I always do this. I always swear I won’t. Not this time. I’m always wrong.

The end of the semester comes, I get stressed out, and I let myself eat whatever I want. I crave sweets and carbs and fatty foods for comfort. The thought of a salad makes me cringe.  Normally I love vegetables. Fresh, crunchy, raw veggies are usually a staple – but these last few weeks they’ve gone to waste in my refrigerator while the soda bottles and candy bar wrappers pile up.

I know I do it to myself. I create this situation. Then I feel bad about my choices and the way I look and the way I feel, and to comfort myself… yep… I eat more crap.

I do find that when I write down what I eat or use a site like  fitday.com, I eat better. When I can see exactly how very bad that milkshake is, it is far less appealing. Of course, I’ve fallen out of the habit of recording my food as well.

So the question is, if tracking my food makes forces me to comply with a healthy eating regimine, what will make me comply with tracking what I eat?

I’ve recently started using the new organic cosmetics from Physician’s Formula.  The combination of all organic ingredients, environmentally sensitive packaging, and a decent price point appealed to me, and I liked that I didn’t have to go very far to get the stuff; most drug stores carry the line.  I really applaud the effort to make a quality product that is eco-sensitive and easily available. That’s why it pains me to have to do this, but I must give their new mascara the worst-package-design-ever award*.  Here it is, in all it’s 9-year-old girl glory:

I mean really. I’m an environmentalist and an adult, not a style-challenged kid. Just because I want to be eco-friendly does not mean everything must look like a tree, a plant, or be the color green.  I get that I can recyle the brush. That’s cool.  But honestly? No way in hell would I bust this out infront of my girlfriends. I know that “it’s what’s inside that counts” and all that… but for heaven’s sake. What on earth were you thinking, Physician’s Formula Design Team? And if I won’t buy it, do you really think that someone on the edge of going green would? Someone who cares even more than I do about how their mascara or lipstick looks when they’re applying it in the ladie’s rest room at the bar or in the locker room at the gym?  MMM no.

design FAIL.

*At least they’ve got company. Urban Decay’s pocket rocket is equally deserving.

I think perhaps statistics has taken over my brain.  While reading this fabulous post over at Annie’s place,  I noticed an automatically generated link at the bottom for a blog story entitled “Is divorce in my future?**” and I immediately thought the author was trying to tell me that indeed, divorce was probable and significant at the p<.01 level.

It’s nearly 1:30 in the morning. On a Sunday.  I should be working on research, but I’m not. I’m distracted by the power of the internets. Damn you internets, with your endless sources of information and entertainment and time-sucking, mind-rotting, and occasionally seizure-inducing web sites. Oh Geocities. I do not miss you.

The internet is also really great for making you feel terrible about yourself. For instance, this evening I learned that Dooce.com pulls in about 40k a month from advertising.

Yeah. I’ll be lucky if I make that a year when I’m done with my 22+ years of formal education.

In other, non-internet related news, I have also learned that it is indeed possible to eat too many hershy kisses.

I really don’t have much to say today, but it’s been a while since I have posted and I thought I’d just check in, blow the cobwebs off the place, and say “hi.”

There are a few more weeks left in this semester, and lots of things to do before it’s all over. Several papers, a few exams, and many many pages of reading are still ahead.  As stressed as I am (and as pessimistic as I often sound) I think this semester will turn out rather well. Hopefully I’ll end up with at least one paper I can submit for publication by the end of May or June, and maybe another by July or August.  Not too shabby. Of course, submitting is one thing… getting accepted is another.  Still, I feel like even making the effort this early in my academic career is a good thing, and I should be pleased with myself.

Back to the grind…

Urban Decay, a popular cosmetic brand with teens and young women, recently released a new line of lip gloss called Pocket Rocket.  The gloss isn’t what makes this product special – instead it’s all about the packaging.  It’s been designed to fit better in a woman’s pocket and supposedly contains pheromones to help you attract men, which can be released by rubbing the tube  like some kind of sexual scratch-n-sniff.

The icing on the cake, however, is the lenticular image of a “hottie” on each lip gloss lid. Tilt the tube and your guy goes from fully dressed to skivvies. The site touts that they’re great for bachelorette parties, baby showers, and birthdays.

You know what else they’re good for? Reinforcing ethnic stereotypes.

Of 8 men, 1 is photographed holding a baby. It’s Julio. Why Julio? Why does the Hispanic guy have to play Baby Daddy? Why not David, the white guy in the power suit? Or Timothy, the pretentious yacht-club prep (also white)?

I’m not impressed, Urban Decay… not at all.

I always set unattainable goals. Even the little ones. Today’s to-do list was unrealistic to be sure. I knew that when I wrote it up this morning. Still, I’m angry that it’s 10 pm and I’m not done. I took a break to cook dinner and watch a little TV. I needed that time then. I need that time now.

I entered what I ate today into an online calorie tracker. It wasn’t so bad, but not so good either. It tells me I’m not getting enough vitamin D.  Could my lap-top tan have anything to do with that?

I’d like to have a drink. That would be more calories though.  I don’t know what I want more right now, the drink, or to not fall victim to grad-school-gut. I once thought the gut was only limited to theses and dissertations, but I was mistaken. They take years of crafting at library carols and behind computer screens.  It’s one souvenir I’d like to leave without.

fuck it. I’m having the drink.

It happens all the time: strange and indeciferable abbreviations for variables in statistical packages. Trying to create a label for a complex construct that is only 4 or 5 characters can be a challenge, no doubt. It can also provide those of us who download these data sets with plenty of amusement. Take for instance this variable name: BTCH. I’ll bet you can guess what I thought when I first read that.  So I checked the codebook. Apparently BTCH is the abbreviation for… btch. Helpful, right?

The aforementioned cake is nearly gone. I’ve been eating it for breakfast. And as a snack. And for dessert…

(from the kitchen)

Mr. Errata: Do I use this whole can of frosting?

Alotta Errata: (laughing) Yes.

Mr. Errata:  What do I spread it with?

Alotta Errata: A knife… or a spatula…

Mr. Errata: There’s no special frosting tool?

Alotta Errata: mmmm… no.

Mr. Errata:  Well I don’t know, I’ve never frosted a cake before

Alotta Errata: (incredulous) You’ve  never frosted a cake?

Mr. Errata: I’m a man!