The other day I walked into the communal laundry room in the building to find a note on the white board. I know what you’re thinking but don’t audibly groan just yet. It said something to the effect of, “Let’s hear it for our awesome new manager- thanks for all you’ve been doing.”

Kinda warms your heart a bit, doesn’t it?

I wrote back “Thanks!” (insert happy face) and then a few days later wrote about the rise in noise complaints in the building. It’s not that people are purposely being assholes. At least, that is what I choose to believe because in my mind I try to see people as good until they blatantly prove otherwise. (This gets me burned on numerous occasions but I’m alright with that. It’s far too draining to live in negativity 24-7. I tend to just visit there sporadically.) Maybe it’s a combo of the weather turning nicer, people having their windows open, Spring Fever or an increase in recreational drug use. . . I don’t know but people are being loud and in turn tenants are coming to me. What I would really like to see is everyone knowing one another so that they can feel comfortable going to their neighbor and saying: “Hey dude, I’m trying to sleep and you are playing your keyboards really loudly. Mind keeping it down?” Something polite and direct. I am going to train them to do this because I am not their mother or their R.A. or their babysitter. And last I checked, we are all adults here sans that one kid who lives on the top floor with his mom.

I have been slacking in one respect though. Vacuuming. I’ve come to dread it like I do putting away my laundry or taking out the trash. My laziness confronts me every time I leave my apartment and honestly, it is just too much to bear for this ex-Catholic people pleaser. In my sleep it haunts me. Sizzle. . .you need to vacuum. . .don’t be a bad apartment manager. . .

But I had a really good excuse. The building vacuum has been out of commission for the past week- it ran out of replacement bags. There was a huge crate of bags but NONE of them actually fit the vacuum correctly. It’s like someone just randomly picked up bags at the store hoping they could shove them on the machine and it’d work. There were two other dusty, discarded vacuums in the maintenance room that I tried. One was light weight and I hoped it would work because lordhavemercy hauling a vacuum up and down 4 flights of stairs really blows. Sadly, that one had no suction. I tried the third one. It was a mother of a vacuum- incredibly heavy and bulky- but with spotty suction, no hose attachment, and a cord that didn’t allow me to reach the ends of the hallways.

Um yeah, that’s not really gonna cut it.

I felt like Goldilocks and the Three Vacuums. “This one has no bag. This one doesn’t pick up dirt. This one has a short cord.” So I went to Target and purchased a new bagless vacuum with a long cord. I no longer have an excuse to avoid this chore. Damn me and my inability to embrace laziness and slacking.

Yesterday I threw a party at work. It involved multiple trips to Costco, lasagnas and trying to figure out how much bread is enough bread for 80 people. Do you know? Cuz I didn’t. I have loaves left over. Anyone want some french bread?

I purchased 9 lasagnas- 6 meat and 3 veggie. (I really bought ten but someone stole one out of the building fridge even after I had written the name of my organization all over it. Stop! Lasagna thief!) 6 of the lasagnas had to cook for 2 hours. 3 of them had to cook for one hour. What time did we have to start cooking the lasagnas for all of them to be ready to serve at 6:00 pm? See? It’s a word problem. I really loathe word problems. So I made my coworker do the math and be in charge of cooking them.

That’s called delegation, folks.

Then there was the issue with the two ovens. Four lasagnas go in and cook for two hours but only two in the top oven are actually cooked. The bottom two are still frozen in the center. Now we are down to one oven and have only 3 hours until the party starts. And 4 more lasagnas to cook. Or something. I’ve lost track. Basically, I just said fuck it and ordered pizza to make up the difference. Only to discover that 20-30 people who RSVP’d didn’t actually show leaving me with 3.5 left over cooked lasagnas, three frozen lasagnas, a huge bowl of salad, a mega bag of spinach, a tray of sliced french bread and four loaves uncut. Oh. . .and two halves of two cakes. It should be mentioned though that everyone in attendance had a really good time. In spite of the food mishap, it was a successful event.

