Fucking Yoga: It's Like Buttah

You knew this day would come. Tonight was my first time in (over six months I think) ages back at yoga. I've been psyching myself up for it all month. Two weeks ago when I realized I could finally blow out a candle in one try (rather than the five or six it had been taking me while I'd been sick the last four months), I got excited. And re-lit the candle just so I could blow it out again. A week ago I started trying to walk up huge flights of stairs. On Thursday I signed up for a huge chunk of yoga classes.

And tonight I went to the first one. I hoped it wouldn't be one of those classes where everyone else can balance on the ball of one foot and I'm the fattie gasping for air and holding onto the wall for balance.

Dude, I can not adequately express just how much of a natural athlete I am, but I will try. The people on either side of me kept checking what I was doing so they could copy me when they weren't sure what the yogi had said to do. For each pose, I remembered all the corrections I was given back in '07, and before the yogi could get to me, I'd have undone my (ballet) turn-out to yogify the poses. I can still do the pushups (that's not what they're called in yogaland, but you know what I mean, whether or not you do yoga) and boat posture (the yoga word starts with an 'N' but I can't remember what it is), which uses crazy stomach muscles.

Seriously, it's almost like I never took any time off at all. It was a small class (which made me happy) and the instructor was pretty impersonal which sounds bad, but it worked for me tonight. The only thing that kind of went wrong was when out of nowhere, I could not breathe at all. I actually had to go stand against the wall and sip some water for about two minutes. It kind of slammed into me with no warning - one minute I was sweaty but fine, and the next, there was a distant rushing sound (one of the signs I'm going to pass out) and I noticed I couldn't catch my breathe. I pressed the backs of my arms against the wall; it felt cool. The rushing sound went away, and I hopped back on the mat as if I'd never left.

From then on everything was fine, and I managed not to laugh at all, not even when the redheaded girl across from me toppled over during tree poses. I am on such a high right now - I think it's because I've been pumped up for this since Thursday in an effort to not be too scared to go - that if I can walk when I wake up tomorrow, I may go back tomorrow night.

Too ambitious? Yeah, I was planning on going every other day this week, but shit, if I can do it, why not, right? Seriously, I'm so happy that tonight went well. I truly thought it might suck, especially since I twisted my ankle twice this afternoon while in Marin. But no, it was as smooth as buttah.

Okay so for those of you who do yoga, please comment if you have a mat that's not slippery, and let me know what brand it is. I always use the free ones the place has, but I never remember which one is less slippery and just grab whichever color appeals to me in the moment. The ones they sell there are, at minimum, $50, and I wouldn't want to spend that much money unless I was able to try it out during a class and see how "no-slip-grip" it truly is first. Thank you.

Just a Little PSA

from Google.

Define Me! DEFINE ME!

I like to know where I stand. With everything. Everyone. At all times. Maybe that's why I'm pretty straight-forward. Even though I've been told that life is not always going to be the way my mommy told me it would be. But she said to treat people the way I want to be treated. And so I do, hoping they'll take the hint.

If you think I may not like you, then there's a good chance I probably don't. I'm generally quite good at making my feelings clear to people. And I almost always have feelings about everything. It's a rare day that I reach right down to the bottom of my heart and feel nothing. But when that day comes around, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will sing all about it.

I wish everyone was as clear with me as I try to be with them. I don't do well with friendliness and indifference, all in the same person. I just want to know where I stand. Or more importantly, if when I'm ready to sit down, I can come sit at your lunch table.

Maybe I'm More Powerful Than I Realized

Perky Paula was not in the office today. Her cat has cancer and may need to be put to sleep. She quit abruptly. So now I'm working for one of the attorneys she used to work for.

We ARE Mature Professionals In Our Early 30's

Golden Boy invited me over for dinner tonight. This afternoon we were on the phone when he brought up the subject of this evening's menu, and he asked, "I took out filet mignon; that's okay with you, right?" I confirmed, and Golden Boy continued, "Great, so I'll make up some of those, Crazy Girl will make broccoli, and I'll make potatoes Ruth's Chris-style."

I then asked, "And what should I make?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "A doody in your pants."

Of course.

For SHAME Lauren Conrad, FOR SHAME!

