Blogger, or Wordpress?

I went and changed up the settings again.  Just can't find a look that I like, I guess.  But what can I say?  I'm thinking of dumping Blogger altogether.  Using Wordpress for work is waaaaaay better.  But at least this way I can use my Google login.

Blargh.

Make it easy or make it over?  Can't decide just yet.  Either way, I've reserved emilyhaha.wordpress.com - kinda has a nice ring to it.

Twenty Ten: The Year of "No"

Wow!  Sounds like we're off to a really positive start for this new year, eh?  Actually, saying "no" is gonna make things a lot better than you might initially think.

Here's the deal.  Starting tomorrow, I will no longer have a part-time job (nothing negative, the boutique's just moving to the Meatpacking District) and there will have a lot more free time on my hands.  And when I get asked to do things I don't want to do (spend money on a not-so-great dinner, spend time with college friends I was never really that close to in the first place, read fiction), I'm going to nicely and politely - but firmly - say these two words: "No thanks."

You see, turning thirty and whatnot has made me realize the importance of being in control of my own time and activities.  I may not have a ton of money, a jet-setting lifestyle, or even a decent-sized apartment, but I do have the luxury of choosing what I want to do, when I want to do it.

Even better, I'm going to employ this spectacular new tactic at the office.  Now, certainly, when the bossman (or woman, but not in my case) asks me to do something that's already part of the ol' list o' tasks, then of course I'll do it.  But before I'm thrown into another wild and wacky, time-wasting project that a co-worker has dreamed up, I'm going to have to take a hard look at how it affects my job performance and the organization as a whole.  And in those cases - with my bosses' blessings - I'll say "No."

You see, I'm tired of spending my time doing a lot of things that are not in furtherance of the mission of the organization for which I work.  I need to feel that I'm contributing in a meaningful way just about all the dang time.  If I didn't, I'd go work at a for-profit business and just do...well, whatever it is people do at those places.  But times are tight and talent is plentiful, and if I don't strive to use all my resources in the best manner possible, then I'm being disingenuous to both myself and the people we serve.  And that's not cool.

You've been warned: get ready to hear the word "no" out of my mouth a lot more this year.  But, because I believe that this new exercise in self-monitoring will result in a more judicious use of my time, I plan on saying "yes" to a lot more things, too.  Yes to new ideas, yes to professional development, yes to spending time with great friends, and yes to working on building a better body and mind.

You see?  It's not all so negative now, is it?

Little Blue Pill

No, not THAT one. The other one: Alli. You've probably seen those commercials on TV about how you can lose 50% more by blocking the absorption of fat globules, blah, blah, blah. Or maybe you've heard about the "treatment effects" that would have you thinking it's the Olean crisis all over again. (By the way, those fat-free chips tasted terrible.)


Actually, though, Alli works. I know this because I took it for awhile before, a few years back, when I was too naive to think that I'd ever actually gain MORE weight in the future. Ah, the heady days of our youth. Well guess what kids? I've reached critical mass - literally - and I need some assistance in the form of the FDA-approved capsule kind. Nom, nom, nom.

So tomorrow I start my lowfat eating plan and on Wednesday I'll start poppin' me some blue pills and looking forward to wearing those winter clothes that have been languishing in the "skinny" part of my closet. And if I experience any "treatment effects" don't worry - you won't hear about it on here...

Picture This

The thing is, I no longer have a full-length mirror in my apartment. In fact, I try to avoid looking at mirrors altogether these days. I mean, I know what I look like; I live with my own body every day. But to be constantly visually reminded, well...that's another thing.

Totally randomly I have been receiving Prevention magazine in the mail for months now. Its target audience is women over 40, so they've got it half right. But there are some interesting factoids in there, along with several delicious recipes and whatnot. And there's this totally awesome/completely terrifying online component where you can punch in your statistics - height/weight/etc. - and out pops a virtual model of what you look like. To wit...

The on on the left (duh) is me at my current weight and on the right at approximately 175 pounds. What a difference! I mean, seriously - this li'l pic is some major motivation all by itself. Do I really believe that this faux-me is a realistic representation of present and future? To an extent, yes. There are margins of error in these types of programs, for sure. But it's enough for me to realize I need to keep pushing...keep going...keep moving forward...

New Gig, Yo!

And not a moment too soon. Ugh, it's like, you know when you need a change, but there's no real change forthcoming, so you just dye your hair a different shade of boring and hope you'll wake up and the world will be different? Oh. Guess that's just me.

Um, anyway, yeah...brand new gig tomorrow. Different commute, different line of work (sorta), new coworkers, possibly an office (?), and - drumroll please - a pension plan. What? You mean I don't have to rely solely on my ING online savings account to support me after retirement? Get. Out.

Oh, and super-double-bonus: on-site gym. You see, I've been slacking in the working out department lately, although I did traverse most of the Mall, Penn Quarter, and Chinatown today, some on purpose and some just 'cause.

So it's back to the treadmill tomorrow. And I get to figure out what random tchotchkes shall inhabit my new workspace. Good times all around. Good times indeed.

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday

"...and I'll taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake with me the memorieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees, to be my sunshine after the raiiiiaiaiaianaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiainaiaiiaan."

Or something like that. (Who's the totally lost white dude in the background, by the way? Love the bowties! Okay, I'm hopping out of the parenthetical expression now...)

Today I left my first real Big Girl Job. It was an amicable, positive departure, spurred on by the fact that another organization recruited me for bigger, better things. Totes sweet, as my sister would say.

This is not to say that I'm without apprehension about such a big change. Three years in the same place...for people of my generation, that's a long time. My father, for example, has changed jobs exactly once in his life, and that was after 30 years with his first employer. And basically he went to a second place to do more or less what he was doing at the first. Twenty-somethings (I'm hanging on by a thread!), however, are restless and rootless and way more ready to pack up and go at a moment's notice. I'm taking off exactly one day in between jobs.

In the end, though, I wouldn't have it any other way. What would I do in between, sit around and brush up on current events? I think not. So on Monday, I walk into a new door, with new co-workers, sit at a new desk, with a new computer, and reinvent myself...again. It's thrilling and terrifying and fabulous and crazy and amazing all at once. I. Can't. Wait.