Whistler

I want to go snowboarding in Canada. I think it'd be sweet. And less crowded than even the fairly empty (compare to NJ) mountains of Colorado. But that's not the point of my post, just came to mind when I put up the title.

Why do men whistle at women?

This is the question of the day.

I am dressed for work today in summer work clothes, specifically black capris, wedges and a nice colorful shell. I do think its a flattering outfit. Appearently I'm not alone.
The shopping center where I picked up lunch today is doing some construction. There were workers gathered around the dumpster, several of whom whistled at me (well, either me or the rather chunky middle aged guy about 10 feet in front of me, equal opportunity perhaps?) What is their goal in whistling at women? Do they expect the women to stop and give them her number? Flash them? Grab one and plant a big wet one? I chose none of these and opted to ignore them and walk on by.

I've been whistled at before. A couple of times on the street doing [whatever], more frequenrly when running. There's also the occassional honker. I can only assume these are the obnoxious teenage boys that feel the need to call attention to the fact they are old enough to drive. (I am trying to give men some credit here). Honkers tend to startle me and I don't like them much.

I guess in general I should take the whistling as a compliment. But I still don't understand.

A Good American

So I was skimming the blogs today and ran into the Death Predictor on two sites. Fun right? Here's my prediction:

Emily: At age 80, you will die lonely and alone from morbid obesity

My friends get things like "At age 89, you will die fighting the Interplanetary War on Terrorism on Phobos, a moon of Mars." I get a completely feasible one. Fabulous.

My first reaction? "That's ironic". Ironic in that I am a little (ok, maybe more than a little)paranoid about my weight. I'm not a little petite thing. I never will be and never (except maybe one unfortunate year in HS) have been. However, I'm also not morbidly obese, but do harbor a definate fear of becoming so. Genetics (aka multiple morbidly obese relatives) and a serious chocolate chip cookie fixation are working against me, and despite a general awareness and efforts at maintaining regular workouts, I am really a bit worried I'll wake up one day and be startled to realize I'm wearing panties from that store on Rt17 for women who've outgrown Lane Bryant.

It also makes me sad that even at (almost) 25 I still have some of the teenage weight paranoia. Maybe it never really goes away. I'm a lot bigger than I was in High School but I'm also fitter and faster (despite an additional 25lbs or so) and happier in general. Counting calories constantly really puts a damper on things that should be enjoyable, like birthdays (aka cake and ice cream, also known in my current life as 3pm).

On a side note, I'm not sure I've ever seen a morbidly obese 80 year old. Maybe they've all lost mobility and do just sit at home all day, unlike the morbidly obese middle aged that trek out for shopping and similar.

blog = fun (?)

I decided to create a blog. They fascinate me. I also have been become something of a blog troller while avoiding my (icky stinky poo) job. So it's only fair for me to have one too, right??