Happy Mother’s Day, everyone! I hope you all get a chance to let the awesome women in your lives know how much they mean to you.

Last week was pretty rough in the “Andrea’s life” department but I’ll be back soon with some new rants and randomness.

Earlier this week I attended Jayden’s awards ceremony for JROTC. It was a proud moment in my life – this is the first time he has participated in an extracurricular activity since he was very young. Plus I think it was the first time he has ever received an award other than the “Yay, you participated!” kind.

Hilarious sidebar: He didn’t want to go to the ceremony because it would cut into his computer time. I encouraged him to “take one for the team” and, in true Asperger’s fashion, he looked at me like I was insane and said, “Um, JROTC isn’t a team, Mom. It’s an organization.” *headdesk*

Anyway, we arrived about 45 minutes early to allow him time to find out where he needed to sit and get all his other OCD rituals out of the way. Once he was settled, I sat back to engage in some people watching.

Okay, a few things you should know: (1) We live in Kentucky, where people watching is almost a competitive sport. We could keep People of Walmart going all by ourselves. (2) I am no stranger to casual dress, especially since I became a self-employed hermit. (3) I realize that some people may not be able to afford dressy clothes. With all that said, OH. EM. GEE.

As people started filtering into the seats in the auditorium, I couldn’t help staring at what some of them chose to wear. Keep in mind, this was an end-of-the-year awards ceremony held in the evening. The JROTC kids were in their uniforms. Photographers from the newspaper were there. It’s not like we were at a Little League baseball game or a picnic or something.

I saw baseball caps (most of them camouflage). I saw jorts and dirty sneakers. I saw tank tops and tube tops. I saw plaid pajama pants and flip flops. One lady had what looked like muddy paw prints on her shirt. I’m sitting there looking at all these people and wondering, When did it become okay to go out in public like this? It gave me flashbacks to my college internship with a law firm – people used to show up to court in similar attire all the time.

Why So Casual?

I know the world is changing and expectations aren’t quite what they used to be when it comes to what people wear. I grew up wearing dresses to church every Sunday, for example, and these days I usually throw on dark jeans or dress pants and a semi-dressy shirt. I don’t even know if I own a dress anymore. I can handle the fact that most people no longer maintain a separate wardrobe for special occasions, especially if they don’t have to dress up for work.

What I can’t deal with, though, is the blatant disrespect some people show in social situations (at least in my mind). I no longer dress up for church because no one else does, either – the norm has shifted in the last 10-15 years. But I wouldn’t dream of wearing flip flops and a NASCAR shirt to a wedding or graduation ceremony, and I make a point to dress neatly for anything that involves going to my son’s school. I have a limited wardrobe, especially now that I work from home, but I still know how to put together something appropriate when I need to.

As I said before, I know some people can’t afford nice clothing; I’ve definitely been there myself. But a simple t-shirt and jeans would have been fine! I find it hard to believe that the adult women walking around in booty shorts couldn’t have come up with something else to wear. Poverty has nothing to do with this – it isn’t an issue of brand names or white pants after Labor Day. It’s about realizing that a high school awards ceremony isn’t the time or place for certain wardrobe choices.

If my parents had shown up at my school in pajama pants when I was a teenager, I would have absolutely died. Luckily I didn’t have to worry about it because it never would have happened. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the kids whose family members came to the awards ceremony in wildly inappropriate clothing. At the same time, though, I wondered if the kids even noticed or cared. Would they have looked the same way if they hadn’t been required to wear their uniforms?

Like most things that annoy me, I’ll turn it over to you guys. What are the expectations for “dressing up” where you live? Have you noticed a downward spiral when it comes to what people wear? Is this the new normal or are some people just too lazy/apathetic to put on decent clothes?

my finger is still recovering from the battle

Awhile back we established the fact that my 14 year-old son is a complete and utter slob. We have also established the fact that he is an extremely picky eater due to texture issues associated with autism.

But until this weekend I never realized that his food would one day rise up and attempt to kill me.

