My husband and I are starting to diet. We’re out of shape and overweight. We live a relatively sedentary lifestyle, despite two young kiddos, and we want to change it. He’s working out every day and dieting, and I am dieting, and trying to figure out where the nearest Zumba class is. 

Here’s the thing though: the biggest impact on our dieting is the quantity of food and exercise. We eat too much food. We sit on our butts too much. We have basically been fat and lazy and content. We’re going to lose weight because we aren’t over eating anymore – in a world where there are so many who don’t get to eat every day, who die from starvation. 

Honestly the whole thing makes me sick. I feel horrible. It’s sort of like survivors guilt – I wonder why or how I got so lucky. What did I do to deserve a life where my biggest problem right now is over eating?!

There are so many who have nothing – even in America, I know it. I see it. I read about it. In small ways, such small ways, I try to combat it. America has poverty. But America also has a lot of excess. 

I engage in social media. I blog. I spend a lot of time online or watching TV or watching TV and talking about it online, or playing with my kids and blogging about it or on the phone with my mom chatting and sometimes I am just overwhelmed with the feeling of oh my god what am I doing with my life?!

I went to see Avatar last night, and preceding the movie was a commercial for Jeep Cherokee – the newest, latest and greatest version. The commercial was focused – incredibly effectively, actually – on how America has always been a country of folks who take pride in creating - a country that takes pride in work, and a job well done. I’m not in the market for a new car, but it made me stop and think. I can’t say that I necessarily believe that’s what America stands for these days. It’s how we were founded, and I think even 40-50 years ago this was the case. But it’s deteriorating. We’re focused on doing more with less and with less effort. No one seems to care about quality anymore. We’re all just getting by. What happened? I don’t understand. I’m not sure if I’m proud to be part of this generation when I think of it that way. 

Excessive waste, money, pride, food, boredom, demands, gimmicks, weight, impatience, anger. We could do without an excess of these things. We could do well with less of these things and more love, compassion, generosity, patience, fraternity, motivation, understanding, honesty. Hard work. Diligence. Strength. 

Maybe this is the point where some people turn to God. He and I don’t have a great relationship yet, but I’m slowly – very slowly – working on it. Working on faith, and trust. Working on being a better person. Working on charity. Holding my temper even when it means holding my tongue. 

Maybe I start small. Maybe I try to do one nice thing every day. I think I could do that. 

Can you?

For the last 10 years, I could always count on Mike to be my friend. And I think that I will for the next ten, too.

I met Mike when I started dating his best friend. Then we broke up. Mike remained my friend, which is impressive considering we were in high school (oh! the drama!). It didn’t matter. In the face of high school drama, boyfriends and girlfriends, different colleges and different interests, marriage, kids … we remain friends. Considering how many friends I’ve lost over the years due to those circumstances, it’s remarkable to me.

Other than my husband, he’s the only person whose phone number I have memorized.

We have one of those comfortable friendships; we’ve known each other so long, and through all the awkward periods, the rebellious periods, and now, this, the finally starting the rest of our lives period (at least, that’s sort of how it feels to me).

We had dinner the other night. I asked him what sex toys he uses with his GF and he told me. I let him read this blog AND I don’t feel censored for it. We are comfortable in silence and we are comfortable drunk. I trust him to drive and I tell him my secrets.

There are few things better in the world than a good friend.

Mike, thanks for being my friend. Thanks for teaching me the word “gaggle” and inspiring me to write a song. Thanks for good hugs and Jimmy Eat World. Thanks for punk covers and someone to reminisce about high school with. Thanks for a connection to the past and something to look forward to, in the future.

You rock, dude.

This is choppy. It’s apt; my memories seem choppy.  Certain things stand out – feelings, smells, sights, sounds – not always a whole memory, just a flash, just a part of the big picture. I have to think hard about the date, the year, the season.

