The Short and Fat of It

Most Likely to Need Prozac

2014-07-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

Throughout my childhood, I always had a sneaking suspicion that I might be an actual genius. No one corroborated me in my theory, but that was because I was misunderstood just like all true geniuses.

My main clue was that I was already exceptional at eavesdropping having spent the better part of my preschool years hiding in pantries and underneath tables to listen to my parents' and older brother's conversations.

This was actually the only clue I had to work with, but boy, did I run with it.

While coloring the alphabet in my kindergarten class, I overheard my teacher explain to our classroom aide that I, Shasta Lewis, was going to go places soon. I kept my cool and continued coloring, but this fanned the flame of a seriously deluded fantasy.

I also didn't realize she meant that I was only going to the first grade since my eavesdropping skills were not sophisticated enough to distinguish context, but again, this was enough confirmation for me to believe that all of my wily schemes as a precocious kid were MENSA-material.

To be fair, I had plenty of moments that disproved my alleged genius to include that time I thought I would be safe hanging out of a second story window with a bedsheet anchoring me to the floor, but Thomas Edison's and Albert Einstein's respective plans didn't always pan out either. The fact that I did this and fell out of said window three consecutive times just indicated my tenacity to find the correct linen-anchoring-mechanism.

A hallmark of a determind genius!

For years, I entertained this fantasy of a wealthy patron of some notable organization or CEO of a Fortune-500 company noticing my genius as we passed each other quietly in the local grocery store. Though a young child of nine years old, my genius brain waves would radiate from my mind like a tangible forcefield as I held my mother's hand in the canned vegetable aisle.

In my overactive imagination, this anonymous person of considerable wealth would then turn to my mother and exclaim in a non-pedophilic way, "Ma'am, your daughter is clearly a genius! We have to unlock her potential!"

In a furious montage with flashes of me receiving diploma after diploma, donning a white lab coat, and shaking hands with the President as I received my Nobel Prize, I would fantasize about my future as a world-renowned genius. And then at a mere 12 years old, I'd finish my medical degree and reveal my groundbreaking research to cure AIDS, hunger, and cystic acne scars in one fell swoop.

I may not have been a genius, but you have to applaud my ego.

By 7th grade, my genius theory and subsequent fantasy were brutally shattered by the onslaught of hyperdriven, Ivy League bound middleschoolers who were usually of Asian descent. I had no idea who these kids were, but it was evident from the first day of class that I was not the one who was going to cure AIDS like I had originally planned.

These kids had not fallen out of second story windows at any point in their lives because they were too busy with their violin/cello/piano/tuba lessons and SAT/ACT/USA/911/LOL prep classes.

I had tried my best to keep up with them. I signed up for pre-pre-pre-SAT classes every summer. I begged my parents to let me have a grand piano for my birthday in the hopes that I had some untapped musical prowess (For the record, I never got that piano, and I am about as musical as a lint roller.) I made flashcards for all my classes and studied every night like a madwoman memorizing the countries aligned with NATO and the electron configurations of all known chemical elements.

Instead of being at the top of my class in every subject and earning my self-titled genius moniker, I became a bonafide basketcase.

I was bright, and I had the grades to show for it, but I did not matriculate with the highest GPA nor did I win first place in anything. Even after taking the SAT three times, I never achieved that perfect 1600. (4800? 9600? What's the highest score these days? I don't even know.)

In our yearbook, I wasn't a contender for "Most Likely to Succeed" but was voted "All Around Package Deal" not unlike the vacation specials you'd find listed on a discount travel website. As I entered my final years of high school, my youthful reverie of hobnobbing with the likes of Bill Gates, Oprah, and Nelson Mandela became deeply buried and embarrassing memories.

While I studied English at college, I transformed into a rather silent, non-participatory kind of student. I tried to sit close to the front of the classroom because I was already very small so it would have been easy for the professor to look right over me. Students in the back tended to get called upon more frequently because it's assumed they aren't paying attention, so I was operating under a modicum of reverse psychology.

I don't know what came over me, but I felt like an imposter in college because I wasn't there to make a difference! To find myself and the meaning of life! To change the department of English and use semicolons with purpose! I liked the idea of empowering leaders for a just and humane world, but I was much more inclined to follow along rather passively.

Whenever my peers paraded around campus in their Birkenstocks and North Face fleeces trying to inspire support for city water conservation research or whatever flavor of the month it was, I'd skirt around them to avoid this overly passionate condition of the mind that only seems to infect young, affluent college students. I found that my true peers were students who were committed to contractual, obligatory scholarships like me or students who were up to their eyeballs in federal loans. We just didn't have time to care about everything because we were more concerned about graduating on time and not accruing A) more obligations and/or B) more debt.

It honestly felt like I was on the outside looking into my classrooms, not unlike the vagrant squirrels that tap tap tapped on our windows. I was an active student on campus with enough extracurriculars to impress internships I never applied for, but I was equal parts inactive when it came to my daily classes.

Very rarely would I raise my hand to ask a question or offer an answer. If there had been a way for me to blend into the walls, I would have done it. I think there were one or two classes wherein I did not utter a single word aloud the entire quarter. I did my best to communicate through a furtive combination of imperceptible nods and blank stares.

I did not participate in class, and if I ended up with one of those professors who counted how many times you were active in a discussion and then included that as 10% of your final grade, I settled for getting a perfect score in the remaining 90% of the course.

An A minus was good enough for that kind of crap.

I always volunteered to be the lone shark when the number of students for group projects ended up with an odd man out in the classroom. I retained information from observing and listening quietly class after class to produce well-reasoned and thoughtful enough research to earn the grades that kept my scholarship intact and my name on the dean's list.

I managed to graduate with honors by sheer osmosis.

