just compared the fitness level of nearly 1,000 African Americans with the state of their homes. The homes with spick and span interiors had residents who got more physical activity.

You could say that some of the participants were so well off that they hired housekeepers to keep their homes shining while they plugged away at the gym. But since the study subjects had similar backgrounds and came from two areas of the same city, I think that isn’t likely the real cause.

The study might not give a definite answer, but I have to say: Cleaning, it’s hard work. Sure, if you’re already fit you’ll have an easier time crouching, lifting, and otherwise detail cleaning your home. But if you’re out of shape—it’s a good way to get a total body workout.

Not counting those activities I can’t do because of my knees, washing the windows gives my arms, upper back, and shoulders a good workout.

What household chore do you count as exercise?

photo from nasa1fan/msfc

Look at that: A little fun on a Monday. I’m glad I had the foresight on Friday to force you guys to play my game. Because today, though I started out cranky for having to go back to work, I’m in a good mood. Your words in my story made me crack up.

If you’re confused, see Friday’s post. I asked for a list of 15 words that would fit into this pre-written story. The random number generator that is The Man came up with No. 15, and here’s how it all worked out…

Story by Tracey
Words by Lauren

I pretended I was schizophrenic this weekend: I was social part time, visiting with a college friend who’s in from a black hole and another who bumps nearby but is always jetting off to some faraway city. But I also walled up like a hermit and did nothing. (OK, and some laundry, yelping, and drinking.) Here’s what I did:

On Saturday, I ran around my fishing rod like mad, picking up the little boy The Man littered in all reaches of the apartment except for the spot right inside the wacky basket. I also whipped through 23 loads of laundry and wondered how two people could create such a mass of dirtiness. And then I read, because I’m sucked in The Secret big time.

On Saturday night, I made myself a banana for dinner before I visited with my two friends. We caught up, swapped stories, and did other things girls do. Not that there’s anything wrong with The Man, but he can’t talk girl like a natural. I think I like that about him.

The Man, on the other hand, went to the Toronto Maple Leafs game with a friend. There was a 95 percent chance he would come home disappointed, and he did; they lost. C’est la vie when you love that team.

On Sunday, I sprung my secret plan on The Man: I wanted to reorganize our kittens. There was also some more reading involved, because it’s a weekend after all and I was going to enjoy a bit of it if it killed me. But not really if it killed me. I would have stopped before that.

Finally, on Sunday night, I whined about how I wished it were still Wednesday. Then I pack my lunch (oatmeal) for Monday, crawled under the covers way too late, and instantly drifted off. I needed the sleep, too, because today’s wakeup call was at 12:34.

(If you want to read the story with your words, or someone else’s, look back to Friday’s comments.)

So, how was your weekend? Anyone else have friends visit from the far reaches of the universe?

photo by aaron & allie

Ever since we jumped into June, I’ve been thinking a lot about summer. I think it has a lot to do with getting a glimpse of a vacation last weekend only to have it snatched right back Tuesday morning.

That makes me think of the real meaning of summer. A long, long time ago, it meant more than frigid office air conditioning and sunshine after work. Back then, summer meant months of vacation with nothing to do but run barefoot in the grass and jump through sprinklers. Even if you had to work, there was some sense that the job would end come September. And that you were taking a break from the real work.

Not to get too sentimental, but man how I wish adults got summer vacation. Or even the European version. I’d take that, yes I would. Anyhow, my thoughts of summer soon slid onto childhood in general. Naturally that led me to Mad Libs. Don’t all childhood memories?

So on Monday, I have something for you: Grown-up Mad Libs. Talk about fun.

Here’s the deal. I’ve created a secret story but left out 15 key words. (Don’t worry, I won’t cheat. The story is already written with some missing words.) Your job is to fill in the words in the comments. Get as silly as you want. Then, on Monday, I’ll choose one random reader and use their words in the story.

So here it goes … give me:

Place
Verb
Verb ending in -ing
Verb ending in -ing
Noun
Noun
Adjective
Number
Book title
Food item
Sports team
Plural noun
Day of the week
Meal
Time

Aaaand … go!

I know you’re probably sick of my vacation talk, but I have something else to say and I’m going to say it gosh dern it. I concerns my nemeses, my knees.

(If you’re a new reader here’s a quick recap: My knees suck and have for years. If you want the gritty details, click here.)

I think the best way to get my point across is to compare this trip to Charlottesville with the last one The Man and I took—back in July 2008.

Then: The Man dropped me off outside a restaurant, and I waited on a bench as he parked the car.
Now: The Man and I parked the car and walked to a restaurant together. [Read more →]

Yesterday I told you all about my Charlottesville wine tour with The Man. I’m pretty sure some of you were jealous. To make you feel better, I’ll remind you that I have Runner’s Knee in both knees, Achille’s tendonitis, and plantar fasciitis. There, I don’t seem so cool now, do I?

I also told you I’d describe our ride home. Instead of shooting north to D.C., The Man and I took the scenic route. We drove 75 miles of Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, which took about four hours with the amount we stopped to take in the views and spot deer. (The Man tried to snap a picture of one, but deer are faster than The Man.)

So, we spent one more night in Charlottesville. [Read more →]