Dueling praise songs

Chorus I haven't been able to get out of my head for two weeks:

Savior, he can move the mountains.
My God is mighty to save, he is mighty to save.
Forever, author of salvation.
He rose and conquered the grave.
Jesus conquered the grave.

New chorus that I can't get out of my head that's colliding in my brain with the old chorus:

I wanna sit at your feet
Drink from the cup in your hand
Lay back against you and breathe,
Feel your heartbeat.

It's a fight for territory! Which song will win? Check back in a week!

Dear Man At Church Who Always Gives Me Hugs

Thanks for always telling me I'm a sweet girl, even though I don't believe it because I know myself better than anyone.

Love,

An Often Unlovely (But Still Sweet) Girl

Overheard in my kitchen

Random thought: You know your diet needs a change when you hear yourself saying at 11 p.m., "Oh, I should have brought that candy bar home from work. It would have made a nice dinner."

For the record, the candy bar in question was a Snickers. Also, I decided to have two packets of Pizza-flavored Pringles Stix (90 calories per pack) for dinner.

In fact, I'm going to go over the shame that was Wednesday's meals. Maybe I'll shock myself straight.

Breakfast: Sips of water, a third of a glass of Coca-cola.
Lunch: Some Goldfish crackers (I don't know how many--I'm guessing a serving's worth), some mints, about eight ounces of melon-flavored Gatorade.
mid-afternoon: Drank some icy water, chewed some gum.
later afternoon: Thought about buying a pizza and eating it over the next two days. Ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with potato chips instead. Drank about six ounces of root beer.
late evening: Ate the Stix described above with a few sips of purple G2 (that yummy low-cal Gatorade).

OK, this is somewhat atypical for me, but note the complete lack of vegetables, fruit and quality protein in that day. I'm all about snack-y carb things.

I need to get back on the quasi-diet I was following that at least included salads, frozen veggies, canned fruit and chicken cooked in various bland ways.

For the record, I didn't intend for lunch to be Goldfish crackers. It *was* going to be a Lean Cuisine french bread pizza, but the pizza was so freezer burned that it came out horrible, and I didn't even want to eat it. And if I eat a lunch like a pizza with no veggies, I try to make up for it later at dinner. But, I'll be honest, I rarely eat breakfast.

Dear Old Person at the Grocery Store on a Monday

Dear Old Person at the Grocery Store on a Monday:

You are the third old person this year who has seen me, asked me what happened to my face, and then responded with something like, "Well, I ain't never seen anything like that in my whole entire life!"

I am not the world's largest ball of string. I am not the lovechild of a giraffe and a zebra. I am not an outer space alien speaking in a foreign language of computer beeps. I'm just a human. I promise.

Most people have enough sense to be embarrassed after I answer their question. A few ask follow-up questions. None of them go in for a closer look like you did.

I realize you--with your red suspenders, pants pulled up to your man boobs and untied white keds--are the kind of hip, metropolitan guy who has seen everything there is to see in the whole world, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't study me with suspicion as you would a strange new bug in your bathroom.

Thank you,

Your Fellow Shopper on the Bread Aisle

Mister Rogers

I'm watching "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood." It's an episode reminding us that no one person can do everything. Some of us can whistle, and some of us can't, he told the audience today. (I can't whistle.)

I cried after Mister Rogers died. Actually, let's be honest: I still cry when I catch him on TV.

I'm usually very open to poking fun at cultural icons and have a pretty irreverent sense of humor, but I won't let anyone make fun of Mister Rogers without launching into a sermon about how he cared so much about children in a world that has let its children down, and how he was such a rebel in the television industry for sticking to his format, when almost everything else on television targeting that age group was so hyperactive and harsh and loud and too fast for young minds to really grasp.

He talked at length about topics that other shows just glossed over or completely ignored: Anger, embarrassment, fear, death, love. Oh, and I totally remember seeing a re-airing of the very special "conflict" series, with Fred singing the "Peace and Quiet" song at the end.

He was dependable. He knew I was ugly and angry and so nervous that I couldn't give up my pacifier until I was 6 and always bit my nails to the quick, but he still wanted to play with me. Always. He wanted me to love myself as much as he loved me.

He was the only person I remember who made me feel unconditionally loved and secure. He always told me he was proud of me.

Thanks, Mister Rogers.

Exercise is tricky

I went jogging near the beach today and saw two people I know along my 3-mile route. (I like jogging near the beach because I can get a snowball from the guy parked near the beach when I'm done, and I can look at pretty beach scenes and run by the kinds of adorable, well-kept houses I will never live in.)

But, the point is, I obviously know too many people that can afford to live near the beach, because that always happens to me. Maybe I should start running elsewhere.

Or maybe I should just start doing Tae-Bo tapes inside my lonely apartment and stop eating pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. And stop meeting people.

P.S. Yes, I'm pretty sure that eating a snowball after a run negates the calorie-burning aspect of the run. I don't do this every time I run.