Jayden has the worst diet I’ve ever seen. This is the complete list of things he will eat:

• Pop Tarts
• Strawberry oatmeal
• Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (but only in his school lunch)
• Spaghetti (but only if my mom makes it, despite the fact that I make it the exact. same. way.)
• Macaroni and cheese
• Chicken strips
• Hot dogs
• Popcorn shrimp
• Cheeseburgers with nothing but cheese, burger, ketchup, and bun (and not from McDonald’s ever since he watched Supersize Me)
• Doritos
• Cheese Pringles
• Mashed potatoes, corn, and peas (this is considered a complete meal and all 3 items must be present)
• Hamburger Helper with the enormous shells
• Occasional miniscule portions of things I cook if they contain the items listed above

And then there are the noodles. The stupid, disgusting noodles that he eats at least once every single day, the ones he has referred to as “weird-shaped noodles” since he was 4 or 5 years old. The noodles that I now consider armed and dangerous. You’ve probably seen them before – you might have even eaten them yourself. I’m just here to warn you before it’s too late.

evil in a convenient pouch

Every day without fail, Jayden makes these harbingers of doom in the microwave. They smell horrible, offer zero nutritional value, and I won’t even get started on how they taste. Each pouch of noodles requires 4 slices of cheese to mask the foul flavor enhance the taste enough for him to eat them.

Anyway, onto the tale of the noodles’ homicidal tendencies.

On Saturday, Jayden tried to sneak two 8×8 dishes out of his room without me noticing. (I’ve tried to explain to him that my MomVision™ makes such endeavors impossible, but he either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t care.) Evidently the near-flogging he received when he had a MOUSE in his room awhile back wasn’t enough to make him clean up his messes in a timely manner.

I had two dishes, both of which were caked with dried cheese, and one of which had a clump of “weird-shaped noodles” in the bottom. Not a huge deal, right? I ordered Jayden (very sternly, mind you) to scrape the noodles into the garbage can so we could work on getting the dishes clean.

After a few minutes, it became obvious that the noodles weren’t going anywhere. They had been in his room long enough to turn into a blob of cement – cheesy, nasty cement. So I did what any logical person would do; I got out a large serving spoon and proceeded to stab at the noodles until they broke loose from the dish.

Somewhere in the process of stabbing at the dried noodles, they decided to fight back. A chunk of pasta cement ricocheted off the bottom of the dish, cutting my finger as you can see in the picture above. My finger started bleeding – not a little bit either. I’m talking a BUNCH of blood that required gauze and two bandaids.

Who the hell cuts her finger open with NOODLES? This girl, apparently.

So I’m standing in front of the garbage can with a bloody finger and a dish full of dried noodles. The dogs are running around all excited because they think I might drop some on the floor. Jayden is standing there wondering if I’m going to strangle him. And then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I busted out laughing.

I did eventually get the noodles out of the dish, but not before I cut myself three more times. Later, it occurred to me that I could have soaked the dish in hot water and loosened up the cement long enough to get the noodles out. But OF COURSE I didn’t think of that until it was much too late. I look like I was attacked by a ream of paper or something.

Jayden later sent me this:

I still don’t trust those stupid noodles. But I guess at least I got them before they succeeded in killing me. Consider this your Monday Public Service Announcement – Noodles, much like teenage boys, are not to be trusted.

Last night I got my very first ticket. Not for speeding or running a stop sign or even squealing my tires (because a Yaris is totally a sign of a wild and crazy driver) but because I’m an idiot.

First, I’m an idiot for not carrying current proof of insurance – the card in my wallet expired in December and I never swapped it out for the new one. Second, I’m an idiot for forgetting to renew my registration in February. In my defense, I never received the little card in the mail that tells me how much I owe, but it’s not like I haven’t had to renew it every single year since I turned 16.

Things that infuriate me about this:

• I could pull up current insurance information right on my phone. The state trooper could (and did) pull it up on the laptop in his car. But neither of those are acceptable as proof of coverage.
• After I got home, I found my current insurance cards inside the console of my car. As in, right under my elbow the whole time.
• As far as I can tell, both offenses are prepayable in my state, but the officer chose to make me to go to court instead. A month from now.
• I will walk into court, provide proof of insurance and proof that I renewed my registration (which will be done this morning, less than 12 hours from the time I got the ticket), and the whole thing will be dismissed. But I still have to pay $143 in court costs just because the cop said so.

