I Like the Spice

Golden Chicken with spicy refried beans

Last night Chef opted to forgo my dinner. I don't blame him. Not my most stellar dinner. Mostly because I overcooked the chicken (it was a little dry) and he's not a jalapeno fan, so that knocked the spicy refried beans from his plate too. But we have a pact. he supports my efforts and if he doesn't want what I'm making, he can take care of himself. This helps take some of the pressure off of me. If I royally fuck up dinner, at least he won't starve.

Last night I had "Golden chicken with spicy refried beans". I added the salad greens because it needed some more green.  I would probably make this again, if only to work on how I cook chicken. To be honest, up until a few years ago, I couldn't even cut raw chicken. I used to gag and nearly vomit doing it in college. I always pictured myself cutting up human flesh. I realize this is irrational, but I kind of take pride in the fact that I can literally say that I don't have the stomach to become a serial killer. And can you really say that LITERALLY?

Anyway, I am proud that getting back in the kitchen has gotten me to eat things that I normally would've bypassed. For example, last night was my first time trying Cannellini beans. They were delicious. I also had Kale for the first time last week. Also delicious when roasted. I intend to keep trying more things and am open to sharing. Unless you start leaving "You never had Kale before?!?!" comments. I was not a very adventurous or healthy eater, people. This shouldn't shock you.

Can't wait to try tonight's black bean nacho pizza. Hope your dinner is delicious too!

How I imagine Taylor Swift and John Mayer's Relationship to Have Been

John Mayer- Getty Images

Some afternoons on the long ride home,  I can't help myself and listen to Taylor Swift. Her vocal range isn't ridiculous so I can sing along and remember what it felt like to be 16 driving my fun (but shitty) Cutlass Supreme and ridiculing people who listened to music like Taylor Swift makes.

And since I'm driving my mind can wander into places it shouldn't. I hear "Dear John" and I immediately imagine John Mayer and Taylor Swift's relationship. And sadly, I've probably spent more time thinking of it than either of them did. Here's what I think of when they were deciding to get together:

Inside John Mayer's head: Sure, she's only 19, but she's mature. And hot. Okay, mostly it's the hot thing. Plus we both write songs. So it's not like we have nothing in common. It'd be nice to date a musician. Who's hot.

Inside Taylor's head: He said he liked my dress. He must be into me. He's super cute and fun to work with and I haven't dated an older celebrity yet.

JM head: I like her ass. That dress is atrocious.

Maybe I'm just too concerned, but in light of John's big "revelation" today, I wanted to post. Can a 30-something dude not take a little public ribbing from a teen girl without being "kicked when he was at his lowest point"? He goes on "media silence" for TWO YEARS and this is the first shit that he brings up. two years and the first thing he wants to clear up is "Dear John". Doesn't that one action just confirm about every hunch you had about John Mayer? All of this just makes me wish he'd now go back into media silence.

Also seeing his new look makes me think he wants to get confused with Orlando Bloom. Or a child molester.

Is it okay to touch my hair? I'm not sure

My hair in rollers

I've already outlined how my hair is one of my biggest vanities. Despite my battle with psoriasis, I still take pride in swinging the locks from side to side as I strut, er, walk around the office. Plus I love the color. And apparently other people do too because I get complimented on it from strangers quite a bit. I wish this were my natural color, but c'est la vie.

What I don't normally get is people who randomly put their hands in my hair. I was shopping at Ulta the other weekend with Chef and a sales clerk came up to me and said "I love your hair color. Whoever did this is amazing. I'm a colorist myself. Where did you get this done?" While all of that was coming out of her mouth, her hands were going through my hair. It seemed like the sort of thing only done by stylists who are actually consulting on your hair (I was just walking through the store shopping for nail polish) or toddlers whom you've picked up. The coincidental thing about it was that she had her hair tied back and wrapped for religious reasons.

My hair after rollers

The last time someone randomly combed through my hair with their hands, I was in high school gym class (not being very active, but rather sitting on the bleachers) and they found a bald spot on the back underside of my head. This turned out to be alopecia areata and the treatment was about 30 small injections of steroids into the bald spot which hurt like hell. The dermatologist said one of the causes was stress; I was 16. From then on whenever I got a little nervous about something, my mom would hug me and say "Don't stress out. I can't afford for you to go bald again." Which undoubtedly made me stress out.

When was the last time you had a stranger run their hands through your hair?

Last Week's Meals

Herb Rubbed Roast with Root Vegetables

Chef had a birthday yesterday, which meant that I wasn't super healthy over the weekend. We were celebrating, and I took advantage. I tried to keep my choices beyond the outrageous line, but I'm sure I crossed it.

However, before his birthday, I was doing pretty well cooking. I made this herb rubbed roast and was planning on just doing some roasted cauliflower instead of the root veggies, but Chef asked that I try some parsnips, so I did the whole root veggie thing.

I like parsnips; I like sweet potatoes. I like roast. But there was something not quite working with this combination. Chef is a beef purist so the rub idea on a roast was not his favorite. Overall, I'm glad I tried it, but not a huge fan.

Tonight's dinner is a simple baked sweet potato with black bean chili. I made some cauliflower gratin for Chef's birthday which I think I'll warm up to have. I'm trying the whole Meatless Monday for a change. Any good meatless recipes that I should try? I'm keeping the recipes that I do and ones that I want to try on my pinterest board. Check it out here and feel free to keep the suggestions coming!

Getting Back in the Kitchen: The Healthy Project

Sirloin with reduced balsamic
vinegar and roasted brussels
sprouts

During my visit to Indiana, I got to view Anne and Amanda's healthy habits. And it inspired me. Again. I feel like I need constant inspiration to do the healthy thing, but I also don't feel like I'm that unusual. Or maybe my mom ruined me. She gave me constant feedback--good and bad (but mostly good)-- and I got used to it. I love being acknowledged for even small things--if only in my head giving myself a gold star. I love gold stars. Even ones I give myself. It's that lethal combination of need for approval and competitiveness.

