A Girl, the Internet and a Tape Measure, Or, My Own Personal Model

A rainy weekend in Boston provided the perfect opportunity to clean and catch up on chores neglected during the recent rash of good weather, which sent us all to outdoor locales. Unfortunately cleaning and chores also mean, "find a further way to procrasinate." Which is what I was doing when G asked me (computer and internet open, tape measure around the widest part of my abdomen), "What are you doing?!" Me (rolling eyes): "Taking my most accurate measurements."
Earlier in the week, I had been planning to svelte at the gym, but Rashmi called with an urgent request for help. Her reunion was Saturday and she needed an outfit. Fortunately shopping DOES count as cardio. We trekked to the Basement since I pooh-poohed the paltry recent offerings at H&M. But at the Basement Rashmi enlightened me to a feature on the H&M website-- a virtual dressing room! My "ohs" and "ahs" piqued the interest of a fellow shopper who timidly turned around and inquired what we were talking about. It sounded that fabulous. (I should note here that of all places in Boston, the Basement is the one where you can be most friendly and candid with your fellow shopper. The intimacy in the no privacy and poorly lit dressing room is testament to that. If you haven't brought along a friend or a sister, you are completely within your rights to obtain the opinion of woman next to you. You're both in your skivvies-- who's going to lie?).
Fast forward to balmy Saturday. I decided to try the virtual dressing room out. I chose my body type, hair color and length (even nose shape!) and then entered the specific measurements of my personal self. As Rashmi promised, a decent likeness was turned out!
I then proceeded to try on jeans (including skinny jeans, which I would never ever try on in real life), swimsuits, blouses and dresses. The program then told me the actual size I would want from the store. The upside to this? No eye-averting cellulite and perpetually flattering "virtual" lighting. The downside? No sister with whom to commisserate on mis-sized dresses nor fellow shopper to rally around a $50 jacket purchase. Until the virtual dressing room can recreate this sisterhood, the actual Basement will continue to be a very real destination...at least after the kitchen gets cleaned.

First Job

My previous post hinted at some "firsts". One first I left out is one's first job. People rarely forget their first job, although it might be a more onerous, later job that better sticks in their minds. Technically my first job was in a school supply stockroom, with a friend of the family, for a couple weeks the summer before my freshman year of high school. We collated papers, used a shrink wrap machine to bundle colorful construction paper, ate at Johnnie's, and returned to my friend's house every day to go swimming in the pool. And I got a paycheck!

The next summer I was to obtain a not-so-cushy job, yet one that would serve me until I went away to college. Friends of the family (it's always about connections!) owned a Baskin Robbins franchise and my mom helped me draw up a resume and references. One afternoon in June I showed up, met Betsy, the manager and the rest was history. I learned to count change (it's unlikely any Zandrea! reader can recall the last time a clerk counted change back to you, but this is a skill I learned and still have), watched videos on the different types of ice cream desserts which could be prepared, learned not to let "unappetizing ice crystals" form on the top to the buckets of ice cream, and learned the proper way to scoop and weigh (for each scoop must not be over a certain weight-- money doesn't grow on trees, you know!). I was given a pink polyester polo shirt, was shown how to prepare and make waffle cones, clown cones and, eventually, make and decorate ice cream cakes.
An article in this weekend's New York Times reminded me of all this. While we weren't allowed all the ice cream we could eat, boxes of taster spoons lent themselves to near constant "quality control". If someone asked how was the chocolate mousse royale, it was my professional responsibility to give an honest answer, correct? My co-workers and I suffered burned fingers from the waffle cones, and the lingering smell of ice-cream, waffle cones and disinfectant (the store was mopped top to bottom each evening). We learned to read customers and could predict within three ice cream flavors what anyone would order. We raced to prepare treats for the regulars; a junior scoop of jamoca in a regular sized cup for elderly Bea, a jamoca shake for Jamoca Jim. When the phone rings, I still want to answer, "Baskin Robbins Normandy" and for years after I left, I hated to wear anything pink.
I don't eat a lot of ice cream now. But the refreshing taste of daquiri ice still sends me immediately back to high school.

Library

There are many firsts you are supposed to remember: your first kiss, your first day of college, your first apartment, your first D (erm...) and a recent article even said most women remember their first purse (not me, but I do remember my first makeup-- a gift for 8th grade graduation). What I do remember is my first library card. I lived in Oklahoma City, and as soon as I was able to sign my name, I was able to have a library card. I remember frequent trips to the library with a "limit" on books imposed by my mom. Summer was the most fun-- tons of free time to read all the young adult fiction and then move on to the adult fiction. I remember some traumatic evenings at the library during elementary school "researching" countries like India (average temperature, major exports, type of government, etc.) from the encyclopedias and world books.

I prefered the library for pleasure, not for deadline.

