A while back I read a NYT article (in one of the rare moments I deigned to divert my attention from Us Weekly) that was, without a doubt, the most spot-on editorial I have ever read. His general gist was that we, as Americans, have reached a point where we are offended (feigned or not) at every little perceived slight, effectively diluting that beautiful American freedom - freedom of speech.
Here at Oh Sugar, Please, we could not agree more.
This particular election season has provided a lifetime's worth of fodder for all these 'grievous offenses'. It seems every time you turn around, someone else is personally offended by what someone said, did, may have said, may have done or just by what the media has decided to say someone's done.
The latest scuffle between Ann Romney and Hilary Rosen provides a prime example of just that. Mrs. Romney was a stay at home mom. She chose not to pursue a career and instead opted to raise her children - decision which is admirable and honorable and which I'm sure, is a choice many more American families would like to make. But when Ms. Rosen said that Mrs. Romney had never worked a day in her life, it sparked a firestorm.
Let's be honest. Certainly raising children (and in particular, five boys) and running a household is hard work. Not one in their right mind would ever argue that it wasn't. But in reality, Mrs. Romney hasn't "worked" in the sense of work as earning a livelihood - bringing home a paycheck. She's never experienced the pain of being denied a promotion she deserved or the simple wear and tear of the daily grind. She never had to decide whether to go to the boys' soccer practice or stay at work because her dictatorial boss doesn't understand "work-life balance."
Does that make Mrs. Romney any less of a good example to her children, a good wife and a good citizen? Absolutely not. Does that mean that Mrs. Romney is somehow, "out of touch"? Not at all. Many American families - regardless of family income - make the the choice to forgoe a second income so that a parent will be able to take care of their children.
So why were we so offended at this slight? Is it because we felt that Ms. Rosen was belitting the work of stay-at-home mothers? Is it because we felt that Ms. Rosen was implying that this was a way in which the Romney family is out of touch with the average American? Is it because we feel like we shouldn't have to hear things that we don't agree with?
This isn't the first time that we've been offended by what someone has had to say. Mitt Romney's comment that he "likes being able to fire people" (horrendously taken out of context by the way) and Ricky Gervais' comedy while hosting the Golden Globes are just a few notable examples.
Next time we hear something we don't like, before we start crying foul, I plead with you to remember:
"I disapprove of what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it." - Evelyn Beatrice Hall, writing as Stephen G. Tallentyre in Friends of Voltaire
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
What Did I Get Myself In To?
Six and a half weeks ago, I had my second abdominal surgery in six months. For the previous six months, I had days were I couldn't even get out of bed. Just thinking about exercise made me wince. After my second surgery, I was assured my problems were fixed. After a few days of lying around my house nursing a very sore tummy and incisions, my mom said it was time to get moving. At first I could only walk as far as the stop sign about a quarter mile down the street from my house, and that took me a good 40 minutes or so to complete. But every day, I started walking a little bit more and a little bit more, pushing myself to go a little bit faster every time.
Two weeks after the operation, my doctor gave me the all clear to do whatever exercise I wanted at the four week mark. So naturally, after being an involuntary couch potato for six months and being a few weeks out from surgery, I think, "I know what I'll do to get back into shape. I'll do a boot camp!!!" Because you know, it's just a hop, skip and a jump from doing nothing and having your tummy cut open to pushing 150 pound sleds up and down a soccer field.
I showed up to my first day of bootcamp and within, oh, five second, I thought, "Holy hell what did I get myself in to?!" The camp is run by an amazing instructor who has waaaaaay too much energy for 6am. She doesn't walk anywhere, she sprints. I had half a mind to tell her Lloyd Dobler Say Anything Style: "DUDE. YOU MUST CHILL." Now I just want whatever drug she's on.
Boot camp had us running laps around a soccer field, doing jumping jacks, push ups, jump rope, playing with kettle bells, Bosu balls, and all sorts of stuff I have not done since I was 8 years old in elementary school. We had to do a running challenge around the soccer field and I came in a good minute behind the rest of the group. I felt like the kid who would be picked last in dodgeball. The next day, I could barely move.