Now that I'm preparing for graduate school, I am trying to decide what kind of student I want to be this time around. As a former wannabe-genius, I can say that there is something intoxicating about setting your expectations dazzingly high only to have them crushed like a fruit fly.

At the very least, it makes for highly theatrical blog fodder.

I might not be in the same intellectual league with folks who are able to solve a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle (and if this is not part of the MENSA entrance exam, it should be) but I have become an expert in naming stuffed animals and applying online discount codes during flash sales. My English degree may sit beneath a mountain of dust and boxes of unopened office supplies, but it is proof that I am actually decent at this one thing, genius or not.

(Definitely not.)

Split Personality of Running

2014-07-29T11:03:00.001-07:00

I was listening to my various nerdy podcasts the other day and I learned about dissociative identity disorder most recently. I've never met anyone with this disorder; I've only ever seen it depicted in movies and pop culture, so my understanding is clearly juvenile and downright insensitive to anyone who actually has it.

Even still, I'm posting this anyway because the fact of the matter is: You can love and hate running in the very same breath and the stress that running can put on your mind/body/spirit is enough to drive anyone batty.

The morning of a race is both exciting and exhausting. During those first few miles, I am doing my best to listen to my body and start at a pace that I can maintain for the next 10 or 20 miles. It's a constant struggle for someone who is used to running like hell straight out of the gates (i.e. Army 2-mile run) so I try to distract myself with other thoughts to slow me down and keep me steady.

For the most part, these thoughts are very hippy dippy because I'm trying to channel those endorphins and be positive. As soon as these fleeting mantras cross my mind, I have two possible, immediate reactions: Option A where I am zen and one with my body, or Option B where I want to burn everything to the ground.

There is no intermediate reaction. At any given moment, I am either ALL FOR THIS RACE or AGAINST IT. It's like my very being has split into two distinct halves that are totally at odds with another and have no idea that the other half exists.

A) There can't possibly be a part of my mind that loves running when my instinct is to pour gasoline everywhere and watch this city burn whenever I pass a mile marker.

B) There can't possibly be a part of my mind that hates running when I want to embrace all living creatures and set up house in a cruelty-free commune upon crossing the finish line.

Below you'll find my mantras that I probably learned from inspirational quotes found on Pinterest with my two possible reactions upon acknowledging said mantras.

1) You learn to appreciate the city or area you're in which you are racing:

A) This course is so beautiful! Wow, it's amazing to see everything on my own two feet!

B) WHY AM I DOING THIS? I HATE THIS PLACE. GET ME A CAR.

2) You become grateful for your existence:

A) I am so lucky to be alive! The air! The trees! The water!

B) I WANT TO DIE.

3) You notice all of the cheering crowds with colorful signs along the course:

A) Hey, I love that sign! Haha, it's so motivating! Love it!

B) FUCK YOU, GUY, AND YOUR STUPID SIGN.

4) You approach every water station with relief:

A) Thank you, volunteer, for this cup of water!

B) GET OUT OF MY WAY AND GIVE ME A HOSE.

5) You learn the limits of your body and the endurance of your spirit:

A) I can do this! My legs are strong! I am ready!

B) STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP.

6) You find yourself in the zone where the miles just drift away:

A) Wow, I could run like this all night! I never want this to end!

B) WHEN WILL THIS NIGHTMARE BE OVER?

7) You learn who you really are and what you're made of:

A) I feel so invincible! I am wonder woman! I am a runner!

B) I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN. SOMEONE, PLEASE, CALL MY DAD.

Here are the upcoming races that I'm doing for the remainder of the season culminating in another attempt at 26.2 miles of glory. You'll find pieces of my shattered psyche along these courses, so feel free to pick them up in your attempt to find your own running groove.

August 2nd: Tacoma Narrows Half Marathon
August 17th: Seattle Iron Girl Sprint Triathlon
September 7th: Women of Wonder 10K
September 21st: Beat the Blerch Virtual Half Marathon
October 12th: Poulsbo Half Marathon
November 30th: Amica Insurance Seattle Marathon

White Water Rafting, Safely

2014-07-08T16:39:00.000-07:00

I like to pretend that I am a really outdoorsy, adventurous kind of person who will seize the day each and every morning, but if I can do something indoors, I am going to do it indoors and I'm going to do it much, much later in the day.

Maybe this is why I like treadmills so much?

This mostly has to do with the fact that I am not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination and to be a GO-GET-'EM outdoorsy individual, you have to wake up early.

There's a beautiful sunrise I need to see? Send me a picture.

You want to go on a day hike? Let's start at noon.

Free breakfast at the local farmer's market? I'd rather pay for dinner.

Honestly, I really should start including "Not a Morning Person" in my signature block and business cards because it's not something people would assume about me since I race on my weekends so often. Paying upwards of $75 per race can motivate even the laziest of people to get moving apparently.

Me, the Not Morning Person.

In spite of the early morning wakeup on a day off, we went river rafting up in the Skykomish River over the holiday weekend. I've only been rafting once before, and I fell out of the raft because I am small, basketball-sized person who gets bounced around easily. You would think I would be a little more apprehensive this time around, but the rafting company provided us with some really inspiring safety gear.

A lot of people get worried about potentially hazardous activities when the helmets, gloves, full body-suits, special footwear, and mouth guards come out of the woodwork.

Me? I am all about that shit. If I could wear two bike helmets, I would, so when all of this slightly wet, bottom-river-scented neoprene was set before me, I was dazzled.

Special footwear? I'm all in.

On that same token, I have never been averse to water activities wherein we all have to wear life jackets because they allow me to blend in with the crowd. We are all inexperienced noobs in life jackets, so I enjoy feigning my exasperation with everyone while we clutch and grab at the straps because ugh, this is so annoying, of course we don't need to wear these, when really, I'm thinking:

THANK YOU, GOD, FOR BLESSING ME WITH THIS LIFE VEST TODAY!