But let us never talk of lasagna again. Ok? Ok.

Hey, guess what I am having for lunch today?

This might come as a shock to some of you but I thought I should clear up any misconceptions. . . I am not thin. Ok, so, maybe that’s not a newsflash. But honestly, I just want to set the record straight because I am not actively trying to deceive you. Most of the photos on my blog are self-portraits and since I can’t quite ever remember how to set my digital camera timer, the shots are from the shoulders up. And I just so happen to not carry weight in my face.

I’ve had some of you approach me and ask why I might share a fat acceptance post via Google Reader or how I lost weight, etc. I know many of you are fairly new here so you haven’t had to read my numerous posts where I struggle to come to terms with my body. The truth is, I have always been chubby and by societal standards (and my own), I am overweight. Some medical doctors might refer to me as obese. I am short and I am heavy and that’s pretty much how it’s always been save those 3 years when I was 23-26 years old when I was a between a size 9-12. Yes, a size 9 was me at my thinnest. For some of you, maybe a size 9 is your heaviest.

Variety is the spice of life, right?

The other day The Fella and I stopped into a local cupcake shop. They had shirts for sale that said fun things like, “Show me your cupcakes” and “Legalize Frostitution” (my personal favorite). When we got to the front of the line, The Fella asked the counter girl what sizes the frostitution shirt came in- they only came in s to xl in girlie t-shirt sizes. I waved away The Fella’s sweet offer to buy me one, knowing that the xl in a girlie T would never fit me. What that ultimately feels like is: I don’t fit. I don’t fit in the world somehow. And I felt a deep sense of shame.

I spent the rest of the evening locked inside myself feeling like crap. Not because of the girlie T but because of all it represented about me, my worth, my own struggle to love what I look like regardless of what mass media says. Some days it is harder than others to like what I see in the mirror because as much as there are thousands upon thousands of women who look like me, we are not usually touted as “beautiful” in the media. Just go stand in a grocery line and check out the magazines or turn on the TV. It’s all over the place.

That brings me to the caricature of me in the header of this blog. It is very accurate in every way right down to the arch of my eyebrow except. . . I’m not that small. That plus the photos I share on here lead me to think that my readers will one day meet me in person and think, “Wow. She doesn’t look that big in her blog.” Maybe if TV adds pounds to a person, the internet takes them off? Either way, I don’t want there to be any surprises.

I don’t even know why I am writing this. Possibly self-preservation. If I say it first, it won’t hurt as much if/when someone says it to me. So much of me is here in this blog, in these words I write, I just wanted to be sure I was being authentic. I’m trying to accept my body. Part of my journey is honestly owning up to what it is.

I’m Sizzle and I’m a chubbette.

I discovered the trick to having a pleasant IKEA shopping experience: Go during the afternoon on a week day. Blissful quiet and practically empty aisles.

I needed to pick up some stuff for a work-related party so I dragged Kaply along with me for an adventure. As she pushed the cart (because it is a well documented fact that I am very inept when it comes to cart pushing) throughout the store, we managed to find a plethora of items that we MUST HAVE. IKEA and Target have this effect on me. I enter the store with a list of necessary items and leave with an entire bagful of cute albeit unnecessary purchases.

Shopping can be tiring so we found a round bed to rest on. Granted, anyone who is familiar with the layout of the store knows that the beds are pretty near the beginning so we’re just being silly hams. The IKEA employee graciously offered to snap our photo. And who says customer service is dead?

We wasted spent a good deal of time in the housewares section because Kaply needed a frying pan. That lone frying pan turned into tongs, measuring spoons, two bowls and a canister to hold utensils. There was a brief debate over ramekins which, as we all know, are deceptively cute in their smallness and yet don’t always find themselves useful. Because we lingered there, I ended up with four mugs and two small dishes that I can use for my cats. And yes they match the mugs. And yes, Kaply gave me some shit for that.