Okay so I'm a little behind the times, what with not having MTV with my crappy cable company that has a monopoly at my apartment complex. Luckily, several months ago, a friend who shares my love for The Hills alerted me to the fact that MTV allows fans to watch the show at their website. (Real friends help friends watch The Hills!) Last night, I watched the episode where Lauren and Whitney (Port, port!) went to Paris for the ball. They were lent dresses, ballgowns really, for the ball, from a huge, famous designer. The night before the ball, Lauren and Whits decide to go out so Lauren can make eyes at an ugly boy in a band who wears skinny pants and smokes. Whitney packed her entire closet in LA, and has a dress for this faux event, but Lauren only brought pencil skirts, and decides to hem her ballgown and wear it out.

Any normal person would know this is a bad idea. Lauren has stopped being normal. So she hems the ballgown and she and Whitless go off into the night for Lauren to begin her Making Eyes at Ugly French Boys Project. While successful in her eye communication, the next day when Lauren is about to start getting ready for the ball, the reason she was flown to Paris (as an intern) in the first place, she finds a stain on her expensive-yet-not-hers ballgown.

At first Lauren thinks it's coffee. But no, it's an even more lame stain than that. Lauren left her curling iron on and it stained the fabric on the dress. The dress is now ruined. I don't know how many balls you've attended, but I attend only three each season, and even I know one simply can not show up to a ball without a gown. To Lauren, THIS is her main problem, this is the reason she gets tears in her eyes. Had I been in Lauren's position, the tears in my eyes would have been for having ruined someone else's very expensive ballgown that they LENT TO ME! Lauren only seemed concerned that she wouldn't be able to attend the ball. Whitters saves the day by talking the designer into lending Lauren a second ballgown, and Lauren was ultimately able to attend the ball. I know that this is only a reality tv show and that not everything can be shown. But I would like to know if the stain came out, and if not, whether or not Lauren paid for the ballgown she ruined, and if it got back to Teen Vogue that she ruined something she was lent based on Teen Vogue's reputation.

These are the types of things that keep me up at night.

You Couldn't Have Funnier Timing

HR just came by to tell me that Perky Paula is out of the office today. Her cat is sick, and she has to take it to the vet.

I'm not even making this up.

Perky Paula's Secret

She is in therapy. She must be, I am sure of it. Here's how I imagine one of her therapy sessions:

Perky Paula: I'm just so lonely at work! The attorneys close their doors, and none of the other secretaries sit by me.
Therapist, zoning out: Because you smell?
Perky Paula: What?!
Therapist: Are you having a hard time geling with them?
Perky Paula: I guess so.
Therapist gets excited to use her favorite line: And how does that make you feel?
Perky Paula: I don't know. Lonely?
Therapist: Is there anyone at work you feel comfortable with, or could see yourself making overtures towards?
Perky Paula: I don't know; it seems like all the other secretaries have been there for four or more years and that intimidates me.
Therapist: How does that make you feel?
Perky Paula: Intimidated?
Therapist: Good for you!
Perky Paula weakly smiles.
PP: There is this one secretary, who I think started only a couple of weeks before I did. She seems kind of nice
Therapist: Great! Why don't you ask her to lunch?
PP: Well, umm... I could. I don't know, I'm scared.
Therapist: Why do you think you're scared? Is it because of your relationship with your father?
PP: My father? No. I'm scared because what if she says no?
Therapist: How does that make you feel?
PP: Scared?
Therapist: Good for you! What you need to do Paula, is start slow. How about if this week, you focus on saying hello to this person each day. That's your homework assignment. Each day, try to engage her in a short, casual conversation.
PP: But what would we talk about?
Therapist: What do you think you'd feel comfortable talking about?
PP: Well, there's my cats. Needlepoint. My cats. The outlet malls?
Therapist, sighing and checking the time: How about talking about the weather? Ask if she lives close by to work - people love to talk about commutes.
PP: Ooh, I could ask if she likes to walk her cats outside in nice weather.
Therapist: No! No cat talk. In addition to commutes and weather, you can also ask where she likes to go for lunch.
PP: I think she eats in an empty office. Maybe she feels lonely?
Therapist, resisting urge to roll eyes: Yes, maybe she's just hoping each day that you'll come talk to her and break the ice.
PP beams at the thought, completely missing the sarcasm: Okay. I WILL go talk to her about lunch.
Therapist: Then see if she's reading something, and if so, ask what she's reading. People who read love to talk about literature.

Perky Paula leaves therapy with a spring in her step, excited to ask her target (poor, unsuspecting GY) about the weather and commutes. As she lays in bed at night trying to figure out what to wear to work tomorrow, Perky Paula decides that if things go well asking about the commute, she'll also ask if GY has a cat. And if she likes cats. And if she wants to see the pictures of Paula's cats on her memory stick that she carries around as a key fob. Perky Paula laughs out loud - of course GY will want to - after all, who doesn't like cats?