I'll be upfront here: We didn't have a heart-rattling rafting expedition because we did everything correctly. Our guide was a little on the soggy side (What rafting guide isn't?) but he was wonderfully instructive and if there is anything I do well, it is following instructions.

We ended up being the lead raft to set the pace for the following groups and so we could save anyone who fell out of their rafts as they negotiated the class-V rapids. For those of us who needed to tickle their thrill pills, our guide encouraged them to sit on the nose of the raft during some milder rapids to get splashed and whatnot.

(FYI: I was not one of those people.)

The more challenging area of the river is called "The Boulder Drop" because there are a lot of giant rocks and a very strong current that will knock your stomach straight up your throat at certain points. The rafting company's policy is to have each group shore up to the side of the river and walk alongside to observe the Drop and decide whether or not each individual wants to negotiate the rapid in the raft.

Deciding if this is a good idea or not.

This particular policy was clearly MADE FOR ME. I like clear instructions. I like to see what I'm about to do along with a detailed explanation beforehand. I also like to have an opportunity to, you know, opt out.

As our guide explained the Drop, he named every single rock and feature of the rapid, and there were at least 15 different items to name. He broke it down step by step, rock by rock, death-defying rapid by death-defying rapid.

Had I asked, I think he could also tell us the name for every single salmon that might have been swimming in the area. These guides were not messing around, and if there is anything I like more than safety gear, it's people who know what the hell they are doing.

"Classic features" as I was told.

When we climbed back into our raft, our guide also looked me straight in the eye and said, "Shasta, if something goes wrong, I'm going to reach for you and keep you in the raft."

So, rafting guide, not only did you provide me with a plethora of safety equipment and mind-numbingly detailed instructions, now you're telling me that you're going to specifically ensure that I stay safe because I probably look like an overstuffed, totally sinkable turkey in all of this water-repellant gear?

SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY - LET'S GO RAFTING.

Our rafting group, not dying.

"Hmm, am I paddling correctly?"

"UM, excuse me, secure your paddles everyone!"

Most people seem to assume that to have fun on these kinds of trips, you need to fall out of your raft and get soaked. I have fallen out of a raft before, and the time where I stayed in the raft was way, way more fun (early morning notwithstanding). It may also be possible that I got even more soaked this time around because the Skykomish River is no joke.*

*It's such NOT a joke, in fact, that when I googled it, "skykomish river death" was the first option to populate. Another reason I don't go outdoors as often as I should.

Halfway Through 2014

2014-06-24T09:11:00.000-07:00

At the end of 2013, I wrote about how much running has changed my life.

Through the winter, I did not run very much because Washington is very wet and unseasonably dark at that time of year. Tougher, stronger runners can put up with that, but I am not one of those people.

My people tend to congregate on the couch and binge watch Hell's Kitchen and Orange is the New Black. We might look outside and notice the few, brave runners in dayglo orange, but that's only when we muster the energy to crane our necks away from the bright, LED glow of our televisions.

I ventured outside for a run maybe a dozen times this last winter, and that's being very generous. Each run, too, totally and completely sucked. Nothing felt good. My left Achilles tendon was bothering me. My right hip was getting aggravated. I felt like I was gasping for air instead of breathing steadily. The only time I felt OK was when the run was over.

More often than not, I stayed inside the warm, fluorescent cocoon of light that surrounded my local gym's treadmills. I will always strangely love treadmill running. I can focus on my form more and really get into the zone without the fear of a speeding car or an unsuspecting dog walker. My skin became pale and chalky (more so than usual anyway), and I slowly ~~became a creature of the night~~ found my running groove as best as I could every other day or so.

While running is my primary "sport" or "hobby" or whatever you want to call it, it's a very active love-hate relationship. Even when it isn't winter, sometimes running just plain sucks. Runners knows this better than anyone. Sometimes, running just doesn't feel right. The thought of even tying your shoelaces can seem exhausting.

I am also terrible at committing to a training plan and by terrible, I mean, GODAWFUL because I have never committed to a training plan. I am overly frivolous when it comes to my training schedule and workout routines because there are far, far too many days where I would rather eat my weight in chocolate macadamia cookies on my couch than put on some running shoes.

What's worse is that this behavior has not hindered my performance in any way. Predictable, comfortable treadmill running and leisurely, sporadic winter runs maintained my fitness levels through a soggy spring. I ended up running my first half marathon of the season faster than last year's without any particular effort on my part.

This should be good, right? It should be, but it doesn't feel good because I know that I am being lazy. I know that I am not pushing myself any more. Whatever pace I'm running at is clearly not enough because I'm not getting any better. To be fair, I'm not getting any worse, but I don't want to be static. I didn't start this kind of living just to be the same all the time.

Some people write off a marathon as a once-in-a-lifetime achievement, and I completely understand why. There is something truly miserable about pounding the pavement for 3-4 (or more) hours straight. I know that I will always love running, and a little voice inside me kept asking if maybe this could be the year that I make or break for a Boston Qualifier? Clearly, though, this is not my year because something is not meshing for me this season and my road to BQ will be a long one (like, 8-10 more marathons!) that I will be patient for no matter how long it takes me.

Maybe the next age bracket? Ha!

Instead, there has been a much, much louder voice asking me to do more. It comes with this nagging feeling that I should consider doing something else. Something different. I need to test myself and find out if I can stick to a training plan and become someone I didn't know I could be. While a BQ is definitely in our future (My husband is also nebulously planning to run a BQ some day.) I have to ask myself if I can first do something much smaller yet so much harder.