So after seeing and tasting delicious homemade food, I realized that I've been lazy and scared. I have been scared to get in the kitchen and attempt to cook and learn because Chef is clearly an expert (it's a little intimidating). And lazy because cooking takes time and effort and planning. All things that I've been neglecting for the last several weeks.

I hit some websites and used Pinterest to house a bunch of healthy recipes. I planned out the week, prepped my breakfasts and lunches, and visited the farmer's market, Whole Foods and the grocery store. After day one, I feel pretty good.

If I were to make the meal again, I'd:

• cook the sprouts lower and slower (our oven is gas and therefore weird).
• would use a little more olive oil on the sprouts (and a little less salt).
• reduce the balsamic more.
• Use the four cloves of garlic the recipe calls for instead of just two because I was chicken. However, the rosemary taste outweighed the garlic because of it.

Overall, I'd make the lemon raspberry muffins and the sirloin again.

The lemon raspberry muffins that I made for breakfast this week and  froze for the weeks to come. Be warned: they are delicious, but not sweet at all.
http://www.eatingwell.com/recipes/lemon_raspberry_muffins.html

Chef cooked the steak because I didn't want to mess up something that expensive, but  that's all he did hands on. He was patiently helping me and giving me advice from the sidelines though.
http://www.1001recipe.com/recipes/food/sirloin_steak_with_rosemary_and_balsamic_reduction_sauce/

It's Tough To Own a Bookstore

I snapped this pic just moments after
my visit to Kramerbooks in Dupont
Circle in DC.

Or at least I imagine it has to be tough to own a bookstore. I like to frequent small local bookstores. They always have more character and books piled in weird ways that mean I see more than just bestsellers. One of my favorites is Book Soup in LA. I've been in Washington DC lately and always tend to stay near DuPont Circle so I've hit the Kramerbooks & Afterwords Cafe a few times. I went in recently to grab one book before my flight so that I had something to read during take off and landing. I'm not really a social flyer so I like to go ahead and kill the hopes and dreams of any seatmates that might want to chat me up. I'm sure they're mightily disappointed, but my type of celebrity is one that leaves me anonymous and sitting in coach, so really it works out for all involved.

I was in the store looking over my options and saw a bunch of books that I wanted. Or at least wanted to add to my reading list. I only had carry-on space for one book, so it was Sophie's Choice all the way. I had to make the tough decisions. Of course, one of the great things about independent bookstores is that they aren't beholden to a corporate mandate on which books get shelved where. So you're more likely to find weird stuff and stuff that staff recommends rather than just what a publisher pays to put on a higher shelf at eye-level, etc. That being said I was finding all kind of books that I wanted to read, so I did what came naturally. I whipped out my iPhone and took a picture of the barcode to add to my GoodReads list.

"I'm sorry but you can't do that in here," said a male clerk about my age or a little younger.

Me: Excuse me? Can't do what in here?

Clerk: Take pictures of the books.

Me: I can't take a picture of this book's barcode to put on my reading list? (Clerk nods) Can I have my cellphone out and type it into my reading list?

Clerk gives me a star and I wonder off because I'm a little ticked and also totally understand. Amazon has made bookstores run for their money because people can go in, find a book they want and in two clicks have bought it--for less money and delivered wirelessly in a minute to their Kindle. It's gotta be hard to sell books. But I'm a book lover and a lover of independent bookstores, so I was still a little sore about this. Then the guy came up to me and said:

Clerk: What reading list are you talking about?

Me: Good reads. It's a website that helps people connect over books, track what they've read and want to read. It's got an app that helps me add books to my reading list.

Clerk: Can you show me? I don't have one of those smartphone thingies. (I chuckled at this because I wasn't expecting that answer from a 30-something male. A 60-something female? maybe).

After I took the time to show him, I ended up buying a book (Anthropology of an American Girl) and the clerk was trying to make me feel better so he through a free t-shirt into my bag. It only made it on my carry-on because it was squishy. So, hey. free workout t-shirt.

Playing Catch Up (Part Two)

I got too frustrated placing the pictures so I needed a second post. Besides, I don't think one picture of cheese and one of my girls in one of my favorite places on earth (the IU campus) are enough to tell of my trip back to Indiana.

Anne and Amanda and our campus visit. I love visiting Bloomington. It's a beautiful place that whet my appetite for places that encompassed different cultures of people--including the ever-annoying hipster. I got to remember what humidity feels like (as it melted off my make-up) and what it feels like to have friendships that are relevant and loving no matter how much time passes between our visits.

I was lucky enough to go to the Capitol and work with a group to brief Congress on the issue of workplace flexibility. I got to listen to how Blackberrys are making us more flexible and more accountable (to our detriment) while obsessively checking my Blackberry for emails. Oh the irony!

I got back in town late Wednesday, but it wasn't until Friday when I was able to go walking around Beverly Hills with Chef that I remembered how beautiful LA is and how great it is to be warm without sweat. I missed my husband and kitties desperately, but was glad that even after spending time in beautiful cities, I still love this beautiful city.

Playing Catch Up

I've been lazy lately. Well, lazy with a side of busy, which makes for a bad blogger. So in an effort not to feel this overwhelming nag that I hadn't updated in a while combined with the dread of having so much to update, I've decided to tell the story in pictures (and skim a lot of it).

I went to Chicago for business meetings. This was my view from the gym's treadmill. I love big cities.

Chicago on the morning of my meetings. It was a perfect day and despite about 24 hours in the city, I was reminded how beautiful it is. Now if it had been January, the love might have been a little less enthusiastic. This picture was taken a few moments before I saw a group of NATO protesters. I was able to scoot out of town before the mobs hit.

I couldn't be that close to Indiana without having a visit. I went to Indianapolis and Bloomington to see friends that I hadn't seen in 20 months. That's way to long to go without my girls. I had to chuckle when I went to Kroger (not Ralph's) with Amanda and saw these gallon jugs of nacho cheese on sale for $6. Who needs this much fake cheese?

