mrtl

Adventures in Domesticity Presents: The New Vacuum

I killed the last one, a perfectly wonderful Bissel Lift-Off Revolution. Wonderful until it failed the "amateur 'handy one' mrtl is attempting major home repairs and this fucker can't handle large amounts of drywall dust so BEGONE!" test. To be perfectly fair, I would have kept it had I been able to replace the filter. Supposedly I bought the correct filter, but when the vacuum started sounding like a Volkswagen Beetle about to explode (moreso than just a Volkswagen Beetle, that is), I had my doubts.

The new vacuum is a Hoover WindTunnel T-Series Rewind Upright Bagless Vacuum, which fortunately didn't get stolen since we apparently live in a safe enough neighborhood that UPS will leave completely exposed boxes lacking discreet packaging on our front porch.

::tangent for mental note::
Be sure to only order personal items from companies that send things in discreet packaging.
::end tangent for mental note::

::tangent to address idea of leaving door unlocked in such a safe neighborhood::
HELL no! We have very nice neighbors, whom I would like to keep nice and not give them the opportunity to let themselves to holler "HEY!" when they KNOW we're home and are not answering the door.

Yes, I do think they are capable of this. In the nicest way.
::end tangent to address idea of leaving door unlocked in such a safe neighborhood::

Before I go any further, I want to make it clear that I am making these statements completely on my own behalf and that Hoover did not request this review or pay me for this service (although "hoover" is one letter away from "hooker," and they should feel like a whore for selling this sucker for under $100 and with free shipping at that).

Getting the vacuum out of the box and assembled was pretty easy if you don't account for the weight and my five-foot stature wrestling it out of the box while my five-year-old "spirited" child (and I don't mean drunk by that, which I feel I must clarify lest I get reported) bounced around dangerously close, dancing and singing to her "Hoo Hoo Gonna Vacuuuuuum" scat and booty shake.

Not that I'm complaining about the weight. This is a good thing. With children who are crumb-generating machines and tend to delay the obey (i.e., they will not hesitate to step back on the Cheerio on the floor, while hearing me say, "Don't step, there's a Cheer-... Nevermind."), I'll be spending a lot of time cleaning up after them. (Yes, they clean, but they make a mess cleaning that I'd rather not add to my burden.) More time cleaning means it's less likely I'll be able to find time to get to the gym. Lugging this vacuum around our three-level dwelling [with sucken living room and man cave (four more steps to acknowledge)] is going to be a workout in itself.

I would argue semantics over Hoover's calling this 32-pound bohemoth "lightweight." Not saying I can't handle 32 pounds; both of my kids are heavier than that, so I know I could fling them both pretty far (which I have done in a pool - again, clarifying). I don't however, carry my children up steps one at a time, obsessively sucking up every piece of fluff while attempting to balance the child and not fall and break my neck in front of said five-year-old who still fails to put the phone to her ear and probably wouldn't call 911 for me anyway because -- hello? duh -- Mommy's not going to stop her from dragging a chair into the pantry to reach and eat all the candy on the top shelf and will not yell at her for running around the house TOUCHING EVERYTHING with her chocolatey sticky hands.

I don't care enough to fix the grammar above. I'm too emotionally traumatized by the thought of the mess Jem would make. That would suck, and I know a thing or two about sucking.

This vacuum sucks. It sucked the zombie souls out of the ants who came inside to die after we sprayed the fuck out of them. I've never seen so many ant carcasses as there were under windows we had sprayed and in front of the door to our deck. (Pardon the interruption. Mister mrtl? When it rained today, wet got in this door. No wonder the ants are abundant. Remind me to find some flappy thing to seal the door, please. Windows, too. Gads.) Trixie sucked them all! (BTW, I've named the vacuum "Trixie.")

::tangent to address eye twitch::
I've just hit the proverbial wall that separates me as a blogger from me as a Serious Writer. A Serious Writer would care if the whore metaphor wouldn't work when discussing her vacuum's hose strength and would obsess and research, revise and correct the entire piece. The blogger simply acknowledges it and carries on without changes unapologetically.