So, I decided that I should do a triathlon because I am a terrible, horrible swimmer.

If I don't try this out, then I'll never, ever know if I could ever not be a terrible, horrible swimmer.

If you don't stick to a good marathon training plan, you might hurt your knees or break your soul a little or even get picked up by the dreaded pace wagon, but you'll live to see another day. If you don't commit to a training plan when it comes to a triathlon and swimming is your weakest event, then you will drown. Your lack of commitment could actually cause death.

Swimming a 1/2 mile might not seem like such a challenging feat, but if you can't do it well, then you won't go onto the next events and your race is over. Humans can also drown in, like, 3-inches of water or something ridiculous, so don't underestimate a measly sprint triathlon in the open water.

If I can truly commit and finish this multisport thing on race day, then why can't I commit to an equally tough training plan to shave 45 minutes from my marathon and go to Boston some day? Why can't I be one of those dayglo orange runners logging the miles on a cold winter morning?

I guess I already know that I can be if I just get off my ass, but finishing this seemingly small race in the middle of an already lax season could be just enough to push me and do it.

Turning Back Time

2014-06-23T12:36:00.001-07:00

Dear 14 Year Old Shasta,

Greetings, young one! This is yourself about thirteen years into the future. I just wanted to check in on you and see how you're doing. You've been uncharacteristically quiet lately, like, really quiet and this is concerning because you typically have a way with words as evidenced by your parents' monthly phone bills and your endless journalling that would put James Joyce to shame (in terms of quantity anyway, though some of his work is a little willy-nilly if you ask me).

The love you have for your own voice is admirable and truly uncanny, so hearing this kind of radio silence is awfully unlike you.

So, what's up? Give it to me straight! Let's get real!

Isn't that what you say in 2001-speak? No? OK, well, let me chat a little bit first because if there is anything that hasn't changed in these thirteen years, it's my love for self-narration!

But it's not just talking, is it? We want to be heard. We have something to say. We don't have journal after journal after journal bursting with thoughts and ideas for nothing, right?

But you're 14 and no one wants to listens to you, or at least that's how it feels. I'll be honest, I am just an older version of you, but you nonetheless, and I still have no idea what the hell you were talking about at 14 because I wasn't listening either.

Sorry.

Understandably so, you're starting to feel as if no one is listening because what you have to say isn't all that important. Maybe your ideas aren't as cool and brilliant as you initially thought.

These are disconcerting feelings, so I understand why you want to keep your head low, stop raising your hand, and take a step back from the podium. I understand why you want to set aside the pen and paper since no one seems to care about what you're saying. Maybe you should even try a sport, like your friends have, to fill up your time.

Don't do this, though. For God's sake, do not do any of that.

In fact, do just the opposite! Hold your head up so high that your neck hurts! Raise your hand because the words will come, they always do! Step up and say something! Write it down too, then write it down some more.

(And as far as sports, well, good luck to you, kid. You're going to have some moderate success with running, but we weren't blessed with a whole lot else in the athletic department. And to be fair, none of your friends, and I truly mean NONE of them, grow up to be professional athletes, so you're going to get the last laugh on this, I promise.)

It really doesn't matter if no one hears you or gets what you're saying because the most important person already received the message. And guess what? That person is you.

No one is going to listen if you don't feel passionate about you have to say. No one is going to read what you wrote if you aren't confident with the words you chose to write in the first place. The only reason why you should be passionate and confident about your voice, though, is because you like it.

You're already a little strange and maybe a bit too intense for most people, but these are wonderful, awesome things about you. The people that appreciate these things about you are going to be the people you want to hang out with anyway.

I know you wanted me to tell you all about the future and what takes place in the next senatorial election that you weirdly care a lot about for some reason (I will tell you this: You lose interest in these real quick when you get the ability to vote. It's the curse of having a more glamorous president in my day and age.) But I just wanted to give you a little bit of sage, sisterly advice since, you know, I happen to be a more experienced and accomplished person than you.

Luckily for you, though, you end up being ME when you're grown up!

Wait, this doesn't bring you tears of joy? Why aren't you ecstatic? OK, so maybe I'm not exactly qualified to give advice just yet because I rarely floss nor do I always remember to bring my reusable shopping bags to the store, but you could stand to learn a thing or two from me, young lady!

All I'm saying is embrace your teenage years doing what you love even if no one else seems to love it with you. That sounds a little trite, I know, but it comes with my old age.

And whatever you're doing with your eyebrows, please stop tweezing. Just stop that one thing, and you'll be fine.

Sincerely,

Shasta the Adult
Sage Advice Donor, Esquire

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...Swim?

2014-06-20T12:22:00.000-07:00

"I just...."

"C'mon, go for it!"

"I don't know yet."

"Here let me show you, it's really easy."

"Wait a second!"

"No, we'll do it together! You'll love it!"

"Hang on! I'm not sure!"

"You don't have to be! Just try it!"

"Just hold on! I'm thinking first!"

"There's not much to think of - let's GGG-"

"WAIT!

"GGggggoOOOOOOOOO!"

"OK STOP IT, I CAN'T! I WON'T DO THIS. I HATE THIS! DO NOT BOTHER ME ANYMORE ABOUT THIS. FOREVER!"

"Wow, OK, geez. You could've just said something...."

"....."

That is my reaction whenever I have to experience anything at a pace that is not my own.

If you looked at the definition of the word "caution" you'll notice an addenum from 1987: it's me. If you are trying to find a synonym for "meticulous" please just use my name in your next college paper.

"Additional evidence that something was amiss comes from Meinertzhagen's usually ~~meticulous~~ Shasta diaries."