I Love Tacky: Lawn Flamingos

Irresistible

When does a lawn flamingo seem crazy? Maybe the better question is when doesn't it seem crazy. Perhaps they seem impractical when you don't have an actual lawn. But I wasn't going to let a little thing like not having a lawn deter me from these bad boys.

This weekend I passed these old school flamingos and fell in love. It was reminiscent of the moment I saw my purple purse and knew we were meant to have fun times together. The logical side of me was debating whether I really needed lawn flamingos when I had no lawn nor really a good place to put them. Then I realized that Chef has three small fruit trees so it seemed like a silly thing like land ownership wasn't something that stopped our family from things we want.

I took them up to get a price check and found out they were $12.99. A mere pittance for not one BUT TWO plastic pink flamingos. It was about this time when I saw this on the side of the box and it sealed the deal.

All I need for happiness and fun are pink flamingos? Yeah, that seems about right.

In an homage to Three's Company, I've decided to name them Jack Tripper and Chrissy Snow (no one really liked Janet anyway). If you can persuade me otherwise, I might dub them something else (I've already dubbed them Unforgiven).

Jack and Chrissy and Genghis

Snapdragons for Moms

From yesterday's trip to Home Depot

Yesterday Chef and I were at several garden centers (as has been our Saturday ritual for the last couple of weeks). We were looking at some colorful plants and I was continually drawn to pink gerbera daisies. There's just something about them that makes me think HAPPY. Maybe it's because I always wanted one of those dancing daisies that would sway to music. Remember those? They were so fun as a kid and were the true trailblazers for Big Mouth Billy Bass. I'm fairly certain that time will tell those dancing daisies were the jumping off point for artificial intelligence.

Anyway, amid the beautiful plants were snapdragons. My mom used to plant them in just about every garden we had because my brother picked them out as a kid and that just stuck with her. And then when it was just the two of us, mom and I used to pull the blooms off and make chains of them and decorate our necks and wrists with them. I used to pretend that I was Hawaiian and I would hand them out to my little friends as leis.

The snapdragons were just a little thing that reminded me of my mom. There are literally tons of them every year; little things that remind me of my mom. One of my twitter friends told me it was her first Mother's Day without her mom. "Does it get any easier?"  she tweeted. My reply was that it does. Mother's Day, her birthday, major holidays all get easier. You prepare for them and have a moment when things are sad, but generally you're able to move on.

What doesn't get easier and is always lovely and horrifyingly sad are those snapdragon moments. Random Tuesdays when you'll see any episode of "The Big C" that makes you bawl or smell her perfume on a stranger and realize you may be following that person around Lowe's on a way that's bordering on stalking.

Here's to mothers, here and gone, and those snapdragon moments and memories.

Why am I Fat when I Don't Eat that Much?

I eat homemade lettuce
wraps with rice for dinner and
lost nothing. Others eat three
chocolate bars and are down
three pounds. How does this
happen?

I realize that I'm not "that fat" as someone not related to me was oh so kind enough to point out as I was complaining out loud, but that's of little help. And I didn't invite you to my pity party, sir, so kindly exit to the left.

I realize that we all are made differently and men have an easier time losing weight and some people just have great metabolisms, but really believing that line of shit is about as easy as believing that a fat person is big boned or has a thyroid problem. There are few exceptions and chances are that its really the rule.

What's killing me about this lately? I'm glad you asked. I use the app My Fitness Pal. I'd highly recommend it to others as it actually helps me track my calories in a way that's a little more helpful than the paper and calculator method I used to use (seriously I totally used a calculator and a sheet of paper that was tracker for the day. I habitually checked Calorie King for counts. I was so OCD that I used to three-hole punch my trackers and put them in a binder so I could remember that really great meal I had a few weeks back that was only 457 calories.) Anyway, the app is great and I've been reaching out lately to find people who are on the same path and might help motivate me.

When I'm in the weight loss zone, I buy into every little nugget of information or stat that I hear.

I hear"You lose twice as much weight with friends--even online ones." So I get involved in the message boards.

I hear "Faith Hill drinks 96 oz of water every day for clear skin" So I guzzle 6 liters for good measure (and then take at least 6 trips to the bathroom every morning).

I realize the last one was about skin, but if I can clear two issues of self esteem in one foul swoop, I'm gonna do it. That's just good sense.

These people on My Fitness Pal are making their food diaries public and I am curious as hell so I take a peek. And I see a person having a daily calorie threshold 300 above mine and eating chocolate at least twice a day and losing 2 pounds a week. And she's just the average example.

But that person might have a lot more weight to lose so it comes off easier, you argue. Um, no. Bitch weighs 5 pounds more than I do and I've not --nor have I ever in a healthy manner-lost more than 2 pounds of actual weight in a week. And that was when I was morbidly obese.

What the fuck. Rationally I am doing the "we're all different" arguments in my head, but underneath that, I'm thinking "is she cutting off parts of her body to make this weight loss happen? What am I doing wrong?" I want to lose weight, but I also don't want to curl up in a ball crying if someone puts olive oil or butter on my food because "I don't have the calories left for that."

This debate was swimming around my head this morning when Chef yelled from the bathroom scale "Man, I've lost so much weight and I haven't even been trying." And that's when I left to keep myself from stabbing him. I'm still debating whether he can take a good stabbing in his sleep as I'm feeling stabby still. But then again, I tweeted it and now I'm blogging it so if my husband turns up stabbed in the next few months, I'm obviously going to be the first suspect. Oh, marriage.

A Thin Line Between Normal and Serial Killer

If I took Attila to the movies,
chance are he would just crawl
up next to me and sleep.
 Just sayin'

Yesterday, Chef and I went to see The Avengers, because we're American. And apparently all of America went to see it this weekend. Even in our beloved sinner showing, there was a fairly full house--and we chose to see it without 3D. Partly because I think that 3D is just a way for movie executives to test how stupid moviegoers will be to see a movie. I think the fact that they've made five versions of The Fast and The Furious should be enough of a case study, but I guess they want to fuck with us more because those glasses keep getting more and more hideous.