This is no one’s fault but mine, but that doesn’t keep me from being pissed off about it. Then again, I’d rather be cited 6 weeks after my tags expired than 6 months, so I guess it could be worse.

In Other Random News

My dogs drive me crazy. They spend all day every day on the back of the couch, looking out the window and barking at traffic. The top cushions on my couch are completely destroyed – they’re all squashed and deformed, and no force on Earth will ever make them look normal again. I don’t even like sitting on that couch because it’s so uncomfortable. Oh, and Moxie has discovered birds and she hates them. She spends her time either barking her head off at the birds or glaring at them like this:

A friend of mine just got her dog back from six weeks of behavior boot camp and I seriously wonder how much it would cost to send all four of mine. I’m not too picky about how they act, but it would be nice not to have my eardrums shattered 24 hours a day.

I spent last week in server hell. Last Tuesday I got an email from the server farm in Dallas where my hosting servers are located. One of them was showing signs of early hardware failure and the tech recommended a move to a new physical server. In my head this was a good idea, especially since it gave me the chance to throw in some upgrades, but it was a big fat fail.

Everything went wrong. Everything. I expected about 8-10 hours to migrate all the files, plus time for DNS to update. So I notified all my hosting customers and got to work at 10pm on Wednesday. By Thursday morning, I had resorted to manually moving each account after multiple backup failures. By Thursday afternoon, I was chugging 5-hour energy shots and bursting into tears periodically. I finally took the server offline around 1am on Friday to finish up the move without interference, and I’ll be damned if three customers didn’t email me to ask why their sites were down. Don’t these people sleep?!?!

Friday morning, after being awake for 2 1/2 days straight, I crashed for five blissful hours once all the sites were finally functional again. I woke up to approximately 7 billion calls and messages alerting me to the fact that people were having trouble sending and receiving emails. Why? Because all the server IPs were blacklisted, thanks to whoever used them last. So I got to spend most of the weekend switching IPs and answering a whole new avalanche of panicked messages.

this seems appropriate

As I’m writing this at 3am, all seems calm on the server front. **knocks on wood** Sites are up, email is functional, speeds are awesome… But I’m almost afraid to sleep because I just know some kind of disaster will be waiting for me when I wake up. Also, I just remembered I’m scheduled for a Pap smear this afternoon. I know all of you wanted to know that, so you’re welcome. If my life gets any more awesome I’m not sure what I’ll do.

What random things did you do this weekend? Anything exciting?

Yesterday I read an article on NPR about the need for more education about student loans. Basically, the article’s premise is, “Oh my, there are college students borrowing thousands of dollars. Perhaps we should spend some time talking to them first so they know what they’re getting into!”

My first thought was, Is this really news? Of course students should receive information about their student loans prior to borrowing! But then I reached back into the depths of my brain to remember the process I went through in taking out my own student loans. Did I have any clue what I was doing?

My First Student Loan Experience

When I graduated from high school in June 2001, I had been 18 for a whopping 4 months. At that point in my life, I had a 2 year-old son (yeah, yeah, things happen) but had never held a paying job of any kind. The reason was simple – I had a child to raise, and my parents were much more concerned with me finishing high school and attending college than anything else.

My appointment with the student loan office was quick and easy. I checked boxes indicating my understanding that these were loans, I signed my name, and I was shuttled to the registrar’s office to sign up for classes. There was no explanation, no nothing. Just a lady with a calculator, making sure I borrowed enough to cover my remaining obligation to the university.

I remember reading an article later as part of my online “entrance counseling” that explained how my loans would work. The example showed something like $25,000 in student loans being repaid on a $45,000 salary. Well, I don’t have to worry about that, I thought. I’m only borrowing $4,500! It honestly never clicked in my brain that $4,500 x 8 semesters = $36,000. I was more worried about buying books and finding my way around campus than a bunch of money I had to pay back “someday.”