I tend to look at new experiences like problems (because to me, they typically are problems) and I want to understand the step-by-step solution before I get to the answer. I like to sense something out first, then retreat into my brain, then maybe send out a feeler one more time, then retreat again, and then finally, maybe, possibly, I'll try it.

Maybe.

Sometimes my caution is overly cumbersome for other people, but there are a lot of other people out there in the world and only one Shasta Lewis. I am cautious because SURVIVAL, HELLO? I'll admit that I take it to an extreme at times, but it helps me feel confident when I do finally decide to try something new because I will research the living hell out of it beforehand.

Like, it cannot be dangerous or questionable in any way anymore because I killed it. It is dead now. I literally bored it to death.

I bring all of this up because I've started training for a triathlon and swimming is the current experience that I am trying to wrap my mind around first because that is how I do all.the.things.

For whatever reason, my parents didn't enroll me in swimming lessons as a kid. To some parents, this is, like, anathema to good parenting. Whatever. So is letting your untrained kids have unrestricted access to loaded, unfamiliar guns, but parents seem to do that all of the time in this country!

Anyway.

My parents literally forgot that I didn't know how to swim because we partook in water activities as a family all never times. My mom couldn't swim because she grew up in the Philippines and despite being surrounded by an ocean, swimming is not a recreational activity for the youth there.

In fact, I think she believed that the water was haunted.

My dad just straight up did not and still does not enjoy swimming. Please move aside, Pools, my dad had some sophisticated software to go program instead.

So, I just never learned how to swim.

I wish this wasn't such a big deal to me, but I spent a lot of spring breaks, summer vacations, and birthday pool parties in a cumbersome life vest within shallow waters. You would think that people in the Pacific Northwest wouldn't be so inclined to swim because of the rain and the gray and the cold and it's not suburban California, but every hippy up here seems to swim on the reg.

There were, like, 17 swimming pools within a two-mile radius of my childhood home, and I ~~almost died in all of them~~ felt like I died in all of them.

Like every person's adolescence, this has been a constant, painful memory for me because I was literally good at everything BESIDES swimming. I would look longingly across a pool and see my friends play horse even though NONE OF THEM were taking advanced calculus with me.

None of them could outrun me on the track!

None of them earned a frequent reader card from our local library!

THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL!

I also made the mistake of having mermaids for best friends because they were all life guards or on swim teams or went boating regularly.

It was seriously ridiculous. Didn't you people like being on land? Did we seriously have to go to the beach every weekend? Why couldn't we just sit around and read books, ugh?

So, couple a lifetime aversion to anything potentially dangerous with an inability to swim, and you basically have the Worst Swimmer in the World: Her Name is Shasta.

Another incredible irony is that I married a man who happens to be a record-holding competitive swimmer.

I mean, really? It's like some cosmic force or spiritual deity is trying to show me that water is going to be a part of my life in a big, big way forever.

Now, imagine me in a pool flailing around like an idiot because none of my swimming research has paid off in there. My husband has been diligently providing me with swim lessons that include an exhausting list of instructions because his wife cannot comprehend anything without all 4,502,796 steps explained in complete detail. That is what is happening on regular basis, day in and day out. We are both very tired.

OK, I'm actually the very tired one. I'm pretty sure Andy is mostly amused because seriously? This overly cautious 27-year-old woman, who reads books about swimming, is going to try to swim now?

Get the man some popcorn, this is quality entertainment, people!

I will not jump into the water. I will not move onto Step 9 without first mastering Steps 1-8. I have been learning at my own pace, and while I'm fairly certain that newborn kittens could lap me within 50 meters, I have been improving.

Step 1: I can float.

Step 2: My arms and legs work.

Step 3: I exhale through my nose. (This took two lessons, by the by.)

And so on and so forth.

What is amazing to me is that swimming, like real swimming as opposed to the intense doggy paddling that I am actually quite exceptional at, is wonderfully technical. In spite of the mouthful of water I seem to choke on every 5 minutes, I am enjoying myself because swimming involves way more cerebral activity than I had remembered from my childhood.

Some day soon, like really soon because I already paid for my registration fee, I will be propelling myself across the water without any reservations because the entire triathlon sport will be so bored of me that it won't matter if I'm the last in my swimming heat anymore.

The event coordinators will see me pass that final buoy and remark, "Oh, it's that crazy lady who found a loophole in our registration policies and managed to ensure that we had to let her finish because the time constraints in this race are arbitrary and un-enforceable."

And they said you couldn't take the fun out of everything?

"They" obviously didn't know me.

One Day, I'll Drive a Ridiculous Car Too

2014-06-16T12:58:00.001-07:00

Sometimes when I open my mouth, I hear my dad. Then I look around and Ben Lewis is no where to be found.

How did he manage to say something so quickly and leave? Where did he go?

Oh, it was me speaking. It's just that I am turning into my father.

Is this everyone's worst nightmare? Or is this everyone's eventual reality?

My dad and I are the kind of people who claim to be Type B, but we have so many Type A qualities that the latest edition of the DSM can't keep up with us.

We are the kind of family who can go days, weeks, sometimes even months without talking to each other, and it's, like, not even a big deal.

When we do manage a phone call or the obligatory visit, my dad and I talk over each other at a volume and a rate that my husband has deemed "OUT OF CONTROL" and yet, we always know what the other person has said. We're just ready to respond immediately, typically before the other person has finished speaking.

It's a more efficient form of communication, that's all.

Our interests might vary greatly, but the passion with which dive into our respective interests is eerily uncanny.

Actually, we both like bicycles.

And reading.

And DIY projects.

And seeing movies.

And the cosmos.

OK, we have nearly identical interests.

We don't enjoy trying new things until we're ready to do so. After all, you can't expect me to jump on a bandwagon unless I feel like I invented said bandwagon, so please don't mention Instagram to my dad because he hasn't invented it still. For now, he will only scoff at it.