As we moved along through the store, shiny things would catch our eye. Oooh! Pretty little lamp! Oooh! Textiles! When we entered the rug section, Kaply had to debate between rug thickness and color while I struggled with my inner Ms. Matchy. There was a great rug there, reasonably priced at $40 but it was cream with a green design on it. There is no green in my living room color scheme. After much back and forth, I ended up ditching the rug (and a wall coat rack and maybe something else) near the plants. Sorry IKEA employees who have to put all that crap away!

The main reason for going to IKEA in the first place was to buy pebbles and small vases for individual stalks of bamboo which are going to be a thank you gift at the aforementioned work party. In my mind I pictured what I wanted but unfortunately that whole “magically appearing” business doesn’t work on IKEA or on vases. With Kaply’s help we managed to find a suitable stand in and also alert the attention of other shoppers wondering why on earth we were stocking our cart with 25 sets of 4 glass tea light holders. It’s none of your beeswax, lady!

And no, I did not buy the plant. Though I really wanted to.

I ended up spending over $80 of company money and only $30 of my own. That’s pretty cheap considering the last time I visited I spent over $600.

What is the last item you purchased that you didn’t necessarily need? Does IKEA have this effect on you too?

*If you are reading this from a feed, you might want to just click over now and check out the new digs.

I am one lucky lady.

Thanks to a series of very fortunate circumstances (and special thanks to Y-O-U for clicking that link over 600 times thus winning me a free redesign), I now have a blog that accurately reflects me. Jess over at Delicious Design Studio is fantastic- totally easy to work with, quick, flexible and super uber talented. She took what I had in my head and made it real. That’s a gift! I mean, deciphering me is no easy feat sometimes. Hear this- if you are looking to redecorate your blog, check her out. She’s the tops. Sincerely.

One thing I was pretty stuck on was having a caricature that looked like me. Unfortunately, most of the iStock illustrations just didn’t cut it- there were none of a short chubbette with punky hair and retro glasses. Go figure. Enter Secret Agent Josephine. If you are unaware of the creative mastery that is SAJ, you are missing out. Not only is she one of my favorite bloggers and a long-time must read, she’s incredibly talented. She took my likeness and drew a character that strikingly resembles the real me. I showed a sneak peek to some friends in real life and the general reaction was, “Woah! That looks JUST like you!” So to say she did good is entirely an understatement.

I can’t thank Jess and SAJ enough for their hard work and beautiful designs.

Feel free to compliment them profusely in the comment section.

The other day I told the Universe, “It’d be really awesome if chocolate magically appeared at my desk.” A little while later, I found a lone M & M hidden behind my office phone. I ate it and it was good. I thought maybe I was onto something so I said, “It’d be really awesome if some money magically appeared in my bank account, pocket, wallet or mailbox.” Because why not? I could use the cash. When I arrived home hours later, there was indeed a check in my mailbox. So then I figured, what the hell, and said, “It’d be really awesome if multiple orgasms magically appeared in my vagina.”

Because, hello , it totally would.

I must have pushed my luck too far. Sadly, sometimes third time isn’t a charm.

*This post is based on actual tweets I posted on Twitter. Apologies to those who are subjected to it twice.

Last night a little after 10:00pm my cell phone vibrated. I was “otherwise occupied” and didn’t answer it. But then about 10 minutes later, the land line rang. That meant it was a tenant. So I made myself answer it.

A tenant on the bottom floor was complaining about the noise level in the apartment above her and asked if I could do something about it. Begrudgingly, I put on a bra and presentable clothing and marched down to the first floor. As I approached I could hear the music and two people talking loudly. That’s what happens when the volume is up, you’re forced to turn up your talking. I knocked. No response. I knocked harder. Still, no response. I could hear them talking to each other. Maybe they couldn’t hear me over the music? I gave them the benefit of the doubt. So, I knocked even harder. So hard in fact that my knuckles hurt a bit. A male voice came close to the door and said, “Is the music too loud for you then?” And I answered, “Yes, it is.” And he answered something snarky back or maybe it was not snarky but he had a slight accent which made it difficult for me to surmise tone. He never opened the door. And as far as I know, only a single female resides in that unit. So who the fuck is this guy?