Daddy, Buy Me Something!

In high school a girl I was friendly with actually said this to her father at an art sale the school was having to raise money. Art made by students. Ceramic shit. Paint-by-numbers. I turned to her, "Do you really want one of these?" Stephanie smiled at me. "No, I just want him to buy me something so I feel loved."

Well! If that doesn't outline what a year of therapy will be spent discussing I don't know what does.

It's not that I am against buying or consuming. I'm not. I buy shit. I consume. It's just that I don't want to have things I don't use or don't need. Growing up, I was raised to keep all my book reports. I never questioned it, and in middle school I had every book report I'd ever done since second grade. There are iPods out that apparently show tv programs. Fascinating! I'll stick with my green iPod nano though, thanks. It's little and cute and makes me happy and inspires warm thoughts towards Golden Boy and Crazy Girl. I still maintain it's the best present (and best delivery of a present) I've ever gotten.

I don't want the best. I want good enough combined with best for me. What's best for me is not always the best of what exists. I want things to be simple. Life already seems hard enough to me. I want less buttons to press, manuals to read, things to figure out, less to navigate around.

All this stuff? It just creates more waste in the long-term. In the short-term, it creates pressure. You have that? I need that! You're getting what? I need to get the one that's bigger than that. Just in 2008, three different people have asked if I want a bigger tv. No, I don't. I don't know how many inches mine is, but it's average sized, and fine. It works, so I don't need a new one. It's that simple to me.

Part of why I've never had advertising on this blog is because I don't know how to put it on here. The other, bigger part is that I read blogs that have advertising. I read lots of blogs (you guys are interesting, keep writing because I'm fascinated). I hate the blogs that have so much advertising that I feel like I have to search to find the actual blog content.

I know that I don't necessarily see things the way most people do, but I don't SEE advertisements online. In 15 or so years of using the internet, I have clicked on an advertised link less than half a dozen times. All I notice is that it's not what I'm trying to read, and that's all. It's something that's in my way.

A couple of days ago, I got an email from a marketing firm saying a company would like to advertise on my blog. But before they could pay me for that, they'd like to first advertise on my blog for free for a little while, to see what kind of traffic I get. Then, I was to tell them how much I wanted to be paid. It was not signed by a person.

After consulting with some blog-marketing savvy folks (okay, one folk) and thinking about it, I wrote back:

Dear [name of Ad Agency] Representative Who Is Nameless,

You may have noticed that there is currently no advertising on my blog. In order for me to lift the advertising ban, I would need to be compensated as opposed to letting you advertise for free (for any amount of time). Since you are coming to me, it's up to you to make an initial offer as to what compensation you'd offer for advertising on my blog. At that time I would be happy to engage in a discussion with you.

Sincerely,
Blogger who does not cavalierly advertise on her blog

I received a return email less than 24 hours later:

Greetings Anti-Cavalier,

Thanks for getting back to us. While we appreciate your dedication to your blog, we are unable to place unverified advertisements for this client's particular campaign. Best of luck with all your future endeavors.

All the best,
Masked Girl

You know what I've learned from this experience? I should TOTALLY sign all my emails with something more funky than "love" or "sincerely" because it completely makes my day when the person I'm corresponding with does it back!

For now, I'm staying advertising free. In the paid sense, at least. If a company that I actually use approaches me and would like to pay me for reviewing and blogging about their product and/or service, I'm open to it. But I won't be cluttering up my blog with ad banners for you to deal with. There's enough shit here already.

Signed,
She who has convictions but can also be bought

Girlie Dancing (Live Blogging)

Shannon Elizabeth: I think Derek has a bit of a crush on her. I greatly dislike her outfit, the song, and their dance. Shannon needs to go to a salsa club to learn how to move her hips. In addition, Shannon needs to up her cardio game, since she seems incapable of catching her breath. Also, wasn't this a cha-cha-cha? Where the fuck was the cha-cha-cha-ing? However, Carie Ann gave a huge compliment that should not be overlooked when she said, "Nothing shook." (MN, she played the Russian exchange student in American Pie, and was also famous for marrying (and then divorcing) a very ugly guy.)