This Was My Mistake

My student loan situation isn’t anyone’s fault but my own. I don’t blame the school or the government for not explaining things more clearly; I blame myself for being too young and stupid to understand how the real world works. I fully understood that I would have to repay my loans, but I didn’t have a clue what that actually meant for my future.

Even if someone had told me I would end up borrowing nearly $50,000 to finance two degrees, I had no concept of what it would take to pay that back. When I researched college majors, it seemed that the average salary for anyone with a bachelor’s degree was around $50,000 a year. That seemed like so much money! Little did I know I’d end up with a bachelor’s and a master’s degree and still make far less than that, because those salary websites failed to mention that averages don’t apply to people in rural areas. I had no clue what people actually made because I’d never worked.

In my 18 year-old head, $50,000 a year meant over $4k a month. I seriously thought I’d have that much money in my pocket each month once I got out of school. Plus I was engaged and would soon have my husband’s salary as well! So when I looked at loan calculators that estimated hundreds of dollars a month to repay my loans, I wasn’t sweating it. That was nothing!

This is just a short list of the things I never considered when I took out my student loans:

• What if I couldn’t find a job for six months after graduation? (That happened.)
• What if I didn’t make $50,000 a year? (That also happened.)
• What about taxes and insurance? (Yeah. Didn’t think about that.)
• What if my husband had an affair and we ended up divorced someday? (That happened, too.)
• What if I developed a huge spending problem in college and racked up a bunch of credit card debt? (Been there, done that.)

Even after I found a job, my “income-sensitive” loan repayment plan had me shelling out over 1/4 of my take-home pay each month. Which wasn’t that horrible until I got divorced and my income was all I had. If I’m very lucky/dedicated, I’ll have my loans paid off by the time I’m 40.

So Now What?

As I said before, I don’t blame anyone but myself for my student debt. I don’t resent the fact that I have to pay back the money I borrowed, even now that I’m not using my degrees. However, I do think colleges are missing a big opportunity to make life a little easier for their graduates.

When I think back to that first trip to the student loan office, I picture a world where the lady with the calculator had spent some time going over the reality of my situation. How much I could make with a social work degree in the area where I live. How much of that anticipated salary I’d actually receive after taxes. How much things like groceries, gas, and utilities would cost and how little I’d have left over.

Would it have changed the outcome? Probably not, because I still had to borrow the money to go to college and I still had to repay it when I was finished. But maybe it would have helped me see things a little differently and think harder about my life choices. Instead, I made decisions based on the fictionalized adult world I’d imagined where I made tons of money and everything worked out for the best.

I firmly believe that very few 18 year-olds grasp the implications of their student loans. Some do, because they’re already on their own and/or they have jobs and bills, but others are leaving high school the same way I did – living off their parents with no clue how real life will be. Maybe all those 22 year-olds with liberal arts degrees (and I say this as someone with a liberal arts degree) would opt for a different career if they understood how difficult it will be to pay back all that money with a job that pays peanuts.

What was your student loan experience like? Did you understand exactly what you were getting into? Did anyone from your college explain how repayment would affect you? I’d love to know your thoughts on what type of pre-loan education should be provided to student borrowers.

A few weeks ago my son finally decided to join the rest of the household (AKA me) and switch to Mac. He replaced his ancient cheapo PC with another cheapo PC last summer, but it was already showing telltale signs of Windows bloat and I’m beyond tired of working on it. Five minutes of playing Minecraft on my Macbook (because his computer was running too slowly to load the game) and he was ready to part with some of the money he’s been hoarding.

So the Mac mini arrived and all was well in the Whitmer house, except I now had two crappy PCs sitting around and no good way to get rid of them. Kind of like the cardboard mountain in my basement, which may or may not still be there. *ahem*

Anyway, the older PC is worthless. I do need to get some old photos off the hard drive, but even after I format it, I can’t think of a good place for it other than maybe a shrine to outdated technology. The newer one will be semi-usable, though, and while it’s still not really worth anything, I decided to try to find it a new home. More specifically, I wanted to give it to someone who wouldn’t be able to afford a computer otherwise.