My memories are like wisps of mist trailing away as a fog clears. They’re what gets left behind when the sun is shining brightly and it’s hard to imagine anything other than this moment, right now.

I am proud of myself.  I am proud of her.  I am proud of our family.  I think we’re doing OK.

But today I am feeling glum and dejected for no reason.  I am getting my period.  So I am reminding myself.  We are a pretty happy family.  We are a lucky family.  We love each other.  We are trying.

We are not perfect.

We don’t need to be.

We’re OK just as we are, and it doesn’t matter if others do not agree.  I am happy to listen to anyone’s criticism to see if there is a way that I may improve.  But that doesn’t mean I will change anything.

And that’s OK too.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember.

Just a few weeks ago, I was in the bathroom in the morning, getting ready for work. I was using a round brush to pull my hair back into a ponytail, my typical hairstyle of choice (though with a new haircut, we hope that will change).  The bottom layer of my hair is shorter than the rest, from a previous haircut, and it’s hard to get into the ponytail. That day I brushed it down and let it be a little messy. I thought about my friend Sarah K.

Sarah wore ponytails a lot. Except her hair was so short that half of it would fall out the bottom, like mine. I’ve always called her my best friend. Looking back I don’t know why. She wasn’t my best friend. She wasn’t even a good friend. I just wanted her to be my best friend. We’d been best friends a long time ago. Grammar school. Middle school. We were inseparable. We had so much fun … they called us Gasoline & Matches, we were always getting into trouble. We loved every minute of it.

We once stopped riding our bikes near the front of my house and started a fist fight with each other to see who would win.

She once ate so many brownies and popcorn that she couldn’t even remember how much she’d eaten. Then she puked it up everywhere.

We used to sit on the sloping roof overhang outside her bedroom window and wait for the cops to see us and call her parents.

Her room was painted blue. Her middle name is Elaine. I always thought she was so cool. She’s great with children. I always thought she’d be great with my children. And the two times she saw them? She was. She was great with them. {oh god I’m going to cry. This is ridiculous}

I loved her very much, but she spent her entire life forgetting about me.

As I stood there in front of the mirror, tears springing suddenly to my eyes, I felt angry. I felt so angry that I had tried for years, reaching out to her, emailing her, calling her, finding her, reminding her that I was here, I wanted to be her friend. Catching one lunch, one dinner, one coffee every 10-12mos. I believed her when she said she wanted to hang out more. She wanted to see me more. She wanted to talk more. Email more. Share more. Be there for me more.I fell for it last year again, after she came home from a trip to Israel. She blogged about it, and I read every entry. {I am so pathetic}

She started blowing me off between Middle School and High School. She stopped being a tomboy and figured out how to be a girl. She hung out with a faster crowd and she did things I wouldn’t do. She would come back to me every so often and ask for my help. Boyfriend trouble, family trouble, job trouble, house trouble. She wanted my help fixing it. I fixed it and she went off, waving goodbye gaily, already forgetting what I’d done for her. Every time.

Senior year, at prom, she was drunk. She found me in the bathroom. She told me I was the best friend she’d ever had. She told me that she never appreciated how I always put her back together. She told me she wished she had spent more time with me, and listened to me when I told her that doing E at 14 was a bad idea. That dating drug dealers was a bad idea. That smoking pot was a bad idea. That coming to the senior prom drunk was a Bad Idea.

I knew she was drunk but I felt vilified. I felt recognized. I felt important.

We graduated and I saw her about once a year. Once each time I was pregnant. Once after Cupcake was born. Once after Geeklet was born, which was the last time I saw her.  I called her and left her a voicemail a few months later. Nothing. A few weeks after that I called and caught her – but she was busy. She said she’d call me in a few days. Nothing. I sent her an email. Nothing.

I sent another email and told her I wouldn’t be calling anymore. That I hoped she was having a good time, but that I couldn’t put any more energy into a relationship she wasn’t willing to put effort into as well. I needed some closure.