I walked about 5 steps away and paused. The music and their voices remained at the same level. I waited some more and then walked back, this time knocking with fervor and announcing, “This is the manager. Please open the door.” I felt like the police. It was ridiculous. The across the hall neighbor opened his door sleepily and inquired if everything was alright. I shooed him away, apologizing for disturbing him. Finally, the tenant answers holding an ice cube in a paper towel.

Why? I don’t know.

“Hey, can you turn your music down. It’s hard for the tenant under you to sleep. Maybe your speakers are on the ground?” She looked at me a bit dazed and as if she was trying not to be pissed in front of the management, “Yeah. I’m sorry to get you involved. You can tell them they can just come up here and ask. There’s no need to call you.”

I tried to smooth it over because well, try as I might to be Big Boss Manager here, I also want to create some harmony. That is wishful thinking. There are grown adults living together under one roof who seem incapable of being direct with one another. This pisses me off. Not because I have to put on a bra and deal with it but because we are all grown ups and yet it’s evident we have no skill set to manage such relationships.

The Fella left for home and as he exited the building he texted me that the music and talking was still pretty loud from the apartment. I didn’t go back down there but it did anger me. Why can’t people be considerate? What in the hell is so damn difficult with that?

Later, laying in bed trying to let the whole situation go, I heard loud voices and the front door slam. It was a windy night and there were a lot of sirens but through my open window I could make out the tenant, her accent-laden friend and the guy who lives below me talking outside and smoking. She was complaining about the neighbor not coming directly to her. I could make out that much. A siren blared in the distance and the accent guy jokingly said, “Uh oh! They are coming for us!”

I get people need to vent and bitch when they are pissed or feel caught or wronged or whatever. I get it. But it’s petty bullshit and I don’t have the energy for it. I just shut my window and tried to turn off my thoughts so I could sleep.

“Are you wanting inspiration/You spill your secrets on me/Then you tell me with a whisper/Of things that will never be./Do you hear me breathing? /Does it make you want to scream?/Did you ever like a bad dream?/Sometimes life is obscene./My angels, my devils, my thorn in my pride./Lover cover me with your sleep/Let your love light shine/Lover cover me with a good dream/Let your love light shine. . .” -Thorn in My Pride, Black Crows

I might alienate some of you but I’ve just gotta complain a bit. I’ve got this running list of things that bug me when it comes to the interwebs. Here. I’ll share:

1. When people only comment on other blogs if that blogger comments on theirs.
2. Not putting the full post feed in the reader.
3. Too many memes.
4. When people share their own post via Reader.
5. Bloggers who steal other peoples posts.
6. Fucking spam.
7. Posts that explain why the blogger isn’t blogging. Just. . .don’t blog.
8. People who Twitter back and forth to each other incessantly. It’s called instant messenger. Get it.
9. A million and one networking sites under the sun and I can barely manage my blog, Twitter, My Space and Facebook. I can’t keep up!
10. Don’t get me started on Facebook.
11. When people share their own post via Reader. Oops! Said that already.
    
12. Blog comment sections that require me to sign up with my own password or ask me to sign in with my info every single time I visit the site. Why can’t it remember me? Phooey!
13. Never act like I exist even though I’ve been commenting for months.
14. Too many flashy ads.
15. Trolls.
16. Light print on a dark background. I have bad eyesight. This causes me further eye strain.
17. Go into great detail about some dream you had.
18. Be rude while hiding behind an anonymous comment.
19. Really, really, really long posts. Especially if they are a) boring, b) ramble all over the place and/or c) are about some dream you had (see #17).
20. Complain that you don’t get enough comments in your posts.