An Opportunity

Over the weekend I got a call from one of my childhood BFFs. In the course of the conversation, she mentioned that she had finally gotten internet access at her house. (She lives in the middle of nowhere and it wasn’t an option until recently.) However, her husband just lost his job and she has to keep the money she had set aside for a computer to go toward bills. Meanwhile, she signed a 2-year contract on the internet service, so now she’s paying for something she can’t even use.

This friend’s situation was exactly the kind I had in mind. She has four kids, one of whom has a terminal illness. She told me how excited the kids had been about getting online and how convenient it would have been for her oldest to be able to work on school assignments at home. Not to mention what a nice distraction it would be for my friend, who had to quit her job due to her youngest child’s medical issues and doesn’t have much time for contact with other adults.

I wasn’t even listening to her anymore at that point – I was just waiting for her to stop talking. Finally I interrupted her.

“I can help you! I have a computer sitting here that we aren’t even using!” I explained that Jayden got a new computer and I really didn’t have any room for the old one. We picked a day and time this week for me to bring it over and get it set up, and I was thrilled to have one less computer taking up space in my house.

I’m Sorry, What?

Now this is the part I don’t get. Like at all. Late last night, my friend called me back.

“You know, we aren’t poor,” she said.

“Um… I know that,” I responded.

“Then why are you suddenly trying to give us a computer like we can’t afford to get our own?”

“Maybe because [husband] lost his job and you SAID you couldn’t afford one right now? And because I have one sitting right here?”

“Well, I just think it’s kind of shitty that you try to swoop in here like Super Girl and save the day. We’re perfectly able to take care of ourselves!”

Then she hung up on me. SHE. HUNG. UP. ON. ME. I spent about ten minutes just staring at the phone in disbelief. What the hell just happened?

The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. I know she’s upset and worried, but I honestly thought it would make her feel better to get a free computer for her kids. It’s not like I mentioned the fact that I had planned to give it to someone in need – I just told her I had one we weren’t using.

I don’t quite understand how she went from “Oh, I can’t wait! The kids will be so surprised,” to “You’re ruining my life, you jerk!” overnight. Did I miss out on an etiquette lesson somewhere? Is it now a bad thing to give something to a friend? I can’t figure this out. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings, but I never dreamed she’d have that kind of delayed reaction. Even as I write this, I’m hoping she was just in a bad mood and will call to say it’s okay to give her the computer.

So I’m asking you guys: Did I violate some kind of “friend rule” here? Is there something I should have done differently? How would you react if you needed a computer and someone offered to give you one for free?

If you’ve ever visited here before, you’re well aware that I’m not really a personal finance blogger. In fact, I rebranded the site last summer to reflect the fact that I pretty much fail when it comes to writing about money all the time – I just like to write about random things that sometimes happen to include finance. No matter how hard I try, I can’t bring myself to write (or read) boring stuff like “how to save on groceries” or “how to fill out a deposit slip.”

Even when I did focus on my finances more, I never really fit in with most of the people in the PF blogging community. A lot of people think “debt bloggers” are useless or that personal blogs aren’t worth reading. It was very discouraging to think that I was automatically excluded just because I wrote about my experiences with impulse buying and overspending – I almost quit blogging altogether, but ended up stepping back from the PF world to kind of do my own thing.

Anyway, around 6 months ago I received an email from a reader struggling with credit card debt, a bit of a shopping addiction, and a lot of frustration about her financial situation. She wanted to know how I managed to change my behavior without giving up or running out of motivation – at that point, her attempts to regain control hadn’t gone too well. My response to her detailed my process of taking little tiny steps instead of trying to impose a bunch of strict rules; that’s what I had to do in my own life to get my spending under control.