She responded and said she couldn’t deal with a “friend break up” right now because her boyfriend had dumped her. She’d call me in a few days.

Say it with me, people! Nothing.

I emailed her again, against the wisdom that is Twitter. I had too much history with her. I needed to get some closure. I told her I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t called – that was exactly why I couldn’t play this pretend friendship game anymore. I wished her happy holidays, a good new year, and signed off. She responded and said she was sorry that I didn’t think she was a good friend, then made a bunch of excuses.

I told her I was sorry too. That was the end. I cried for a long time. I mourned the death of a friendship that wasn’t even a good friendship. I was bitter about how long I’d pursued this friendship to end it like this. I’ve felt angry and bitter many times since then. The moment in the mirror, hair halfway to a ponytail, was just one. It hits me randomly in the car, or at work, and I wonder why she was so dismissive of me. Why I wasn’t important to her when she was so important to me. She was right, it was a friend-break-up.

I’m still sad and angry and bitter about it, but I don’t want to be this way. It’s a waste of energy.  A waste of tears, which are rolling down my face right now to beat the band and I can’t stop them. It’s a waste, such a waste.

Here comes my 2010 resolution: I don’t want to waste time on this, or any other useless, bitter, ridiculous situation this year. I want to try and accept things for what they are and if I don’t like it, I don’t like it. Bitterness won’t help me. I need to pick up and move on and stop being so angry, so bitter, particularly about lost friendships. I’ve gained so many new friends in 2009. Sure, only one lives within driving distance. Most I’ll probably never meet face to face. I’m of the iGeneration, I should thrive on this, these computer-screen/social-media/internet community friendships and I DO. Sometimes it’s not enough for me, but I can’t be angry about it. I can’t be bitter. If I want more friends I need to find a way to go out and get them.

So. 2010. Less bitterness. More friends.

Let’s go.

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* Title inspired by the book I just finished reading, Bitter is the New Black, by Jen Lancaster. It’s a light, funny read that is autobiographical, which makes it even funnier, and I really enjoyed it. Laughed out loud quite a bit, which is relatively unusual for me (I read books and watch movies with hardly any emotion on my face, causing people to think I am a) bored b)angry or c)asleep with my eyes open).  If it were summer I’d say it’s a good beach read, but since it’s winter I’ll say it’s a good read for when you need something relatively mindless and uncomplicated after a very long and complicated day. I have a lot of those, which is why I love Sophie Kinsella so much.

Vices.

I like to think that we all have them. Even those among us who seem infallible, important, or otherwise set “above the crowd.” Hell, even the man that the majority of America deemed worthy to act as our President (that’s Obama, for those of you who were living under a rock) has a vice – his BlackBerry. First President ever to have a personal smart phone.

I took a cue from Colleen today and asked my husband what my vices were. Either he doesn’t know me very well or doesn’t understand what a vice is, because first he said “your mother” (ok, he totally presented an argument in which that made sense, but that’s a whole ‘nother post that you don’t want to read I’m sure) and eating at 2am.

So,  yeah. Food. If you want to know where I am around 1-3am every single morning, it’s either a) my kitchen, standing by the counter eating whatever I could get my grubby paws on and checking my tweets and email on my phone as it charges or b) sitting on the couch in the dark, eating ice cream out of the carton while checking email and tweets on my phone.

Do you see a pattern? Food and technology. Color me surprised. </ sarcasm>

I’ve stopped buying things like Oreo cookies and chocolate bars and *real* ice cream, not in an effort to be healthier but because I know that I have absolutely no self control and I’ll probably eat myself into my grave if I leave these things in the house. It’s expensive, and yes it’s not good for me but mostly? It’s damn expensive! The food, the new clothes I have to buy and eventually the expensive liposuction and gastro-intestinal surgery I’ll need to keep up my habit.