Oh. Um. Now I'm all caught up in my relationship to the metaphorical wall, trying to process how writing the above paragraph led me to the conclusion that Trixie is most definitely a tranny whore. Am I sitting on the wall? Climbing the wall? Did I jump over the wall? No, I definitely am not on the Serious Writer side of the wall. That is certain.

"Trixie" isn't doing it for me now. I'll let my brain chew its cud on a more suitable tranny whore name for my vacuum. And hopefully Stop Using Metaphors before I commence self-injury.
::end tangent to address eye twitch::

Basil. Tranny name? Why brain, why? Shut up!

The hose. I must talk about the hose. It's one of those accordian things, relatively easy to stretch until the sucking starts. Then it gets crazy tight. Trying to clear out spider webs was an insane workout on my triceps. Again, I would complain, but knowing how much I'm going to hurt tomorrow and remembering how I felt after such workouts at the gym (totally magnified since it's been years since I've done that), I have to appreciate that this vacuum is providing a multifaceted workout. (Am I allowed to use "multifaceted" to describe a workout, or is that now reserved for hair color? Again, I am not a Serious Writer, so I don't give a shit and will use it regardless.)

I like my new vacuum. She needs a name, though...

How about that? There's a transvestite hooker name generator. I put in mrtl and got "Emerald." I put in "Trixie" and got "Trixie." Fuck you, transvestite hooker name generator; I'm going with Emerald.

Gonna Have to Face It, I'd Rather Be Addicted to Drugs

How long does it take to form a habit?

Googling is useless, and I don't care enough to dig deeper. The length of time I've allowed has far surpassed any of the results listed.

At the beginning of March, 2009, I started taking medication for ADHD. I'm still sorting through my thoughts about the pros and cons of my treatment, but one immediate and much-appreciated side effect has been with my weight.

I've talked a lot on this blog about my struggles with weight loss, no surprise being someone who loves taste, lacks focus and follow-through, and is more driven by being comfortable than by goals. The medication that cleared my brain managed to suppress my appetite so much that I had to make a conscious effort to remember to eat. Suddenly I could relate to people who see food simply as fuel. I stopped getting excited about flavor and indulging. Alas, even pie no longer excited me. Meh.

My weight dropped drastically; at my lowest I was 8 pounds lighter than when I graduated from high school.

::intermission to laugh sarcastically and get a tissue::
...and acknowledge that there are worse problems to have, I know. I'm the first to credit the medication for my inability to remember to eat and lose weight effortlessly.
::end intermission to laugh sarcastically and get a tissue::

Our move to Virginia posed a dilemma. I am allergic to the air in the mid-Atlantic region, and I'd already learned from our visits home that allergy medications unfortunately don't play well with my ADHD prescription. I'd worked with my doctor to tweak the medications, doses, and scheduling to no avail. The drugs aren't supposed to conflict, but I'm apparently an exception. Whatever the ADHD medication does, every allergy medication I've tried cancels it out. Adding insult to injury, the allergy medication doesn't do anything about my allergies when it's inhibiting my ADHD script.

Just when I learned that the choking coughing fits I get sometimes are allergy-induced asthma. Just when I discovered that using my inhaler -- which also conflicts with my script -- stops them and lets me breathe to the point that I have a burning desire to take up running. I lasted a week in Virginia before become insane enough from the excess of snot, coughing, and aching itchy eyes that I decided I'd rather have a muddled brain and stopped taking my prescription. Besides, I WANT to run and be active, so I'll keep my weight in check with that, right? FML

So much for habits forming. You'd think that after living with a reduced diet for 26 months, my body would have adapted to the new eating routine. Being off my ADHD script for about a week now, I am a bottomless pit of mindless eating. It's like I'm making up for 26 months of eating so little. I feel physically awful, sluggish, and exhausted by the thought alone of having Jem full-time with me until she starts kindergarten in the fall. The weirdest thing is that I feel *huge,* even though I'm still lighter than I was at graduation and I'm carrying more weight in my boobs than I was then. Looking at old pictures, I'm shocked at how much bigger I was (25-30 pounds heavier) and remembering my mindset not being very panicked about it in comparison to how I'm reacting now.