Monica Seles: I think she will be one of the first women to go home. I'm just putting that out there. Is Monica the one married to Andre? I used to have a HUGE crush on him. Like, whatever you're imagining, triple it. Oh! Look at her shoes - she is not wearing heels! Jesus, this is painful to watch. I give her partner a lot of credit - he has done everything in his power to hide the fact that she sucks. Monica does not suck at acting though. Watch the judges try to be kind in their critique. Awww... she has that look on her face that I recognize - how soon can I get away to cry in private? (MN, she is a famous tennis player.)

Marissa Jaret Winokur: First, I should apologize for confusing her with Nikki Blonsky. At least I got the Broadway show right, right? Second, she had cervical cancer and is recovered now. I just wanted that noted. I also want to tell people who don't know that fat girls can be light on their feet. It has nothing to do with how much you weight; it's all about how you carry yourself. I can float down a flight of stairs next to a 95lb woman who clomps down the same stairs next to me.

Oh my god she looks like so much fun. I want to invite her over and go skipping down the street with her holding hands. And you could tell Tony, her partner, was all, "Shit, I can't believe they stuck me with the fat girl!" but then when he met her he was like, "Wow, she's awesome, I'm so lucky!" And you are Tony. You ARE lucky. Did everyone catch Ricki Lake in the audience? Okay good. (MN, she was the star of the Broadway show Hairspray. Years ago, Ricki Lake played the same character that Marissa played.)

Priscilla Presley: I just want to point out that she is a grandmother. She is this season's Kelly Taylor with the nervousness. It makes me sad when I see someone who can truly dance but they're holding back because of nervousness. I think she has great potential. (MN, she is an actress but is most famous for having been married to Elvis Presley. I believe one of her grandchildren was in the audience.)

Kristi Yamaguchi: I think she's got real potential to win. I'm eager to see if she wears that locket on the red string that she always wore on the ice. Nope, guess she's over that phase. Kristi does not disappoint - in all the places it'd be easy to screw up, I look to see if she is, and she's not. She kept her posture almost the whole time, she didn't drop the back elbow, it was fabulous. Kristi is a major contender. 27! Obviously the judges agree with me. Smart judges. (MN, Kristi is an Olympic figure skater.)

Marlee Matlin: See now I wonder if she would do better (however well she does) by dancing barefoot. I recall reading about how deaf people can feel the vibrations through the floor, which is why I thought of this. There used to be a cute deaf kid on my bus when I was in high school. My aunt had given me a sign language book and I used it to teach myself the ASL alphabet to communicate with the cute boy. Ever since, I've kind of had a soft spot for the deaf community.

Ohh, this is such a great dance song! Though I am not digging this version - it's slightly slowed down. Marlee did great, and I think she will do even better next week (obviously America is not going to vote off the deaf chick) when she's less nervous. You can really tell Marlee loves to dance. (MN, she's an actress who is deaf.)

You'd think with how much I am in love with dancing I'd be voting and calling everyone I know to talk them into voting also, but I have actually never voted for any of these shows. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't vote (for Marissa or Kristi).

Seriously, my heartrate is over 100 right now, and I have to get up early tomorrow morning. There's no way I will be able to calm down enough to go to bed at 11 p.m. Do you think that when I'm like 92 I'll still be hyper?

Dancing With the Stars is Back!

Was that Nikki Blonksi I saw? You know, Penn (of and Teller) was not half bad!

As bad as Adam Carolla was, I think he has potential. His problem is, he doesn't have a competitive bone in his body (well, until Matt Damon starts fucking his girlfriend). If he somehow gets a fire lit under his ass, I think he'll improve dramatically. Incidentally I read a blurb by Julianne where she says she's a virgin. Virgin! I thought she was schtupping Helio and that's why he got divorced! No?

I could really see Kristi winning this season. This is going to be an awesome season. In the future, I'll try to do proper posts for the show.

Giggling Like a Girl

9am likes to think of himself as a fairly macho guy, with old-school values. 9am works out a lot, and he drinks some sort of special protein drink afterwards. It makes him feel good to lift heavy things, throw out the garbage, all that stuff. He is uncomfortable with gay people, and I guess San Francisco has seeped into my pores when I wasn't paying attention because I've forgotten how to understand people with 9am's point of view. Once, 9am actually added this qualifier after sharing that his friend was coming over, "Ken and I aren't gay or anything; he's just my only friend."

(For the record, Ken is not 9am's only friend. 9am's cell phone rings about three or four times each night, but it seems Ken is the only friend 9am is comfortable inviting over here.)

9am always seems embarrassed when he has to admit to me that he knows anything the slightest bit girly. You know, like what accessories are.