The reason I remembered this is because she emailed again this week. I hope she won’t mind me sharing part of her message:

When I was searching for answers it seemed like the people I knew in real life and many of the PF blogs I read talked about a level of discipline that I didn’t think I could ever achieve. It felt like whatever I tried just wasn’t good enough. It never occured to me that there was more than one way to go about improving my relationship with money. After hearing how you were successful I started making smaller more short term goals. After having a series of positive experiences I was more enthusiastic and optimistic about changing our money habits.

This reader and her husband have managed to work together, pay off a ton of debt, and (most importantly) find ways to do the things they want without taking on new debt. Which is exactly what I set out to do when I started this blog over 2 years ago. I can’t even tell you how excited I was to know that my story was helpful to another person who is now making amazing progress in her own journey.

Sometimes it’s easy for me to forget that some people do come here looking for help with debt, spending, and other problems that the average PF blog either ignores or covers from a “holier than thou” point of view. I catch myself thinking no one would be interested in my finances now that things are more stable in my life. And now I think that might be a mistake on my part.

Whether or not some people want to admit it, there is power in shared experiences. Whether it’s a financial issue or a parenting problem or a life situation, most of us need to know that we aren’t alone, that someone understands where we are and what we’re going through.

Maybe it’s time I stopped caring about my place in the PF community and started finding my financial writing groove again? I don’t know. I just know that receiving that email was the highlight of my week, and it reminded me why I used to enjoy writing about money. Well, sometimes anyway. This stream of consciousness to be continued once I ponder some more…

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m pretty happy being single. I got divorced more than 3 years ago and haven’t really dated other than a few disasters – I’ve learned that it’s just not worth the hassle. That said, every now and then I like to check out the online dating world just to make sure Bradley Cooper’s twin hasn’t moved into a neighboring town.

I don’t know why I’m drawn to online dating sites, because I never walk away feeling better about my life. Yet every 6 months or so, like clockwork, I find myself digging my login information out of the email account I use for junk mail and signing in to see what’s changed (hint: nothing) since the last time I looked.

Friday night I decided to reactivate my account on Plenty of Fish, which I’ve decided is pretty much the dark alley of online dating. For POF, I use a random profile picture that I found via Google Image Search – you can never see anything on these sites without setting up a stupid profile, and I’ll be darned if the creepers on there are going to see my real picture. I don’t really feel bad about that since I don’t contact anyone; it’s not like I’m actually using the account to find dates.

Anyway, I activated the account, laughed at a few of the more hilarious “matches” I got, and called it a night. Then on Saturday I decided to look again. My fake persona had 219 unread messages. In less than 24 hours.

Really?

Here’s the thing. While my pseudo POF account has some accurate info (my age, height, location, etc.), the profile itself is completely empty except for a message that states,

Obviously none of you actually read these things, because otherwise you’d see that I haven’t filled out my profile beyond what POF absolutely requires. I only set up this account to look around and I’m not interested in talking to anyone or going on actual dates.

I feel like that’s written in plain English. Yet I received 219 messages. Why did this happen? Because when it comes to online dating, guys don’t look at a single thing beyond the profile picture. I guess my mistake was choosing a picture of a girl that men would find attractive. And let me just say that the messages – yes, I read them all – were great indicators of the high quality men available in my area. (In case you didn’t know, that was sarcasm.)

A special shout out to the clueless, annoying, and sometimes frightening men who inspired this unsent letter.

~

Dear Men Who Use Online Dating Sites,

Hi! My name is Andrea. I’m 30 years old, self employed, reasonably intelligent, and free of major physical deformities. However, you wouldn’t know that because you don’t take the time to read anything on any woman’s profile. Oh, and there’s the part where I don’t post my real picture because all of you are disturbing and scary and I don’t want to be brutally murdered.

There appears to be some confusion regarding what is and isn’t okay when you’re communicating with someone online. I thought I’d put together some tips that will not only help you, but women everywhere who are exhausted from the effort of looking for something that doesn’t seem to exist.

To the men who message women saying things like “sup?” or “hey there” - Is that how you introduce yourself to a woman in real life? You can’t muster enough energy for complete sentences or ANYTHING about yourself? If you’re wondering why you’re still single, this might be a good starting point.