I took my ADHD pill today and have added tissues to the shopping list. I'll use my neti pot religiously and see if allergy eye drops pose a problem.

I haven't been compelled to eat anything today (but will make myself after posting this - again, conscious eating), where for the last several mornings I HAD TO have something to eat while making Bug's school lunch.

I don't want to rely on this medication. I certainly don't want to be taking it for the rest of my life.

::sigh::

Distractions

I'll be needing plenty this month, between mister mrtl's departure and my lofty d³. (The avoidance of chocolate was made much more difficult to accept with the realization that the Terry's chocolate orange Santa left was still unopened at the house. Mister mrtl graciously offered to take it with him, but wouldn't promise to bring it back unadultered for us all to share. pshaw)

Distractions for me come with projects. I'll be taking on many this month, and there will be some begating (use of "begating" with respect to Bill at Poop and Boogies) involved. The first project, moving the girls into one room so that the other room can be dedicated to toys, will involve a lot of furniture rearrangement (all planned out and found to be mathematically possible with my Photoshopping skills - yay me!). Drawer space will be available once I clean out all the clothes that no longer fit and switch the home of the spare sheets and blankets.

This particular project is leading to the goal of getting the treadmill out of our bedroom. Currently our family room is smothered in toys, begating the girls' room rearrangement. Moving the treadmill will hopefully be a motivator in getting my lazy ass on it. Follow the logic here: Currently sit on ass on couch. Moving treadmill a few feet away from location of lazy ass = higher likelihood of getting lazy ass on the treadmill. No? Bigger motivator: 20-year high school reunion this summer. Egads.

Dr. Phil, He Mocks Me

Catching up on Thursday's episode about obese children, Dr. Phil talks of a mother whose "problem" is that her obese child refuses to eat anything but orange chicken. Dr. Phil tells the mother to stop giving the child orange chicken. Bastard! He should have told her to send it to me.

::tangential tangent::
The "mrtl tangent" has really gone out of control. As little as I blog these days, I still see it being used in other blogs. It's taken on a life of its own. The nods are flattering, but they make me a wee self-conscious about my home page -- am I tangential enough? -- and moreso about the fact that my claim to fame in blogland is in being so scattered.

::tangent of self-awareness::
My old friend's mother used to call me "dipstick." It never bothered me until just this moment, because I never saw any truth in it. I was silly, sure, but not stupid.
::end tangent of self-awareness::

::end tangential tangent::

I know that my own relationship with food has got to change. I can't get my head around the words to describe my thoughts here. ... For as long as I remember, my relationship with food has been centered around finding happiness, eating emotionally. Most of my childhood (and not so childhood) memories are very focused on food. However, I'm finding a higher level of psychological satisfaction when I eat nutritiously and find myself more alert, energetic, and motivated.

There have been several examples over the last few days in which I've caught recent errors in judgment, lapses in memory, and losses of common sense. Along with such feats of mental prowess I have also managed to become a bit of a Wonder Woman (not to be confused with Wonder Yoshi). I credit these realizations with my newfound "Popeye Smoothies" (as AM calls them). Like today? Today the bugs and I went on a playdate to make gingerbread houses. We left after breakfast and didn't get home till early afternoon, having to make a stop at the grocery store. Still, today I managed to make a monster batch of smoothies (one generous helping for me and 18 1 1/2-cup servings in the freezer for future drug fixes), carrot and yellow squash purees (yes), clean up the public areas downstairs, and entertain guests (including cooking dinner). I also finally figured out why I was having so much trouble starting my recent knitting project and got a half bit (hee - will have to explain this joke later since the recipient may read this and the surprise would be lost) done. There's hope now that I'll actually be able to finish them before heading back to Maryland.

Even still, old mrtl-who-wants-food-to-please-her isn't out of the picture. The smoothies, made later in the day, HAD to be tested. Several tests, a large glass, and eight hours later, I'm still awake. I did say the other day that I shouldn't be drinking them so close to bedtime. I didn't learn. Dipstick. If I make this mistake again, I shall have to try exercising to see if that helps me settle more quickly. I've always had such a hard time getting off my ass once the kids are in bed, so maybe a boost would be a good thing to encourage a round on the treadmill.