Hideous glasses aside, I also fear that 3D will end up corrupting versions of the movie and we'll look back in 20 years and laugh at what we thought was so advanced. Don't believe me? Catch Jaws 3 next time its on TV and see how stupid that shark looks coming at you. And how short shorts could be and still be considered acceptable. Dennis Quaid, I'm talking to you.

So we're sitting there in a relatively packed theater and a family comes to sit down after the previews have started. I actually like seeing the previews, but since Youtube means that I can watch the ones I'm interested in at home, I get a little less pissed off about people talking during them. What does piss me off, though, was the little shit behind me that felt the need to kick my chair for 20 minutes.

I know a lot of you have kids where I have cats, but I have no sympathy for a parent who is so engaged in a movie that you don't seem to notice the toddler (who shouldn't have been in that movie at all -completely inappropriate for that young of a kid) that was standing --not sitting in their seat--and kicking the back of a chair in front of them. An area that just happens to be my HEAD. At first I tried to pretend it was like a massage chair when I get my pedicures that had some how gone on the fritz, but it didn't work for long. I gave a few pointed looks to the mother behind me, but it didn't work. She never did do anything to control her child. I wondered why the kicking stopped but when I went to the bathroom I saw that the kid had fallen asleep in his chair. Mystery solved.

Warning: Video of Ferocious Cat Killing a Horse

Chef took this video of Genghis playing with the stuffed horse I got last year for opening an account at Wells Fargo. I think it's adorable, and almost as good as "The Avengers" plus it's way shorter. Happy Sunday!

Why don't I have that pretty kind of fat?

These never make me feel fat--
because I'm a single digit size in them.

Do you know those women who can gain five or ten pounds and it ALL goes to their boobs giving them a perfect hourglass figure? Me neither. But I did start looking at where people carry their extra weight a few years ago and oddly enough it sparked some jealousy in me. I don't have the pretty kind of fat.

Before you start arguing that no fat is pretty, let me stop you. No fat on the inside of your body is pretty. That shit will kill you. But the extra junk in the trunk of some ladies is nice. And there is a HUGE difference in how much extra weight a person can carry just by their height and body type: two areas that I was not blessed with in the weight carrying department.

I'm short. 5'2" barefoot which is why I wear heels most every day. I like to pretend that I'm 5'5". But between the shortness and the body type, I'm screwed. I'm not exactly sure which fruit my body type is (girls, you know what i'm talking about), but it's the type that gives me big boobs, broad shoulders, a big stomach and a flat ass. I would keep it all if I had a pretty fat. And by pretty fat, I mean the type of fat that doesn't pucker. That fat that on other women looks almost like if you'd touch it, it'd be hard. It's smooth and doesn't gather at embarrassing places like around your bra straps or "dun-laping" over your belt. (For the record, I also hate the phrase "muffin top" because it instantly makes me think of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine is trying to convince the baker to only make muffin tops and he names the store "Top of the Muffin to You!". I relate because I too only like muffin tops, but not those fake muffin tops that were never attached to a stump. I also hate the use of excessive exclamation points. Nobody is that enthusiastic about everything.)

If I'm gonna have fat, and the odds have been ever in my favor on that to this point in my life, I wish I had the pretty kind of fat. Instead, I have the kind of fat the slaps other parts of my body when I'm working out no matter what type of restrictive clothing I wear to prevent it. Perhaps some day I'll have worked out enough to eliminate my lumpy fat. Until then, I'll have to make due.

"How did I get here?": Nursery Edition

A cactus we got this weekend

Despite the title of this blog post, it has nothing to do with explaining the birds and the bees to kids or really anything infant-related. Instead its about nurseries of the plant variety and how I've come to find myself willingly going to them in the middle of the Saturday afternoon sun.

The answer is simple: Chef asked me to. The reason is more complicated. Kind of.

Until we moved to LA, we were lacking a few things: 1) a patio or any outdoor space that was at least semi-private 2) beautiful weather, year-round. Those two things are crucial to being able to grow much of anything on your own. At least I've been told. I can kill anything green just by looking at it. I think it senses my apprehension to plant items since I spent much of my twenties avoiding eating them.

When we have a little patio and some steady sun, Chef decided he'd like to utilize them to grow things. He'd been asking for houseplants for a while, but I was skeptical. Mostly because of my aforementioned brown thumb and us having kitties that can easily use their extra toes to scoop dirt out of a plant and on to the floor. I was being practical, really. But then we saw an episode of "My cat From Hell" where they planted some indoor cat grass for the cats to have "salad." I thought it was a good idea and Chef jumped on it, so we headed to Lowe's to get some supplies. And then we headed back for more supplies when the cats loved the cat grass. It was on this second trip that Chef decided that growing some succulents would be fun and got some.

Here's one of the many reasons I love Chef: he has passion. When he has passion for something, he leaves no stone unturned for finding the best way to do something. I firmly believe that passion is a big draw for most women. We see a man has passion for something and know that if he has passion for something, he can have passion for us, too. Which is why I believe that so many women go for sports fans and then get pissy when the guy still likes sports after they're together. Passion isn't transferable. You don't lose passion for something because you gain passion for something else. But I digress.

Chef's succulents then grew to include herbs. hydrangeas (which I picked out for me but he keeps thriving), orchids (which I picked out for me because I heard they were hearty and needed little attention), various other trimmings from his other plants and two small dwarf fruit trees.

Chef's passion not equals time in the sun around plants for me, but also a crop of lemons and limes some time in the future. Not too shabby. Too bad my writing passion doesn't provide anything for him. . .yet.

Cat Vomit and other fun stuff

Attila may vomit on our bed, but he is
definitely our best cuddle kitty. 