Let’s not even talk about technology. I’ll admit, we do spend more than the average American family on what my mother calls the newest gadgets or, if she’s in a pissy mood, a total waste of money that you could be saving for a mortgage downpayment.  Chalk it up to our age, our generation, and our proclivity for all things technological – that’s how we choose to spend whatever we deem as “extra” money.

Honestly most of what we receive are gifts – at a gift-giving occasion we tell our families exactly what we want and they can coordinate the cash. One big gift. I’d rather that than a bunch of things I might not use So I got a shiny new phone for my last birthday, hubby got a Kindle for his last birthday, he’ll probably get a shiny new phone for Christmas, and maybe me too. Because yes, I got a new phone last year but it’s not the latest greatest as of Christmas and I’d rather have that than shoes, accessories, clothes, money, jewelery or anything else you can think up.

So.

Vices.

You can pencil me down for technology (which is probably somewhere under Greed) and food (hi, Gluttony!) and we’ll call it a day.

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Don’t forget to join in the fun! I know you’ve got a vice. Right? So either post about it and link it up, or go discuss in the comments at the Girl Talk Thursday blog!

As another note, if you are still subscribed to this blog via the old link (I KNOW that some of you are, I see it on your sidebars!) I urge you, PLEASE, delete that subscription and add this. It will update the blog title (important for the non-googleability of the old identity with the new!) and will ensure that when I take down the other blog, I don’t accidentally lose you. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 or email!

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As the name of this blog may imply, I enjoy technology. In fact, I adore technology. I lust after technology. Technology and I have a tumultuous, relationship – the kind of relationship that Sheryl Crow was singing about when she recorded “My Favorite Mistake.” That’s right. Technology and I are lovers.

I’m a relatively young person (and I believe that all things are relative); I’ll be 24 years old this year, just days after my second child is due to arrive, and I grew up with the internet. These facts are important simply because they define who / what I am — an iGeneration mother, daughter, friend, sister, blogger, wife.

Many of you may have heard of the iGeneration. Signaling the largest generation gap since Rock & Roll burst onto the scene, the iGeneration, or Generation Now, is comprised of those of us who do not remember life without computers, the internet and the associated technology. Growing up, my mother taught me not to talk to strangers. One of the first lessons that my daughter will learn will be “Don’t provide personal information unless it’s a secure internet connection. Don’t participate in chat rooms, forums are better. If you do participate in chat rooms, don’t provide any personal identifiers, such as time zone, town, pictures, descriptions, jobs, anything. Remember to clear your personal information from Firefox at the end of your browser session. Don’t ever date a guy you met on Facebook or (God Forbid!) MySpace.” If you’re raising children now, then I imagine you’re composing a similar admonition yourself.

The New York Times published a great article about the iGeneration and what it means to be part of it. If you’re part of the iGeneration, read it. It’s interesting and insightful, in my opinion. If you aren’t part of the iGeneration, then read it because your children are.

Parenting in the age of technology is different, scary and vast. No longer is the village that raises your child found right outside your back door – the village is online at Parent Hacks, Babble, and in the comments of thousands of Mommy & Daddy blogs.

Well, I’m joining the ranks. As a young mother, a bonified iGeneration member, and a techno-geek, I’d be lax if I didn’t start a Mommy Blog! Not to mention that I hope you’ll find what I have to say here interesting, poignant, valuable, witty and entertaining. I hope that my blog provides you an opportunity to hit that “I’m not alone” epiphany that I feel every time I point my mouse to Cynical Dad, MotherBumper, Bad Parent (via Babble) and countless others (see sidebar) who have inspired me to get up, try again, and (most importantly) develop and stand by my parenting philosophies.

Editor’s note: While these were the blogs that inspired my jump into the blogger pool, I’ve found that a new identity — simply, blogger, rather than Mommy Blogger, has emerged here, I believe. Further, I read over 100 personal blogs at this point, ALL which have heavily influenced my life and my sense of self-esteem both as an individual and a mother.  So thank you.