I honestly thought about dropping out. For better or worse though, I'm a very proud and stubborn person. After having boasted to about half the people I knew that I was starting a boot camp, I would have been embarrassed to quit. So I stuck with it. I started running on my own so that I wouldn't feel like this kid when the two lap challenge came around. I reminded myself that my brother was a professional athlete in the NFL and my twin sister runs half marathons. I could do this too! The next time the run challenge came around, I shaved over 45 seconds off my time. I took off even more the next time the run challenge came around.
This is the last week of this round of bootcamp and I managed to push this machine loaded with 70 extra pounds (so 145 pounds total) up and down a portion of the soccer field in 3:44--the second fastest time for the group. Then I rolled around on the field for a good three minutes groaning in pain. Whatever, I did it.
I'm officially addicted to bootcamp. Hoo Rah.
Two weeks after the operation, my doctor gave me the all clear to do whatever exercise I wanted at the four week mark. So naturally, after being an involuntary couch potato for six months and being a few weeks out from surgery, I think, "I know what I'll do to get back into shape. I'll do a boot camp!!!" Because you know, it's just a hop, skip and a jump from doing nothing and having your tummy cut open to pushing 150 pound sleds up and down a soccer field.
I showed up to my first day of bootcamp and within, oh, five second, I thought, "Holy hell what did I get myself in to?!" The camp is run by an amazing instructor who has waaaaaay too much energy for 6am. She doesn't walk anywhere, she sprints. I had half a mind to tell her Lloyd Dobler Say Anything Style: "DUDE. YOU MUST CHILL." Now I just want whatever drug she's on.
Boot camp had us running laps around a soccer field, doing jumping jacks, push ups, jump rope, playing with kettle bells, Bosu balls, and all sorts of stuff I have not done since I was 8 years old in elementary school. We had to do a running challenge around the soccer field and I came in a good minute behind the rest of the group. I felt like the kid who would be picked last in dodgeball. The next day, I could barely move.
I honestly thought about dropping out. For better or worse though, I'm a very proud and stubborn person. After having boasted to about half the people I knew that I was starting a boot camp, I would have been embarrassed to quit. So I stuck with it. I started running on my own so that I wouldn't feel like this kid when the two lap challenge came around. I reminded myself that my brother was a professional athlete in the NFL and my twin sister runs half marathons. I could do this too! The next time the run challenge came around, I shaved over 45 seconds off my time. I took off even more the next time the run challenge came around.
This is the last week of this round of bootcamp and I managed to push this machine loaded with 70 extra pounds (so 145 pounds total) up and down a portion of the soccer field in 3:44--the second fastest time for the group. Then I rolled around on the field for a good three minutes groaning in pain. Whatever, I did it.
I'm officially addicted to bootcamp. Hoo Rah.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Why I'm Breaking Up with Glee
Breaking up is hard to do. And for this die-hard Gleek, breaking up with Glee just might be the worst ever. But it has to be done. Glee has played me for a fool, time and again, with these ridiculous storylines. Glee's changed but my taste for at least marginally good trash television hasn't. So here it is Glee. It's you, not me, and this is why:
- The Sue Sylvester Having a Baby storyline: Maybe it's just me, but I happen to like mean, caustic Sue Sylvester who's only out for No.1. Really, she reminds me in many ways of myself (or at least, the alter ego that I'd like to come out the next time my boss assumes my two-week old marriage and exuberance means I must be pregnant). Honestly, this storyline is just weird. And did no one notice that she asked students for their DNA? I'm pretty sure a teacher in Montana or something got fired for that.
- The Rachel and Finn Engaged storyline: In one episode, Finn went from joining the Army to proposing to Rachel. I'm pretty sure that's not the appropriate state of mind to be in when making a decision about your life partner. Also, Finn's just supposed to follow Rachel to New York and do what? This was not a well thought out choice kids. Let's graduate high school first, how about.