As far as emergencies go, Chef and I have thankfully been spared for the most part. However, there seems to be something about our comforter that says "Have a cat emergency HERE!". Mila took a crap right in the middle of it (while Chef and I were sleeping in the bed, no less) which got her banned from the bedroom for almost a year before she was allowed back in. And rightfully so. No one likes to wake up to the smell of feces.

Yesterday, Attila decided to vomit on my side of the comforter. The poor kitty has been vomiting up everything he's eaten for the last two days which means in our world means unplanned vet visit time! Hooray. I also got to see the inside of a lovely LA laundromat because our comforter is too big for our washers in the complex. Instead of brunch and mimosas, I had Diet Dr Pepper and a book while waiting for it to wash.

Anyway, hope he's better today. This is yet another reason that I may not be cut out for parenthood. Too many bodily fluids.

"Who Stole My Tailgate?" Not Me.

The other day Chef called me over to the computer to chuckle at a picture of the above that was posted on a pretty popular blog he reads. I saw it and shrugged my shoulders. 

"So, that car is parked at the Target near my office all the time. I think he works there."

It was then that I realized this car was Internet famous. So to prove that I actually meant what I said (not that Chef even remotely challenged my allegation), I took this pic today at the Target parking lot near my work. I don't know who stole his or her tailgate, but I suspect that whoever did has not yet returned it after about a year. It might be time for him or her to just buy another tailgate. Although I kinda like the board and spray paint version. Reminds me of Tennessee,

Splenda Didn't Give My Mom Cancer. Her Boobs Did.

Suck it, smug lady.

Why do people care what I eat? Or what any stranger eats for that matter? There are so few things that people truly can control, and for the majority of people in the US, food is one of those things. I'm fairly certain a look at our waistlines might show that our decisions aren't always the best, but can we pick the major battle to win first?

Here's my point: I have struggled mightily with eating my entire life and have come to terms that I will never conquer this beast. When it goes out of control, I shamefully eat whole loaves of bread dipped in vats of olive oil and Spike seasoning (which if you haven't tried is awesome--for seasoning with or without massive amounts of olive oil). After this consumption, I go into a shame spiral which then triggered me to eat an entire roll of chocolate chip cookie dough (yes, I was that cliched). Eventually ending at 220+ pounds with at least five of that coming from wine and cocktails. Then I mustered up the energy to care about myself and set off to eat well. 

Here's the kicker: Even when I was overweight and eating fruit, people STILL felt the need to comment on my food. 

"Aren't you avoiding carbs? You should be avoiding carbs. That fruit has carbs."

Are you kidding me? Fruit carbs were the LEAST of my worries. I wanted to have people take pictures of me actually eating fruit just to document the occasion. (Side note to the whole Atkins craze: I had an acquaintance in college who wouldn't eat plain breadsticks because they were loaded with carbs, but WOULD eat cheesesticks, because the cheese "negated the bread underneath." I shit you not. That was her argument and 30 minutes of arguing could not shake her belief. Did I mention she was going to college to supposedly learn something? Clearly not a Dietetics majors.)

First it was the snootiness around Atkins. Now it's Frankenfoods and organics in general. I completely respect someone's right to want to control what goes in their body. As a person who uses any healthy method I can to get to a healthy weight, I'm not going to judge the quality of someone's fruit or if they choose to buy ready made salad mix or non-organic, non-soy REAL  DAIRY  milk.  I appreciate the fact that they're trying. 

Can we keep our comments about other people's food to ourselves? I sincerely doubt the lady who made a snide comment about me using Splenda on my cantaloupe truly cares about my well-being. She doesn't even know my name. She just wanted to be a smug person who could take the time to tell me about getting cancer from Splenda. Our conversation went something like this:

Anonymous nosy lady (ANL): Do you know that your Splenda there causes cancer? You're ruining that cantaloupe.

Me: At least I'm not putting Splenda on a donut.

ANL: But the Splenda will give you cancer before you have a heart attack. 

Me: Really? My mom died of cancer before Splenda was even invented. She got it from her boobs. 

Me: walking away from open-mouthed lady whom I hoped learned  to keep her fucking comments to herself. Or at the very least to not annoy strangers.  

Less than Saint-ly

From the Washington Post

Okay, New Orleans. You can now take down that "Super Bowl XLIV Champions" ad that mocks me in the Louis Armstrong Airport every time I fly in. I wanted it down a long time ago because I'm bitter they beat my beloved Colts. Now I want it down because it's not only mocking me, but every NFL fan.

First there was "Bountygate." Coach Sean Payton and GM Mickey Loomis get suspended for the season for supporting a bounty system which aimed for defensive players from the Saints to purposely hurt opposing players (QBs specifically- including Brett Favre, who I don't like but don't think needs to be intentionally hurt. He does that enough to himself.) and get paid extra cash money for it. I can't say it suprised me a lot that this was going on. What surprised me was that they tried to deny it when the league had 50,000 pages of evidence on them. To put it in perspective, that's roughly 50 Bibles of evidence. 

And today it comes out that Loomis had a wiretapping system installed so that he could spy on opposing teams headsets from his corporate suite. WHAT?!?! Not only is this wrong, bad sportsmanship and all that, it's actually illegal. Hence the FEDERAL investigation that's now going on. 

Um, how much is a Superbowl really worth? I mean, I love that the Colts have one, but I would hope they wouldn't stoop so low to get it. And to NOT sign Drew Brees to a long term contract in the mean time. Ridiculous. 

It makes the Peyton Manning and Jim Irsay's back-and-forth, and Irsay's crazy tweets look like fun little diversions now. The Colts off-season wasn't this much of a nightmare. 

How far would you cheat to get ahead at work?

Pizza Slut, Vampires, Stuffed Animals and Succulents

Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess, on
the left, Soleil Moon Frye on the right
(Man scratching his head-dead center)

I spent the weekend carbo-loading. Not for any particular reason other than I had a heart-to-heart with myself last week and decided that my skin, hair, body and clothes were telling me one thing: I needed to try harder. It's not my full effort and without that, I can't depend on my best results.