We take the concept of "Practice Makes Perfect" quite seriously and once we've mastered something, we think of ourselves as the PIONEERS OF THIS MASTERY because NO ONE ELSE has toiled at this practice quite like us!

And most people really don't toil as much as we do because they just sort of get it after a few practice rounds, but that is because they aren't worthy of being PIONEERS.

Also, please don't buy cookies for our households because they won't stand a chance against us.

Here are some words or phrases that people have used to describe me that I have used to describe my dad with before:

-Stubborn
-Confident
-Teetotaler
-Smartass
-Intelligent
-Scary yet affable
-Awkward
-AWESOME!!!

Here are some words that people have not used to describe me that I would also never use to describe my dad:

-Fashionable or trendy
-Disorganized
-Lazy
-Sweet or kind
-Felonious or criminal
-Religious
-Trendy (Wait, I mentioned that. It bears repeating, though, because we instantly age anything we wear by virtue of our worldliness no matter how often we go shopping.)

Proof of our fashion prowess and worldliness

We can be annoying in social settings because it is very evident that we don't really want to be there. We don't mean to be anti-social, but group settings are tedious because people can be EXHAUSTING with their blither, blather, chatter nonsense.

I mean, haven't you heard the way we speak? IT IS THE ONLY FORM OF COMMUNICATION WORTHY OF OUR TIME.

With that, we can easily come across as high-handed, perhaps arrogantly so, and well, that's not really our problem. It's everyone else's!

Sometimes, I will have a life crisis dilemma that will nag and plague me to no end. No amount of driving in my car will seem to solve the problem (because that is where we Lewises come up with the best solutions: in our cars) so I just have to call my dad.

This isn't to say that he has a solution, because he doesn't always. Instead, he will teach me to appreciate the problem in the first place and give me some perspective like no one else can.

"Wow, have you tried doing this, this, or this?"

"Yeah, Dad, I tried all of those things. Like a million times." (So, unlike my dad, I do tend to exaggerate a little and I should also mention that everything can be a life crisis to me.)

"You know, it's actually very complex-"

"Yes, I know, that's why I'm stuck-"

"-it's almost like a catch-22, wherein you-"

"-I've been wondering what to do for ages-"

"-have to keep living your life with the problem-"

"-that I think I just have to live with it beca-"

"-because everyone carries burdens, but life keeps goi-"

"-use it might just be my burden for right now."

"-ng and it will seem so small in hindsight."

"Oh I just missed my turn."

"Why would you do that?"

"Dad, I didn't mean to."

"Then you should pay more attention to where you're going."

"I'M GOING NOWHERE WITH MY LIFE! THAT'S THE POINT!"

"You just had to take a right up on the hill, I thought?"

"I meant, like, existentially."

"Ohohohohohoh, right. Well, you have to get home first anyway."

People are so horrified to know that they are becoming carbon copies of their parents, and to some extent, I get it because I've met a lot of other people's parents and hoo boy, that would be horrifying. The older I get, though, the more I appreciate the qualities that I share with my dad because it's nice to know that I am growing into a good, responsible* person who cares about the environment (water conservation) without being obnoxious (homemade, resuable hemp shopping bags).

Some day, I will be able to turn on the lawn edger without his step-by-step "DID YOU TRY THIS?" checklist over the phone and when that day comes, it will be because ~~I am finally paying someone else to work on the yard~~ I finally felt like I invented the lawn edger and have become a Lawn Edging Pioneer after all of these years.

*OK, we aren't very good at picking people up from the airport. My dad and I have horrible track records for that which is NO EXCUSE because, hello, flight tracking technology, but since we didn't invent it from the get-go, we can't trust it still.

The BEST Chocolate Chip Cookies

2014-05-12T12:16:00.002-07:00

I cannot take all the credit for these chocolate chip cookies because I'm not Mrs. Tollhouse, the Inventor of the Chocolate Chip Cookie or anyone like that. I have to give major props to Sally from Sally's Baking Addiction because this recipe has so many great cookie tricks that it is basically FOOLPROOF and a great starting point for any soft, chewy cookie you'd like to try.

All of these cookies were harmed in the making of this blog post because I ate them.

I tweaked a few things here and there to suit my tastes, and I can say, with confidence, that these cookies are the bomb dot com. Here are my tips on the ingredients:

My first trick is to substitute some of the flour with pancake mix. I kid you not! Even though I am a massive hater of pancakes (and french toast and waffles and most things breakfast), the consistency, flavor, and moisture in pancake mix are divine for cookies. I don't know if that's actually true; I had leftover pancake mix one day and not enough flour, so it was really just a happy accident that stuck.

From the left: Pancake mix and all-purpose flour, milk chocolate chips, granulated sugar and dark brown sugar, two eggs, vanilla extract, melted butter, cornstarch, baking soda

Pancake mix has a slightly savory flavor all on its own, so I do not add salt or use salted butter for these cookies because then they will become salt licks. That's my second trick! No additional salt! None! Don't do it!

Unless, of course, you decide to use flour exclusively (2 and 1/4 cups), then you might want to add a 1/2 teaspoon of salt. You know, for that flavor balance.

If you're a dark chocolate lover, then I don't know about you and your taste buds. As a milk chocolate proponent, I exclusively bake with milk chocolate chips. Semisweet chocolate chips don't provide the JUSTICE OF SUPERIOR FLAVOR that milk chocolate seems to do, but I'll let you decide for yourselves on the Chocolate Debate.

Trying to be arty with food. Pretend those eggs are room temperature.

While you can deviate from the pancake mix (and the salt situation) and use your own favorite variety of chocolate if plain ol' milk doesn't float your boat, you really should not use anything BUT dark brown sugar. Light brown sugar will take you places, sure, but not to your final destination of Cookie Nirvana.