The deadline fear and procrastination persisted through high school, then college. I always got my work in on time, but alas, the books did not always befall the same fortune, languishing on my desk, or perhaps in my bag. Once a fee was assessed, I quickly retreated from the library and to the comfort of bookstores-- the price was more than the fee, but at least I could keep the books.
In an effort to exercise restraint on my budget and also because I pass the Boston Public Library at Copley several times a week, and finally because summer makes me think of the carefree days of checking out and reading fifteen books a week, I decided to reactivate my long lost library card, pay whatever fees there may be, and take advantage of this great public good. I showed up with my drivers license and a current piece of mail a few weeks back. The gentleman immediately pulled up my name, quoted my address from college and informed me that I had a fine of $5. Plus I'd need to pay $1 to replace the missing card. I sighed and thought if the library can keep such detailed records over time, why is there such a problem catching terrorists?
The receipt printout of the overdue, but ultimately returned, books, showed about six books checked out in May of 1999-- books on global warming, national parks, ecotourism. I recalled the classes I was taking then, my junior year, and remembered the A's and B's I received. Good old library card.

Svelte Challenge

A dinner with Zara last night had her asking, "what is a Summer of Svelte"? Well, Zara, here's your answer. About a month ago, I received this email from Liz:
In two to three business days your cushy lifestyle of eating apple pie in bed and watching the cats play tennis will end. You will be faced with the ultimate work out challenge: The Summer of Svelte -- a 15 week cardio, fat burning, muscle building contest.
Because the stakes are high (as many as 15 free drinks and possible bonus svelte challenge prizes), start stretching now, drinking lots of water and recruiting challengers who you can take down one-by-one with your stunning athletic abilities.
To help you win and ensure you are on your A-game, you will receive an official svelte package in the mail any day. This kit -- a fashionable, fun and inspirational bag of goodies -- is yours for free and includes everything you need to get started.
Are you ready?
Remember: You can do this. You are a star of track and field.
My Summer of Svelte package? A mix cd, Shape magazine, jumprope and a progress chart with foil stars...all in a brand new gym bag. I recruited Nora to be my local competitor and we've had 3 "challenges" so far. Week 1 was to do 10 pushups per day. I failed because I got a terrible cold that made it so I could only watch movies listlessly in front of the fan. Week 2 was to take the stairs whenever possible. This was good in theory, but the door to the stairs on the first floor of my office is locked, so that didn't really work. Week 3 was last week-- the 4th of July week. The goal that week was to just somehow counterbalance a week's worth of beer and hotdogs and break even at the end. This week's Challenge is to eat the FDA's suggested 5-7 servings of fruits and veggies per day. A food challenge, that's practically fun! Nora's response?
I feel sorry for anyone who goes against me in this challenge. Know why?! Because I'm a vegetarian and obsessed with fruits/veggies :)
In fact, I almost fell off of my chair when I found out how much Liz hates salads because I love them so much.
So far, so good. I've definitely had to up my intake. At 11 pm the other night I prepared strawberries and whipped cream.

Beach Vs. Pond

When I met G several years ago, I was introduced to Walden Pond. Walden entrances G about as much as it did Thoreau, although Thoreau's retreat and sactuary has been developed enough to now include a man-helped beach and a boat launch. G loves that the lake water is clean and warm enough to swim (unlike the chilly Atlantic, even in summer) and likes the trees, nature and peace that can be found at far ends of the pond.
Having grown up in the middle of the country where a vacation to the beach (either a loooong drive to the Gulf or a flight out to Massachusetts) was a luxury, I never take the close beaches nearby for granted and try to go every weekend in the summer, weather permitting. Two summers ago I assumed G would feel the same way. But the beach for him is a tempting, yet prohibitively cold body of water...and roasting in the sand amidst crying children and my own personal favorite, leathery Boston natives oiling their wrinkly dark skin, all while smoking cigarettes, causes him to be grumpy.
An article in last week's New York Times almost perfectly captured the eternal dilemma-- go to Walden or the beach? While To Beach or Not to Beach argues the merits of purchasing a second home either on the beach or in the mountains, on a lake, the sentiments behind each choice resonate clearly, 'Both money and memories have played starring roles in the vacation-home debate that has long occupied Tom and Kathy Kingston. "We've been happily married for 37 years," Mr. Kingston said. "But 30 of them have been spent debating the merits of beach versus mountains."' I identified with Ms. Fox: "Being the ultimate New Yorker, I don't have a driver's license, and my husband didn't want to be involved in my getting there," she said. "Even when we go to the beach as a family, it's always on a timer, and after a few minutes he starts to complain about being sunburned." G is well known for his propensity to get "cooked" and guards our water supply closely. But in the article, "Mr. Kingston will counter that there is more to do in the mountains — there's biking, there's hiking. If it rains at the beach, what can you do besides head for the movies?"
Since G and I don't even own our first home, so are clearly not in the leagues of those vying for a second, vacation, home, our main arguments can be reduced to scouring the weather-- if both weekend days are sunny, like this last one, we can go to the beach one day and Walden the other. That works much better than resorting to civil disobedience recommended by Thoreau.

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