To the men who cannot spell or punctuate - An online dating profile is like a resume. As such, I ignore messages from men who can’t be bothered to run spellcheck because it shows me that you don’t care enough to make an effort. Then again, I applaud you for letting me know upfront that you’re not the kind of guy I’d want to hang out with or date.

To the men who use stupid pictures - Women do not want to see you without a shirt. Women also do not want to see what your bathroom looks like. Further, we do not want to see you throwing gang signs, posing all emo with hair in your face, holding a guitar or puppy, hugging some other girl, or sitting atop an ATV/monster truck/speed boat/motorcycle. Is it unreasonable to think you should ask someone to take a photo of you that is well lit, normal, and shows us what you actually look like? (Sidebar: I know some women use stupid pictures, too. But that doesn’t mean you have to stoop to their level unless they’re the type of woman you’re after.)

To the men who say, “Want to know more? Just ask!” - Obviously we want to know more or we wouldn’t be looking at your profile. To me, that’s a cop-out. “Oh, I know, I’ll just let the women do all the work! That way they’ll see what life with me would be like.”

To the men who say disgusting things - If the first thing you say to a woman involves her boobs, her level of “hotness,” or your desire to sleep with her, you’re doing it wrong. That is all.

To the men who aren’t idiots and don’t do any of these things - I’ve heard you exist but I have no proof. Please send evidence – just look for the girl on POF with a super fake-looking profile picture.  (Sidebar: I realize that sounds hypocritical. That’s the joke.)

Love,

In over two years of blogging on this site, I’ve never gone more than a few days without writing a post until now. It’s been nearly two weeks since I wrote anything at all, unless you count the mountain of scribbled Post-its taking over my desk. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say; I’ve just been too exhausted to say it.

I’m one of those people who is typically never late, never fails to follow through on a promise or commitment, never says “no” without a darn good reason. But lately it’s been harder and harder to remember a time when I was able to be that person on a consistent basis.

I can’t even begin to describe the personal drama that has swirled around me since 2013 began. Family members moving in and out of my house for various reasons. A string of disasters that have involved lots of time, money, or both. Having to refer out some of my clients because I’m so far behind I feel like I’ll never catch up. Some things I’ve been struggling with since last fall but can’t talk about publicly. Worst of all, many of my closest friends and relatives don’t have a clue what’s going on with me because they’re all dealing with their own stuff and I choose not to burden them with any of mine.

On the surface, things are going well. My business is surviving (knock on wood), my son is having a fantastic year at school, and I’m not homeless or starving. I tell myself, It could be so much worse. And that’s true, though it doesn’t always feel like it. I’ve survived far worse and I know I’ll survive all this stuff.

That said, I’m tired. I couldn’t tell you the last time I slept more than 2-3 hours at a stretch. And it infuriates me when someone says, “Just take a break!” or “Get some rest!” or “Hire someone to help you!” because none of those suggestions would change the fact that I’m drowning in a pool of bullshit in my personal life. Work is the one thing that keeps me somewhat sane right now and I usually welcome the escape.

Some days, though, I feel like setting an auto reply for all my emails that says I AM DOING THE BEST I CAN. PLEASE STOP REQUESTING AND/OR EXPECTING THINGS FROM ME AND LET ME CATCH MY BREATH.

When there are days (or weeks, apparently) that I don’t post or tweet or put up funny pictures on Facebook, just know that’s what I’m trying to do. Catch my breath. If I can ever accomplish that again, I’ll be good to go.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all fitness blogger or anything, I promise.

So it has occurred to me over the past few months that I’m getting fat. Not in that stupid “OMG I weigh six ounces” kind of way, but actually overweight, with a BMI less than a point from the obese (!) category. Last week I realized – again – that I need to lose weight and get in shape. Two things caused this epiphany: (1) I put on the new, bigger jeans I just bought a few months ago and they were uncomfortable, and (2) I was out of breath after walking down the basement stairs.