Granulated sugar and dark brown sugar, holla!

OK, now onto some techniques. Again, you should really check out Sally's original recipe because she goes to great lengths to describe all of her foolproof (there's that word again!) tips for great cookies. I'll gloss over the finer points, but these are the main techniques that you should not actually gloss over:

Other than the melted butter, everything should be at room temperature. I'm mainly talking about the eggs, but if you're a weirdo who refrigerates their chocolate, baking soda, or vanilla extract, then take that stuff out of there and let it come to room temperature before you start mixing away. This helps incorporate all of the ingredients and it will allow the melted butter to stay melted and do its buttery thaaang.

Cookie dough…

I may or may not have eaten that spoonful.

As soon as you're done mixing everything together, wrap that soft, squishy mass of dough in plastic wrap, bid it good night in your fridge, and be on your merry way for at least two hours. With the leavening in the pancake mix, your dough will be especially soft and goopy, so if you don't chill the dough, you'll end up with pathetically flat cookies.

I will mix up a batch of cookies in the evening, chill the dough overnight, and bake them the following day. It is excruciating to wait that long, but it's worth it. CHILL THE DOUGH, FOLKS!

When you're ready to bake, make sure to set your oven to 325F degrees. The goal is to slightly underbake the cookies and this temperature will allow you to control the process more.

Scooping the dough with a cookie scoop is preferred, but because your dough has been chillin' for at least two hours, it will be a rock solid mass. If you are working on your gun show, then by all means, scoop away! But, give the dough 15-20 minutes to soften a little bit if you want to save yourself some blood, sweat, and tears. You really just want the cookies to be consistent in size, so if rolling balls of dough by hand works best for you, then do that instead of scooping.

The cookie dough scoops will look like chilled balls of ice cream.

I bake on a greased cookie sheet because I do not like to face any resistance when sliding freshly baked cookies onto my plate.

The cookies should only be baked for 11-12 minutes. They will look totally soft and jiggly, but leave them alone on that hot cookie sheet, and they'll bake some more out of the oven like that. Don't even think about eating them until the cookie sheet is cool to touch. If you thought chilling the dough in the fridge was a painful wait, then this will push you over the edge.

Fresh out of the oven…and looking undercooked.

As the cookies are cooling on the sheet, this is a good time for you to get into your pajamas and fuzzy slippers and then to pour yourself a glass of cold milk, because how else do you eat freshly baked cookies?

The end result….perfection.

The BEST Chocolate Chip Cookies
[recipe adapted from here]

Ingredients:

1 and 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup pancake mix
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 and 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch
3/4 cup unsalted butter, melted (1 and 1/2 sticks)
3/4 cup dark brown sugar, loosely packed
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg + 1 egg yolk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 and 1/2 cups milk chocolate chips or chocolate chunks

Directions:

1) In a large bowl, sift the flour, pancake mix, baking soda, and cornstarch together. Set aside.

2) In another bowl, mix the melted butter, dark brown sugar, and granulated sugar together. If you have hard sugar lumps in there, pick them out or mix the bajeezies out of them. Mix in the egg, the egg yolk, then the vanilla until everything is, well, mixed.

3) Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and mix with a rubber spatula. Fold in the chocolate chips. At this point, the dough will be very soft. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and chill for at least two hours.

4) Preheat the oven to 325F degrees. Allow the dough to soften a bit or start scooping (or rolling!) balls of cookie dough onto a greased cookie sheet if you're bold like that. Bake for 11-12 minutes.

5) Allow cookies to cool completely before consumption. This recipe yields about 20 cookies for a "medium" cookie scoop.

OK, I snuck in a bite!

20 Facts You Didn't Need to Know

2014-04-28T15:23:00.004-07:00

I have this older brother, but this post isn't about him. I essentially grew up as an only child because he is that much older than me, so this post is about me. On my blog. I'm writing about myself on my blog.

You're stunned, I know, but that's sort of the deal you signed up for when you decided to read this post about me on my piece of the web.

Welcome to my self-centered life!

But I bet you didn't know that I had an older brother? (Unless you're one of the three readers of my site: Hi Dad!) That's the theme of today's post though! Or more specifically:

20 Facts About ME That Might Surprise You (Or At Least, Cause You to Question Your Readership of this Blog)

1) My most favorite article of clothing that I have ever owned happens to be a lavender, corduroy pea coat from the Gap circa 2003. I was clearly a fashion maven. HOWEVER, Radiant Orchid was named the 2014 Pantone Color of the Year so maybe I was onto something all those years ago. Ahem, Fashion, you owe me.

2) I went to one traditional high school class for about 30 minutes in the 11th grade. I left halfway through my math class to drop it and enroll myself full-time at a local community college. I "graduated" high school when I received my diploma in the mail.

3) When I'm getting a table at a restaurant or a dressing room at a store, I'll usually say that my name is "Jamie" or "Annie" because people CANNOT spell "Shasta" and I get tired of this game:

"What was it again?"
"Shasta."
"C-H-A....?"
"No, it's an S"
"C-S-H-A...?"
"No, it's-nevermind. Whatever."

4) Lemon-flavored candy is my least favorite candy. Orange-flavored candy is a close second. I will pick out these Skittles from the bag.

5) I became passionate about literature while I was attending a college-preparatory school from 7th-10th grade. It rivaled my love for the sciences and the only reason literature truly won my heart was because of amazing back-to-back teachers every single year. Mr. Green, Ms. Stray, and Mr. Linn - I owe you all a huge thank you.

6) I have an older brother. OK, so maybe I mentioned that already, but it bears repeating in list format.