- The Quinn in a Wheelchair storyline: Here, Glee decides to send a "strong" message to teens about the danger of texting and driving. I don't watch Glee to be preached to. I watch Glee for the over the top musical numbers. Mixing the two is weird. It reminds me of when my mom made me put a banana in my Lucky Charms so I'd get some nutrition.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Just Be Normal, Please!
So the other night on the way to class, I hopped on the metro at the Pentagon metro stop and was greeted by some dude’s bent over ass. I’m guessing he was coming back from a run since he was dressed in workout clothes including bright orange running shoes. He must have had a really intense workout because dude needed to stretch. He was doing legit full out runner’s stretches in the metro using the bars and poles for support. I wanted to approach him for a myriad of reasons to tell him: 1) stop stretching on the metro, it’s weird; 2) if you want to do a workout that involves poles and bars, try a power barre class; (I’m obsessed) 3) when you bend just so, I can see your wenus and I really don’t want to see that. Just be normal.
This encounter made me think of people who have absolutely no shame and do things in the wrong place at the wrong time (like changing a diaper at a table). I’m well aware that I’m super type-A and compartmentalize everything in my life, but I don’t think it’s asking too much to ask a dude to do his stretching in the gym or at home, but not on the metro. You look flipping ridiculous!
Another example of my rage at a person’s lack of self-awareness was a few weeks ago when I saw a girl doing her makeup on the metro (the metro is clearly a source of rage for me). Like, why couldn’t she take five minutes at home and do it? Instead I had to watch her over-apply mascara (I timed her, she spent three minutes gooping it on). I wanted to approach her to tell her: 1) stop putting makeup on on the metro; 2) you’re doing it wrong anyway; 3) wake-up earlier and be socially normal! No one else is putting on make-up right now! WTF?!
I used to work for a man who also had zero sense of self-awareness. He was this total new age guy, which is fine. Live and let live is what I say (the caveat to that is that I will be judging you behind your back). It always boggled my mind that he had no problem sitting in lotus position not only in his office chair, but at firm meetings, client meetings, depositions and even at trial. I had to resist the urge to scream at him, “LOOK HOW EVERYONE ELSE IS SITTING AROUND YOU!!!! SIT LIKE THEM!!!”
It’s not that hard to take a look around, see how everyone else is acting, and just pay attention to what they’re doing, or more importantly what they’re not doing (I’m looking at you girl who sits next to me in class eating microwaved fish). It makes my life more comfortable and really, making me comfortable should be everyone’s end goal.
This encounter made me think of people who have absolutely no shame and do things in the wrong place at the wrong time (like changing a diaper at a table). I’m well aware that I’m super type-A and compartmentalize everything in my life, but I don’t think it’s asking too much to ask a dude to do his stretching in the gym or at home, but not on the metro. You look flipping ridiculous!
Another example of my rage at a person’s lack of self-awareness was a few weeks ago when I saw a girl doing her makeup on the metro (the metro is clearly a source of rage for me). Like, why couldn’t she take five minutes at home and do it? Instead I had to watch her over-apply mascara (I timed her, she spent three minutes gooping it on). I wanted to approach her to tell her: 1) stop putting makeup on on the metro; 2) you’re doing it wrong anyway; 3) wake-up earlier and be socially normal! No one else is putting on make-up right now! WTF?!
I used to work for a man who also had zero sense of self-awareness. He was this total new age guy, which is fine. Live and let live is what I say (the caveat to that is that I will be judging you behind your back). It always boggled my mind that he had no problem sitting in lotus position not only in his office chair, but at firm meetings, client meetings, depositions and even at trial. I had to resist the urge to scream at him, “LOOK HOW EVERYONE ELSE IS SITTING AROUND YOU!!!! SIT LIKE THEM!!!”