Anyway. The only "girly" thing I notice about 9am is his laugh. It is high-pitched and most definitely girly. And he doesn't seem to know. In fact right now he is watching old South Park episodes and rolling around on the floor squealing.

It's Just Lunch

A new person named Perky Paula has taken over for Jeepers and she commutes all the way into the city from Petaluma (which is far away, for the non-CA people).

When I was in high school I was friends with a girl whose name was also Greane and the closer we got, the better I got at knowing when I'd be able to reach her at home. At the time I thought it was magic, but as I grew up, realized the more you pay attention to the things people tell you about themselves, the better idea you'll have of where they'll be.

Perky Paula has no concept of timing. She will come by my desk, see me on the phone, working on a document, with two partners standing over me - each asking about a different client naturally, and still try to bullshit with me. I don't know whether or not I'm right, but I feel like that reflects badly on me. Like the lawyers are thinking, "Geez Green, tell your little friend to run along already - why are you hanging out with someone who's got no sense of timing?"

A few times Perky Paula has asked me to lunch. I don't want to go with her. I bitched about this to a friend, and she encouraged me to suck it up and just go to lunch. She said it won't take very long (an hour, obviously) and will mean a lot to Perky Paula.

She's right. I know she's right. It just seems ... I don't like Paula. There's nothing *wrong* with her, but we don't click. I don't know why she's picked me to befriend. Why not the secretly pregnant secretary? Or the really cool associate who's super easy to talk with? Or the quiet, helpful Asian secretary who is the only person to be able to deal with Bitch on Wheels? She just has so many options! How did I get chosen?

When I look at Perky Paula I see someone who has many cats and talk with them as she watches television. I see someone who inspires neighbors to plan when they'll get their mail so they won't run into her, lest they get roped into a long conversation with Paula.

Also it seems living in San Francisco has turned me into a tiny bit of a food snob. A food snob in training, if you will. First Perky Paula suggested we go to The Cosmopolitan for lunch. I know like four people who've gotten food poisoning there. So I let Paula know that, and suggested we come up with somewhere else. She then suggested "an Italian place" that I am telling you, is *NOT* real Italian food. It's a place where you can order a sub and chips (I don't eat subs) and they also have spaghetti.

Is Petaluma considered part of the Bay Area? Since moving here I've never met anyone who's less snobby about food than I am, but Paula's changing everything.

Paula makes me feel comfortable standing up and saying, "Hi, my name is Green and I LIKE Kraft Macaroni & Cheese!" Christ.

(Some of) The People In My (Work) Neighborhood

The secretary who sits next to me is secretly pregnant. She's having a girl, and due in July. She has the most beautiful, shiny hair I've ever seen in real life. And you know how sometimes people talk about a pregnancy glow? I always thought that was bullshit. But it's not. This woman totally has it. Her skin is beautiful. I wish my skin was half as good as hers.

She never discusses being pregnant. Well, she does - that's how I know it's a girl and when she's due - but not to anyone in the office. Just on the phone. She eats fruit and cereal and drinks water all day long.

SPS (Secretly Pregnant Secretary) is very quiet. Not in a shy way, but just in "I'll be pleasant but let's not go overboard" kind of way. So I give her space, and don't try to drum up conversations, and she seems to appreciate it. This morning she said, "Good morning" to me. We often go four hours or more without talking to each other. Just so you have a clear picture in your head of the situation, we sit about six feet from each other.

Today SPS left work early - she is going on vacation to the East Coast. This means I will have to work for her two partners. One of whom is a Jersey Jew and had little girl panties on the floor of his office when I started working here and it made me wonder. A lot. He wasn't shy about the panties at all - he let everyone who knocked on the door come into his office, and the panties just stayed there on the floor, in full view among a heap of other junk.

I was beginning to think I should look him up on that child molester website when I found out he was going to Vietnam or someplace and was collecting a lot of stuff to donate, and the panties were among the donated clothes. They're gone now. Jersey Jew gave me a ride *almost home* from work on my first day, because it was pouring and I had forgotten my umbrella. He dropped me off about four blocks from home, and I was soaked by the time I got inside. We will not question why he could drive so close and yet leave me to walk and get soaked, but instead will just appreciate the ride.

The other partner is one of those guys who moves about 20 years older than whatever his physical age is (the mountain). My guess is that he's around 50. He either has a bum hip or a bum knee. He limps when he walks. Very nice guy, very gentle. He's the dude whose office affords me the awesome view of the Bay Bridge. He has two kids, around eight and 11 or something. It makes me think he's not on his first marriage.