Now before you start thinking I look like Violet Beauregarde after she chewed the gum, let me defend myself a little. I’m actually not enormous (though you wouldn’t know it to hear me whine). But because I’m really short (5’1″ if I stand up really straight), a size 8 or 10 looks way worse on me than it would on someone who is 5’7″.

This is the problem: Until my son was probably 7 or 8 years old, I wore a size zero and never worried about what I ate or how much exercise I got. Yeah, I know. I hate my former self, too. Then I finished grad school and started working. I quickly learned all about the joys of stress snacking, long hours at a desk, and eating what was convenient instead of real food. And now I’m a good 35 pounds heavier than I should be.

No More Excuses

I’ve spent a lot of years making excuses for my weight gain. I convinced myself that I shouldn’t have to exercise because I’m not one of those people who gets fat. In other words, I’ve still been thinking of myself as a 100-pound woman even though it’s been about 6 years (and 55 pounds) since I last saw her.

When I quit my job in December 2011, I honestly thought I was going to lose weight simply because I wouldn’t be eating out for lunch every day. Never mind the fact that I now spend 17 hours a day parked at my desk (and wandering into the kitchen periodically). I envisioned the pounds just melting away, like liposuction but cheaper, just because I had less stress in my life.

Well, guess what? Self-employed people aren’t immune to stress. And fat is really stubborn – you can’t get rid of it with positive thinking. My love of yoga pants has increased tremendously now that they’re the only pants I can find that fit.

The Plan

I spent some time last week choosing a form of exercise that I might actually do. As someone who has never exercised on purpose, it’s not like I know a lot about fitness or weight loss. I only like activities that don’t seem like exercise – for instance, I’d jump at the chance to go play softball, but the thought of walking on a treadmill makes me want to stab myself.

These were my rules for starting an exercise routine:

• No going to the gym. I live in a very small town and our gym is like standing in a display case. There’s no way I’m going to pay money for people I know to gossip about my weight gain and lack of stamina.
  
• No equipment. I had an elliptical machine once and I used it as a laundry storage center. Enough said.
• At least semi-fun. If I’m going to stick with it, it has to entertain me a little.
• Something I can do in an hour. I still have to work, so I’m only willing to devote an hour a day to exercise.

After much debate, I ordered a set of Zumba DVDs. I didn’t want to because it seems like everyone in the world gushes about Zumba, but after seeing a friend’s before and after pics I figured I had nothing to lose. (Oh, except a bunch of extra pounds and inches.) And I love to dance so I hoped it would be a good fit for me.

Day 1: Not a Total Disaster

Yesterday after I took Jayden to school, I weighed myself and measured my waist. I won’t even talk about the trauma of measuring. I also took some “before” pictures that I won’t be sharing because they’re disgusting.

I started with the beginner Zumba video. I had watched some of it the night before and thought to myself, I should probably skip that one since it’s so easy, but I’ll do it at least once to learn all the steps.

Um, yeah. I made it through 40 minutes before the urge to vomit overcame my desire to lose weight. I had to take a nap to recover from the assault on my body. As I’m writing this nearly 24 hours later, I STILL don’t feel too steady on my feet and I absolutely dread doing it again today. For the record, I’ll be sticking to the beginner video until I can do it without feeling like I need an oxygen tank afterward.

Why I’m Telling You This

I originally planned to keep the whole exercise thing to myself. As I said, I’m not going to start writing about diet and exercise all the time and you will never ever catch me singing the praises of working out. I still hate exercise – I just hate feeling like a blob even more.

But one thing I’ve realized after blogging here for two years is that it’s really hard to quit doing something once a bunch of people know about it. I have an irrational fear of someone asking, “So how’s Zumba going?” and having to say, “Oh, I haven’t done it since the first day/week/month.” So I’m depending on you guys to hold me accountable and make me feel like crap if I start slacking.

A little less than 2 months from now, I’ll be going on vacation for the first time in forever. Hopefully by the time I board the plane, I’ll be able to wear clothes that don’t feature an elastic waistband.

Any of you exercise-friendly peeps have tips for me? Things I should do or not do? I’d love to make it through this experience without keeling over and/or injuring myself if possible.