It’s not that hard to take a look around, see how everyone else is acting, and just pay attention to what they’re doing, or more importantly what they’re not doing (I’m looking at you girl who sits next to me in class eating microwaved fish). It makes my life more comfortable and really, making me comfortable should be everyone’s end goal.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Beauty Product That Changed My Life. Forever.
Most young girls dream about their wedding day, planning out to the finest detail bit-by-bit. Not this girl. I chose to spend my lifetime planning something else. A foolproof anti-aging regimen. A wedding is one day (and this girl had a fabulous one), but youthful, wrinkle-free skin? That can be forever, with some careful planning and preparation. I once heard Beyonce say that if you're old enough to think about anti-aging products, you're old enough to use them. If Beyonce said it, you know it must be true. So I took her advice to heart.
One day, not too long ago, I was getting some full-throttle retail therapy on with my boo and fellow sugar at Tyson's Galleria. After attacking the Theory section and grabbing some vino (white, please - no teeth stains), we sauntered through the Neiman's makeup counter. Little did I know, that my life was about to change forever.
I was in the market for a new tinted moisturizer and asked the saleslady for her assistance. She quickly whisked me away from the Bobbi Brown products and over to the Sisley counter, where she sat me down and proceeded to remove all my makeup with an oh-so-heavenly rose scented toning lotion. Once my face was prepped, she applied THE PRODUCT. With just a few touches, ten years were erased from my face. My eyes were brighter, my skin more taut and dare I say... evenly toned. Clearly, the product's primary ingredient was angel tears, as no other substance could work such magic (note: my saleslady did confirm the presence of angel tears in the lotion).
It was then that I knew. I lifted my hand, turned to my friend, gently grazed my forehead with my fingertips and said, "I will never age."
One day, not too long ago, I was getting some full-throttle retail therapy on with my boo and fellow sugar at Tyson's Galleria. After attacking the Theory section and grabbing some vino (white, please - no teeth stains), we sauntered through the Neiman's makeup counter. Little did I know, that my life was about to change forever.
I was in the market for a new tinted moisturizer and asked the saleslady for her assistance. She quickly whisked me away from the Bobbi Brown products and over to the Sisley counter, where she sat me down and proceeded to remove all my makeup with an oh-so-heavenly rose scented toning lotion. Once my face was prepped, she applied THE PRODUCT. With just a few touches, ten years were erased from my face. My eyes were brighter, my skin more taut and dare I say... evenly toned. Clearly, the product's primary ingredient was angel tears, as no other substance could work such magic (note: my saleslady did confirm the presence of angel tears in the lotion).
It was then that I knew. I lifted my hand, turned to my friend, gently grazed my forehead with my fingertips and said, "I will never age."
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
What We're Reading: 50 Shades of Grey, E.L. James
I'm the kind of girl who downloads the Amazon Kindle app (note: doesn't actually buy a Kindle) and only reads the free "classics" in a vain attempt to seem edified. Really, I just really like free stuff and I'll snap if up wherever I can get. So when my friend, knowing my affinity for the Twilight books (Team Edward all the way) suggested that I read 50 Shades of Grey, I was skeptical. $9.99? For an e-book? Highway robbery!! I could read the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes for FREE.
Yet one night, after a few glasses of wine, I found myself hitting that download button. In just 20 minutes, I was hooked. If you're unfamiliar with 50 Shades, a word of background: young, new college grad Anastastia Steele meets the incredibly successful and incredibly wealthy 27-year-old Christian Grey, falls under his spell and finds out that he has interesting...um... preferences. Three books worth of "preferences."
This book made me uncomfortable. My cheeks actually blushed while I was reading it. Whenever I was reading it on the Metro, I actually shielded my iPhone from everyone around me in case they could see what I was reading. I was fairly certain that every nun who ever taught me in Catholic school somehow KNEW I was reading it and that they were all making mental notes to pray to Jesus for the salvation of my soul. Yet, I could not put this (e)book down!
Maybe its because it was near the end of Lent, and having gone 35 days without chips and salsa was slowly killing me, or maybe it really was that 50 Shades of Grey is a really good junk read. Either way, it's definitely worth the $9.99.