So between my gorging of all things baked, fried or just plain delicious and shopping at various nurseries for Chef's new love of gardening, I got my car fixed (kind of. The damn tire pressure sensor was off for half a day and then came back on which sent me over the edge in a fit of fury), added red to my head, got my hands and feet all pretty in coral, and saw Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess, being interviewed by Soleil Moon Frye (aka Punky Brewster).

Chef was gracious enough to go with me to the Bloggess event (book reading, signing and interview thingy) even though he wasn't totally into it. I could tell because he was looking up gardening stuff most of the time. However, I enjoyed it, although there was a lady there who blogged in the voice of her stuffed sheep which kind of creeped me out. The Bloggess is delightfully dirty and odd, but that was a little odd, even for me. Also, Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series, was in the crowd in cognito. I remember seeing her at the time, but didn't put two and two together. As is the case when you're still reeling in laughter from a story about an at-home cleanse using ex-lax and a question from a lady that came through the voice of the stuffed goat she blogs through (FYI- the goat was not full size, but rather a small hand-held goat. If it had been full-sized, I think I would've been less confused. Maybe.)

After that, I helped pick out two plants that I wanted because they were pretty and made me happy. Then I decided that I needed to concentrate on making myself happy, in various ways. I bought a book of writing prompts, read about 100 magazines that had been piling up, and decided to get my ass back in gear. Again. YES AGAIN. I work out now and count calories, but I haven't been super strict about my diet in a while. And while I haven't eaten an entire box of TGIFriday's potato skins and an entire DiGiorno pepperoni pizza (that may have happened in the past, I'm just saying), I also haven't stuck to lean proteins, restricted carbs (my love for which can only be topped by my love for Chef and our cats, most of the time), and eaten fruits and veggies. So back to the original diet plan it goes. I even had Chef buy my old protein shakes when he went to the grocery store. I had a French Vanilla EAS CarbAdvantedge (yes, it's spelled like that) this afternoon for my "high-protein" snack. And tomorrow, I go on a cleanse. We'll see how that goes.

Just a Day in the Life of Zooey Deschanel

I saw this and had so many questions:

Such as:

• Who gets tomato soup delivered? It's like the EASIEST thing to warm up. Aside from a can-opener (which can be worked around), soup is fool proof. 
• No one gets delivery in the rain in LA because it takes three hours. How do you do it, Zooey?

And just when I was starting to wonder if my liking of Zooey Deschanel was a little too unwarranted, I see this on Gawker and I fall back in love. 

Tonight Chef and I are off to see the Bloggess get interviewed by Punky Brewster. Hope it's entertaining!

From the Outside In

As I was looking in the mirror this morning at the splotches on my face, the good inch of roots and dead ends on my hair and my chipped nail polish on my hands and feet,  it made sense to me. How can I expect to get myself out of this funk if I am relishing it too much. I've decided to fight this from the outside in.

I've made my hair cut and color appointment (sadly I think I spotted a few gray hairs in my roots, but I'm hoping it's just powder from dry shampoo that hadn't absorbed), and am going to get a mani-pedi while I'm at it. I'm going to find a skin solution to try, as no solution is perfect, and I'm going to refill any prescriptions that I have run out of for my psoriasis.

If I look better on the outside, then I feel like it will help me feel a little better on the inside. At least that's my theory now.

I Just Can't Shake this Apathy

The last few days I've been struggling with a debilitating case of apathy. Okay, fine. It's not debilitating, but it's certainly not been fun. I have no idea why this hit me or if I'm just moody, but here goes.

I could care less.

Chef and I went shopping this weekend (typically one of my favorite things to do). I got to play "navigator" an could choose our destinations. But I didn't get all that excited and I ended up not buying myself anything. I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to get excited about clothes, or purses or even-GASP- shoes. I used not feeling well on Sunday (which I legitimately didn't) as an excuse to do very little.

I have enough energy and care to propel myself through my routines. I still get up and run. I make my daily to do lists at work and cross everything off before I allow myself to be done for the day. I try and watch what I'm eating (but I let up on that when I'm apathetic too).

The big difference is that the things maybe I only noticed are getting dropped. My outfits look pretty shabby and I haven't gone into my closet to try and restyle anything in a few weeks. My hair needs a recolor and my bangs are so long that they cover half my eyes. Don't get me started on my nails.

So I'm slumping. Any tips for how to get out of a slump?

Somebody that I Used to Know

Pretty much spent my free time today trying to get this song out of my head:


And I registered for Pottermore, the Harry Potter extension website from JK Rowling. I'm anxiously awaiting my results to see what house I got sorted in. It's kind of like a sorority rush but without the hairspray and judging. Wish me luck!

Sorry, Ashley Judd, My "Puffy Face" Moment is Not the Same as Yours

Puffy or not, she's still beautiful.

I get it. Women are bitches. We pick each other apart instead of building each other up. I got that point in the fifth grade when I wore my first training bra and was teased incessantly about it. It's actually a lesson learned practically daily when dressing and wondering what the female world will think of my outfit. Sad, but true.

But lucky for me, I do not make a living with my appearance. I am aware of the fact that having a better looking appearance helps me in the workplace (sad but true), but ultimately I get paid for my brain. I'm not a model or actress or professional cheerleader. I add that last one in because I was appalled at hearing a professional cheerleader talk about losing those 5 lbs--she was tiny in my opinion. I expressed my anger and then a friend's husband mentioned that there are physical requirements to be a cheerleader, just as there are physical requirements for being a professional football player, and most normal people cannot live up to those requirements. This isn't grade school where everyone gets to be on the team. This is real life.

Which ultimately brings me to my point: Ashley Judd gets paid, and fairly well, to look good. Actually better than good. She gets paid to look idyllic. If she did not look idyllic, chances are good she wouldn't be an actress, at least as successful as she is. Society has always had idyllic examples of beauty and those people--men and women--have always felt the pressure and consequences of living up to their example. But they also get the spoils of what that means too.  So, while I may not agree that the "puffy face affair" was fair, I can understand it.  And honestly, it's not even that bad compared to what some celebrities have gotten (Britney, anyone?)