What ho? A yawn? A yawn! To all a good night.

Livin' the Loca Life

There are moments when I regret going Low Carb. Moments when I really want a sugary snack.

It just dawned on me the whole LOw CArb thing. WTF?

grumble

Still not quite over the cravings for the sweet and floury, and I find that the Scottish Highland Games going on here tomorrow include a shortbread contest.

i.love.shortbread.dammit. Guess we won't be doing that afterall.

I must stick to it, though. I'm on induction for two weeks, ending July 10. There are plans for July 11 to get loopy and DDR.

ho ho's are no no's

The first few days are hardest to get through, what with the cravings for sugar and flour. Tonight while I was filling out my food journal, I searched for my sugar-free coffee flavoring. It wasn't in there, but caramel ho ho's came up.

caramel. ho ho's.

Totally didn't need to see that.

Distraction

I dropped the whole Atkins thing when I left to go to Maryland. That was the beginning of May. After getting home, there was excuse after excuse to stay off the wagon. The parents' visit excuse... The husband's leaving excuse. The "if it's my last summer in Alaska, hell if I'm not going to eat salmon quesadillas at the Weekend Market" excuse...

The parents are back home. The husband left today. I had the quesadillas last weekend. I'm out of "valid" excuses. And quite frankly, I need the distraction. Having gained back a few -- a few and a half if you're counting -- pounds, I also need the focus.

The whole losing weight thing brings out a part of me that I really don't like. Namely my Inner Bitch. Ibby. Ibby's the one that tells me that I won't follow through, that I'll be weak. She asks me questions like, "Why all the bother over a little cracker or grape?" and "Wouldn't you feel sooo much better after having a glass of wine?" and otherwise tries to sabotage me.

Today Ibby was in rare form, the form being crumb cake. I'm hosting a playdate tomorrow, and somehow she talked me into making the cake for it.

My response was a counter-sabotage tactic, telling my weight loss group that I'd pay money for each infraction while I get through induction. Then I did DDR.

This might just work. If it doesn't, I'll be poor as well as muffin-topped.

Body by Bacon

This morning I weighed in at 130.

that is all

Resolving to Be Resolute

It's been established that I suck at follow through. I'll get all excited about some new venture, hype up the plan at the start, only to fizzle out and drop out more often than not. It is for this reason especially that the following appealed to me.

During a discussion on resolutions, a mom from a message board said that, rather than do resolutions for the year, she's doing monthlies. Focusing her energy on an item for a shorter period of time helps her be more successful. Great idea, isn't it? I'm totally stealing it. I'm also going to acknowledge the difference between resolutions and goals... the goals don't magically happen, after all.

My goal for January is to look decent in a bathing suit while I'm swigging the rummy, fruity drinks in Hawaii next month. To get there, I resolve to:

- Exercise regularly. I thank Amber for the introduction to the Couch to 5K program. I've printed out the process and want to start today.

- Pass on the sweets more often than not. I'd be kidding myself to think I could cut them out totally. (Look at the new tags on the van... I won't blog exactly what they say, but will tell you that it includes p.i.e.)

- Stop biting the damned nails already. I've made a follow up appointment with Dr. Power Through It for next week to discuss a change in meds since I'm having trouble getting a grip on this (this being a sign of deeper issues that I'm also apparently unable to power through).

- Start knitting. I read an article today on reprogramming the brain to help with losing weight. (I wish I could find it to link it here.) It said it takes the body four days of repetition to consider something "normal" and recommends that you retrain your body to do something else when you would usually eat out of boredom or stress. I'd say I'd blog instead, but being on the computer usually lends itself to chomping on the nails for me; knitting would engage the hands as well.

In the past I swore off fear of numbers. Time to resurrect that as well. 137.5. I've been plateaued for some time now (although I was able to wear my Lucky jeans to a Christmas party a few weeks ago with minimal muffin toppage).

That said, let's see how it goes this time, shall we?