Not To Be A Traitor to my Generation but Grow Up!
Hey all! So sorry for the long pause, it's been an eventful past several months to say the least with job changes, law school, marriage, heartbreak and other life crises. All that means more fodder for the blog!
OK, so, a friend of a friend's friend posted this open letter from McSweeny's. Basically it's a 27 year old who is keeping it classy by boozing it up, puking, falling down stairs drunk and kissing inappropriate partners at inappropriate events and wants you to be OK with it, OK?! As she argues, at least she's not in some lame relationship that requires her to be at Bed Bath and Beyond in the suburbs on the regular. She's perfectly content with acting like a 22 year old at age 27 and you should be ok with it too.
Sorry but this single 27 year old thinks this is horseshit. Sugar, grow the fuck up please. Being a drunk, one-night-stand a week girl apparently standing around naked in the kitchen dipping french bread into olive oil may not make you irresponsible, but it does make you a joke. You're that girl at the bar--old enough to know better but in too much denial to act your age. It's a hop, skip and a jump from being unapologetically immature at 27 to being a 45 year old cougar in a too-small skirt trying to get 21 year old guys to take you home because that's infinitely cooler than raising a child.
This girl laments the fact that her friends in relationships don't party like they're 22, asking, "Do couples suddenly forget?" No, sugar, they grew up. Once upon a time, I used to have sleepovers with my friends while listening to *NSYNC, reading TigerBeat and playing Mall Madness. I'm not shocked that my friends don't want to do this anymore nor do I question whether they forgot how awesome this was. This is because I grew up and learned to appreciate other things.
Life doesn't go from blackout drunk straight to suburban Red Lobster dining. You can still manage to have a lot of fun, go out, dance, drink, flirt, without acting a fool. Life is about maturing, learning lessons and earning respect. Drunkenly falling down all over the place, consistently choosing inappropriate sexual partners, blowing rent money at the bar--all these choices make people lose respect for you. It also demonstrates that you have no respect for yourself at all. So seriously, stop trying to justify your sad self and learn to have some adult fun.
OK, so, a friend of a friend's friend posted this open letter from McSweeny's. Basically it's a 27 year old who is keeping it classy by boozing it up, puking, falling down stairs drunk and kissing inappropriate partners at inappropriate events and wants you to be OK with it, OK?! As she argues, at least she's not in some lame relationship that requires her to be at Bed Bath and Beyond in the suburbs on the regular. She's perfectly content with acting like a 22 year old at age 27 and you should be ok with it too.
Sorry but this single 27 year old thinks this is horseshit. Sugar, grow the fuck up please. Being a drunk, one-night-stand a week girl apparently standing around naked in the kitchen dipping french bread into olive oil may not make you irresponsible, but it does make you a joke. You're that girl at the bar--old enough to know better but in too much denial to act your age. It's a hop, skip and a jump from being unapologetically immature at 27 to being a 45 year old cougar in a too-small skirt trying to get 21 year old guys to take you home because that's infinitely cooler than raising a child.
This girl laments the fact that her friends in relationships don't party like they're 22, asking, "Do couples suddenly forget?" No, sugar, they grew up. Once upon a time, I used to have sleepovers with my friends while listening to *NSYNC, reading TigerBeat and playing Mall Madness. I'm not shocked that my friends don't want to do this anymore nor do I question whether they forgot how awesome this was. This is because I grew up and learned to appreciate other things.
Life doesn't go from blackout drunk straight to suburban Red Lobster dining. You can still manage to have a lot of fun, go out, dance, drink, flirt, without acting a fool. Life is about maturing, learning lessons and earning respect. Drunkenly falling down all over the place, consistently choosing inappropriate sexual partners, blowing rent money at the bar--all these choices make people lose respect for you. It also demonstrates that you have no respect for yourself at all. So seriously, stop trying to justify your sad self and learn to have some adult fun.
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