What I mean to say is this, while I appreciate and actually enjoyed Ashley Judd's essay on her puffy face, I have a few problems with it:

• Now? Ashley has a problem with the way media treats women NOW. As in, when it happens to her. This essay wasn't about, say, Calista Flockhart weighing 80 lbs in the 90s, or even Christina Aguilera having gained weight now. It was because it actually happened to her. 
• Okay, Ashley Judd cares. Now WHAT? Just asking people to change and "share their puffy face moments" isn't enough. If she wants to be an advocate, then she should be one. Do something about it, don't just say something about it. 
• Ashley Judd's response got play on NBC Nightly News, Rock Center and MSNBC. I'm fairly certain none of those programs actually showed her puffy face or criticized her for it. Meaning, she actually more press for herself (and the show she's hawking) through her response than the speculation. Not a bad media plan in my opinion. 

Lastly, as Chef actually mentioned, there are few women who can relate to the extremes that Ashley Judd felt in the criticism. I'm fairly certain that TMZ could give a rat's ass about my psoriasis, no matter how sensitive I am about it. However, there is one group that actually could: high school girls. Those are some mean bitches, and I say that having been one. Maybe this can be a lesson Ashley could help them with. Or maybe it's just a chance for a nationally publicized rant. That remains to be seen. 

Can I finally be petite?

Petite. My mom told me I was petite when I was in high school. Well, kind of. She said something like "You're technically petite because you're short, but not really."

The "not really" came into play because I was fat. And while short and fat are good qualities for a fire hydrant, they are less than desirable for a teenage girl. Or rather any human, unless you have recently been cast as an Ewok.

So, I bought lots of mini-skirts because they were actually normal skirts on me and looking into finding the right tailor to hem my pants. I say right tailor because in middle school my mother sent my jeans to a family member and they came back looking odd. Not the type of thing to make you NOT stand out in middle school, as I was trying desperately to do. In the end, I came out roughly the same size as I went in and relatively unscathed. I didn't really blow up until college and shortly thereafter, but it all worked out in the end.

Lately, though,  I've had an urge to actually live up to the word "petite." I wonder if it's because I'm not really a delicate or shy kind of personality or if it's that I've always been somewhat large around, if not tall, that now I'm wondering what would it be like to be "petite." Would my personality change if I felt suddenly smaller? Am I really just projecting a need to be taken care of?

I hope not. I'm not sure that I'll ever really get (or stay) in the petite range, but I'm gonna try to get there and let you know how it goes. Wish me luck!

Not Really Like Paula Abdul's "Rush, Rush" Video

The Griffith Observatory

This weekend Chef and I went to the Griffith Observatory. I had wanted to go since I was teenager and used to stay up every night during the summer to watch the Top 10 video countdown on MTV. I stayed up to watch Paula Abdul's "Rush, Rush" video that reenacted Rebel Without a Cause and starred her and Keanu Reeves. It even had spoken word intermixed with the song. It was awesome.

While the observatory was pretty good, there was no Keanu Reeves. There was a statue of James Dean, which made me wonder if Keanu Reeves had died shortly after making the "Rush, Rush" video if there would've been a statue of him, too. Do you get a statue if you copy not only the film but also the length of life of an icon? Not quite sure the rules on that (by the way, the Hoosier in me needs to remind you that James Dean was born in Indiana).

The observatory was free to visit which translates into "Busy as hell at all moments". Chef wants to go back at night and I'm totally down for it. Anyway, here are some pics from our adventure:

Looking into  Downtown

Looking into Downtown again

The James Dean statue (squint and you can see the Hollywood sign in the distance)

Thursday Thoughts

Here are some miscellaneous things that have popped into my head today:

Despite the placement of
the wooden stake, I'm
pretty positive that I
would've been impaled if
I had slammed into this. 

• Why can't I ever remember what biannual or biweekly really means? Is it every other week or twice a week? 
• While I generally think of being impaled by deer antlers as a fear, really it's just anything that could impale me while driving. (I stayed behind this pick-up for all of two seconds when it pulled in front of me today. Better safe than sorry).
• Why can't I seem to concentrate for longer than 15 minutes at a time? This has only started happening recently. How long does one have to watch Michael Bay movies before their attention span is shot to hell?
• Is Kim Kardarshian really just J.Lo 2.0?
• When will saying "2.0" finally fall out of fashion?
• Why does everyone think they can wear skinny jeans? Conversely, I know I look good in mine. And am slightly delusional.
• My cats fur has become silky soft after just a few days of changing diet, but my hair doesn't react when I change mine. That doesn't seem fair. 
• I make a mental note at least three times a day to turn off the "autocorrect" on my phone. I instantly forget said note at least three times a day about a minute after I think of it. 
• Why is it that comedians are always assholes in real life? 
• Should I buy a sodastream or is it a waste of money? Do any of my friends have one that I could rent for a week to see if I would use it?

Waiting in the Gunslinger's Office

This is actually a much more
substantial gown than I was
given.

Yesterday afternoon was the annual event known as my Lady Day. Let me rephrase that properly my Lady Parts Day. The annual day where myself (and women everywhere) get to dress in paper clothes, have nightmares from the posters we are forced to look at, and genuinely curse our womanhood. So, if you're a dude and actually still surfed in despite the picture, now might be a good time to move on out and wait until I have another sports post.

Still here? Don't say I didn't warn you. I was in sort of a pickle (that's not a reference to any body part or smell, just a phrase). I had gone to Planned Parenthood last year because I was working but did not have my insurance yet when I needed my annual exam. Thinking that a year was surely PLENTY of time for me to find an actual doctor, I left and went about my business. Until I realized that I was due for another annual visit and had not actually found the aforementioned doctor. Which is why I again found myself in the waiting room of Planned Parenthood typing "Gyno" into my iPhone only to have autocorrect change it to "Gunslinger." Which I kind of prefer calling it now. Except not Planned Parenthood because I imagine saying "Gunslinger" near Planned Parenthood is akin to saying "bomb" on an airplane.