While I’m going on and on about my annoyances, can I just say that I thought August Rush was a huge disappointment. At first I was giving it the benefit of the doubt. . .but it became glaringly obvious within 15 minutes into the film that no amount of Keri Russell or Jonathan Rhys Meyers could save the shmaltzy writing. And Robin Williams? WTH?! Maybe the story could have come off on a theater stage but it just did not work on the big screen for me. It was like Annie (which the kid in me loves) meets Mr. Holland’s Opus (a personal favorite) meets Oliver Twist (a classic) but it sucked. I’m all for child prodigies and feeling the music and reuniting families torn apart by lies but come on! Why did it have to be so contrived and unbelievably sappy?

Care to share your internet peeves or a movie that totally disappointed you?

Let’s bitch together!

I’ve been tagged with this meme a couple of times and since I have a seriously vicious case of Spring Fever and possibly I drank one too many cervezas in celebration of Cinco de Mayo, this is all I can muster today.

1) I will not eat Jello. Pudding, yes. Jello itself? No. I blame the hospital when I got my tonsils and adenoids out at ten. I was forced to eat it. Then I threw it up. Along with some blood. Ew.

2) When I have to discard something, say when I am cooking spinach and there are some leaf pieces that are turning bad, in my mind I hear them saying, “I want to stay!” as I throw them in the sink. Personalizing food is probably not a good idea.

3) I don’t like soda unless it is root beer or ginger ale. Otherwise, all my pop has to have booze in it to be drinkable by me.

4) I love eggs in all their glorious forms EXCEPT for omeletes. I can’t seem to get past the texture the eggs take on when cooked that way.

5) I live in the coffee capital of America and yet I can’t drink coffee. It makes me sleepy so I avoid it. I used to be a coffee junkie and then after college, quit the stuff. Now it is strictly black tea or the occasional decaf latte. It’s sad because I really do like the way coffee tastes.

6) The smell of peanut butter on a wet sponge when I am doing the dishes is enough to make me gag.

7) I am a spice wimp. I can only handle wasabi. I blame my geographic tongue and my Irish heritage.

What’s a weird food quirk you have?

It’s not like it’s a revelation but yesterday, while attending the “Opening to Your Calling” workshop, I realized that for months I have been working pretty much non-stop. Both of my jobs require me to manage people and so much of my time is taken up doing just that, it is no wonder I have about 5 minutes a day to focus on me. This is the first thing that must change.

I’m tired of feeling like an empty well. I’m giving so much to my jobs that I’m at the point where I am just shutting down on the people who matter the most to me. Including myself. I haven’t been exercising or eating particularly well or reading for more than 5 minutes before I fall asleep. I’m checked out. I’m unenthusiastic about the tasks before me. I’m buried in overwhelm. I don’t want to live like this.

I’m at a place in my life where I don’t want my career/my job(s) to take center stage. I want to find fulfillment in what I do but I don’t want it to own me. I want time to sit still. I want time to be. I want time to explore. My jobs do not come first and yet, lately, I’ve felt like they own me. I really want to strengthen my boundaries and learn to prioritize what is most important to me- self-care, time with loved ones, some peace- with what is required of me. I don’t regret taking the apartment manager gig it’s just that I didn’t realize that in doing the job well, it would be so constant. It’s just not in my nature to sit on my ass when I know that there are things that need to be done. I’ve started mapping out a schedule for the apartment maintenance and I’ve made a firm commitment internally to not answer every call that comes in, especially when I am at work. I can call them back on a break or when I get home. Not everything it is an emergency.

I’ve been trying to look at too many things at once. From now on, it’s one thing at a time. It’s either that, or my sanity. And frankly, what little I have left I’d rather hold onto.

“Well we dig our heels in/And wonder who’s gonna win/Who is gonna win it or wear it out/I change the lock on the door/Or learn how to take a little more/I can outrun all of the devils there/But never the doubt/Try not to throw all your money into 20/20 vision/For the world won’t wait on politics or indecision/Oh baby don’t you know that the/Time will do the talking/Years will do the walking/I’ll just find a comfy spot and wait it out/Time will do the talking/Years will do the walking/Time will tell you baby what you can’t hear now. . .” -Time Will Do the Talking, Patty Griffin