Today he was leaving Jersey Jew's office, and the back pocket of his pants got caught on the doorframe and poor Gimpy almost fell over. You guys, I did SUCH a good job not laughing. Not even a smile was cracked. Until later, when I was in the privacy of my own home.

Funk

I hate posts about why people aren't posting. Oh, but you know what I hate even more than that? Posts about how the blogger promises to start posting more often, every day even, very soon. It's always bullshit. So in relation to my blog, what I have to say about my posting is, I'll post sometimes. And some of those times? They will be more frequent than some other times.

I have been in a funk lately. I am not happy. I feel disorganized all the time. I feel, not only misunderstood, but like nobody cares to understand. I feel critiqued. I am not appreciative of what I have. I am jealous of everyone else.

Last night I had a dream my father died. And then I was supposed to go see my shrink who I hated (who hated me but liked the money) the next morning to talk about it, and my whole family was there. When we went to walk up the long staircase to the shrink's office my father tapped me on the shoulder to let me see everyone was gathering in a circle at the bottom of the stairs. Yes, even though he was dead. I was the last person to get down the stairs and when I got there, there were only the shitty, metal folding chairs left and I was pissed because *I* was the real patient so I felt one of the comfy chairs should have been left for me.

Everyone had notebooks on their laps and were taking notes. My grandparents were there. Even my grandmother who has been dead over a dozen years. And when my grandpa tried to say, "We miss him so much," I snorted and asked why he always treated him like such shit when he was alive. Then I walked out because this was not therapy the way it was supposed to be, and not the way I wanted to process my feelings surrounding my father's death.

So I went to take my biology final, but instead of sitting down to take the test, I walked up to the teacher and said, "Look, let's just save ourselves time. We both know I failed the class, and that I haven't understood a damn thing you've said all semester. I don't know any of the answers on your test. Just give me the F."

In real life, a friend told me that when I talk about my parents, I talk about them like they're dead. And that is a bit upsetting to me, and probably to them too (and that is reason 582 why parents should not read their children's blogs). I bet a shrink would have a field day with that.

I've Been Memed (I May Sue)

Mamikaze tagged me for a Flickr meme. Here are my rules:

- Go to Flickr.

- Type your answer into the "search" box.

- Pick an image from the first page.

- Copy and paste answer into blog.

- Tag five bloggers.

My (Hebrew) name is: (Adina)

My relationship status is: (all by myself)

My favorite color is: (kelly green)


My celebrity crush: (Chris Meloni)



I am listening to: (the sound of my hairdryer as 9am uses it to clean the fan in his computer)

My favorite Disney princess: (does not exist)

My favorite adult beverage: (means nothing to me)

My dream vacation: (suggest somewhere)


When I grow up I want to be: (content)
Okay, to be honest, I am stopping before this meme is over because it's taking so long and I am tired and so many of these question just don't apply to me. You can see the rest of the questions at Mamikaze's blog.

But if I were forced, here are the people I'd tag to do this:

Meeks
Nicole
Silliyak
Bueno Scotty
Student Nurse Jack

I Stole a Rubber Band From Work the Other Day

I wasn't blogging much for a while because I had nothing to say.  Of course when I finally think of one thing, a slew of topics pop up and I have a hard time choosing.  There are work things to tell you about, some jewish stuff, there's an interesting project going on in the blog-world, it's just hard to choose.  But I'm going with the lying and publicity issue.

Really, I did steal a rubber band at work earlier this week.  I know I should have bought it instead.  Thing is, I only needed one.  In seven years, I've only ever needed one.  And the old one broke.  Understandable, but still wrong.  

There's this game show on tv - The Moment of Truth - that disgusts me.  Last week some woman admitted she wished she'd married her ex-boyfriend in front of the man she'd married.  And other awful things.  It's not THAT awful to admit that.  But it IS that awful to admit that on national television.  

When you're going to do something that's going to definitely affect someone else's life negatively, the right thing to do is let THEM decide when people will find out about it.  (Don't get me wrong - the guy had to know, on some level, that the producers picked his wife because she'd have some juicy secrets to share, but still.)  

Why is everyone so desperate to be on television, no matter that it won't make them rich, that their 15 minutes of fame will go by very quickly, and it very well may ruin their real lives?  What on earth is SO GREAT about being on tv?  

Why is it worth ruining someone else's life?  I can not understand this.