I can imagine the intense self-reflection that goes on in the Planned Parenthood waiting rooms, as I could see it on the faces of others. I, on the other hand, was reflecting in thankfulness that my mother had been overly open about sex as teen. So much so that I actually put off doing the deed way past the national average. But the upside is that I can sit in a Planned Parenthood (or rather ANY gynecologists' office--as I will have a "real" doctor next year) and reasonably predict how my visit will go. And in case I didn't know for sure, the receptionist told me when I checked in that the wait time was about 2 hours from start to finish. Which is another reason that I'll have a real doctor next year. Because those people don't play.

I waited, filled out paperwork, and then was lead to the back to answer those lovely questions. Except now at my age they don't make me blush and when I answer them saying that I have a husband, it seems to relax the nurses a little more. I only wish I had seen my old Nashville doc this year. He had been with me so long and while I kept assuring him that I was loyal to my one man, he was always a little suspect of my truthfulness. Of course, he ran a menopause clinic so I was his only patient smack in the middle of child-bearing years. I halfway think he asked me the litany of questions just to flex his old gyno reflexes. I actually miss him. He was really good.

Yes. That's Kathy Griffin getting a
pap smear in public. 

But I digress. I answered the questions and realized that I couldn't really scoff at the pregnancy and "family planning" questions because I wasn't too young any more. Not that I was technically too young in my twenties, but the nurses used to breeze through those questions if you gave a laugh as an answer to "Are you planning to get pregnant in the next year?". Now when I laugh, they look at me funny and ask again. I straighten my face and say yes before realizing that I'm getting old. Pretty soon those questions will give way to new ones that even question whether I can have kids. Such a turn of events so quickly.

After the third degree, that assistant left and I was forced to strip down to a paper vest and an over-sized lap napkin. . .in 60 degree office climate. . . for 45 minutes. Waiting in a room in my clothes is one thing. Waiting ensconced in paper is entirely different. To pass the time I read about someone who made friends "everywhere". I do not think she made them in a Planned Parenthood Clinic, so she might need to redefine "everywhere." I am bold, but not that bold either. Instead I passed the time by reading and then studying the poster of the male's sex organs. I am finally educated enough to know where the prostate is. Yippee.

My actual exam took all of 5 minutes. Literally. And then I argued with the nurse who did the exam about giving me a prescription for something she insisted vehemently that she had to give me on-site. I finally gave up and said "Fine. Whatever. Just give it so I can get out of this napkin." Three minutes later (and me fully clothed) another nurse came in to say that the previous nurse was indeed wrong and I could have the prescription I asked for. I'm guessing Nurse A was too embarrassed to come tell me but after seeing my who-ha up close and personal, could she really be the one who was embarrassed?

All in all, not a bad gunslinger visit. And it came in at just 3 minutes under two hours, so there's that.

Getty Villa: What Rich Old Men Do With Ridiculous Amounts of Money

The courtyard of the Getty Villa

Chef and I visited the Getty Villa this weekend. Not to be confused with the Getty Museum. The Villa was a place that J. Paul Getty built when he realized that the large collection of his Roman, Greek and Etruscan art was something others might want to see. So he built a ridiculously large villa that mimicked what was the layout of a Roman or Greek quarters back in the day and opened it for the public to see.

Noble sounding, right? Probably, but the cynic in me was really thinking "this old rich dude really wanted to let people know he had money to throw around." In fact, when the Getty Villa had to be renovated, the collection was moved to a second location that was built to house it called the "Getty Center" which is now the larger of the two museums. Both are free to visit, but require you to pay for parking. Not a bad deal, but then Getty himself was known for being a tightwad. In fact, when one of his grandson's was kidnapped, Getty refused to pay the ransom. After multiple attempts to get the money and pleas from his son, he ponied up $2.2 million of the $3 million the kidnappers were asking for because that's the only amount that was tax deductible. The other $800K he loaned his son...with interest running on it.

I wonder how much of the art was a tax write-off? Either way, it was a fun day with Chef.

The reflection pool in one of the main gardens

Chef looking at a statue in one of the small ground floor galleries

My favorite part was probably looking at all the different jewelry they had back in the day. 

I also loved the huge cat funerary. 

View from the top of the villa to Malibu. The blue in the background is the Pacific. Or the sky.
 They kind of blend together nicely. 

Mad about 'Mad Men'

Am I the only one who's wondering if this season of Mad Men has been worth the wait? I know we're only two episodes into the season, but I'm not digging it thus far. First there's the creepy song/ dance number with the "cleaning in my undies like all normal people do" by the new Mrs. Draper and this time there's a horrible "poor Fat Betty who almost had cancer" story line. Could these women be any worse?

What makes a good drama? Um, some drama for starters. Seeing Betty feel sorry for herself: first because she's fat and then because she DIDN'T have cancer, was just plain sad. And how bad is it that the lady who actually did have cancer in the plot had to console bitch-ass Betty.  Really? I wonder if this wasn't just thrown in there because January Jones (who I cannot stand) was preggers and they needed to work that in. For the record, it's quite obvious that January Jones knew these episodes were coming up because she's been purposefully parading around LA in the tightest clothes known to man. It's from her new "I'm not pregnant or fat and I'm gonna flaunt it" line.

And after years of hearing "dumb women" jokes, we now get to heard "dumb black women" jokes. That's a real improvement. I realize this is supposed to be a time capsule of the era, and maybe I'm completely wrong, but do we need to be reminded every time someone enters the door that Don's new secretary is black? How many more episodes before the novelty wears off?

Am I wrong in remembering old episodes as so much better. Filled with drama and resentment and hostility. Maybe it was just a better show when Don was a philanderer. Although it is nice to hear people talk about him being handsome this season. They never seemed to have said so before.

I think Matt Weiner needs either some additional time off, or some help. Are you loving Mad Men more than I am this season?