7) Planning our wedding was the most stressful time in my life. Since this was in the days before Pinterest, I was scouring bridal magazines trying to make sense of all the chiffon and tulle on my own.

8) Speaking of marriage, I did not take my husband's last name. This is mostly because I am lazy.

9) I have a freckle under my right eye that people typically mistake as a smudge of makeup or piece of dirt. One time, this woman was so insistent that it could just be "wiped right off" that she proceeded to take her thumb and poke me in the face with it.

"Wow, it really is a freckle!"

REALLY? You could have fooled me, lady.

10) According to the Myers Briggs personality test, I am an ISFJ (Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Judging). For the most part, I would say that is pretty accurate. I'm also on the Virgo/Libra cusp for what it's worth (nothing).

11) I have one of those "You look familiar" faces and it drives me bonkers when people start insisting that I am so from Pennsylvania - the Pittsburgh area, that's it! when I've never been to Pennsylvania.

12) I do not know how to swim, and there have been many, many, too many times where swimming has been required of me in both my personal and professional lives. For the love of all that is holy, please make sure your children can swim because otherwise, they will turn into landlocked adults with an unnatural fear of drowning (BECAUSE IT'S ALL TOO POSSIBLE!)

13) I am a big fan of young adult fiction. My undying love for Harry Potter is the culprit there. I frequently imagine myself as a high school English teacher in some alternate universe encouraging young people to DROP THE JANE AUSTEN and pick up something that is more age-appropriate but equally (albeit differently) valuable.

Don't get me wrong - there is a time and place for fuddy, duddy British authors, but there are so many other good books out there that are more relevant to the average teenager (and will have a better chance of inspiring a lifelong passion for reading!)

14) I like spoilers for movies, books, pretty much anything with a plot. It's a terrible, terrible habit, but I just.have.to.know.whathappensnext.RIGHTNOW!!!!! (DUMBLEDORE DIES!)

15) With that, I really don't enjoy surprises.

16) Podcasts have totally changed my running game. The History Chicks happens to be my favorite channel right now. Biting commentary of great women in history? SOLD.

17) I am a recovering coupon cutter. No, seriously. Only in the last few months have we been able to finish off the seemingly endless supply of personal hygiene products in our house. I bought shampoo for the first time in YEARS this last January. It was a problem.

18) Other than an occasional glass of extremely sweet wine that still tastes like grape juice, I seldom drink alcohol. It tastes super yucky to me and I don't need alcohol ~~to be an asshole~~ to be funny.

19) I have extreme product loyalty and get really perturbed when brands change up their original formulas. For example, the first generation of the Brooks Pure Cadence shoes were the pair that I started running in more seriously, but the additional generations? GARBO! I'm currently running in my second pair of Asics Gel-Lyte33 (second generation) and I don't know what I'm going to do when those shoes kick the curb (about 200 more miles) because the third generation? PROBABLY GARBO!

20) I am not a big breakfast person. I loathe pancakes. Maple syrup is sickly, sweetly gross. The closest thing I eat that resembles breakfast is probably cereal, but even that I eat sparingly. I typically just have a fruit smoothie or yogurt in the mornings.

21) BONUS: I make the best chocolate chip cookies that, ironically, require pancake mix. Recipe forthcoming.

Alice & Mary Blair: Two Cool Ladies

2014-03-27T08:28:00.001-07:00

Like any semi-grown twenty-something, Disney movies made a huge impact on my upbringing and the colorful scenes of all those animated feature films set a fire within my imagination. I will gladly belt out any song from Beauty and the Beast at any given moment with gusto. When I watch any of these movies at home (which is way more often than my husband wants to admit), it's basically a sing-along for me.

Don't even get me started on Frozen because that soundtrack is on repeat in my iTunes library on a daily basis.

LET IT GO!

LET IT GO!

CAN'T HOLD IT BACK ANYMORE!

LET IT GO!

LET IT GOOOoOooOOOO!

TURN MY BACK AND SLAM THE DOOR!

OK, I got myself started. My bizzle.

Over the years, I've been working on recreating my vast Disney movie collection with Blu-Ray discs and DVDs. I reason with myself that this will be for my future children so that they too can sing, dance, and relive Disney magic in all its animated glory.

Really, though, this is all for me because the hard facts about being an adult happen to be:

1) It's not that fun.
2) You spend a lot of time wishing you were still a kid.

I have all of the 90's classics, but it has been a little more challenging to find some of my older Disney favorites. When I saw Alice in Wonderland on DVD for a mere 10 bucks at the store, I jumped for joy and purchased it immediately.

(via)

I loved watching Alice as a kid. I watched this videotape (That's a black square box with the film on spindles, for you young folk.) so many times that it broke when I was in second or third grade. Without the Internet to help me find a digital copy and then only remembering this wonderful animated feature intermittently, I have not watched Alice for ~~five,~~ ~~ten~~ OK, fine, eighteen years.

I honestly just loved that Alice was a curious little girl with a really cute cat. She wasn't trying to find true love. She wasn't interested in becoming a princess. She just liked to create her own imaginary worlds.

Sure, she wasn't particularly smart or clever (Who seriously drinks a beverage that says "DRINK ME" on it? That's a bad situation waiting to happen and that situation has already happened at many-a-fraternity party I'm SURE.) but she was very intrepid, plucky, and downright curious.

Oh, and did I mention the most important point already? She had a cat. That spoke straight to my heart.

I always imagined what the "Drink Me" shrinking elixir would taste like - maybe a cross between guava nectar and sweet cream. Or those "Eat Me" growing biscuits - they reminded me of vanilla wafer cookies. The singing, snooty flowers gave me a chance to appreciate a garden, because god knows I've always hated yard work (Sorry, Dad).

(via)

I wanted to live so badly in the White Rabbit's pink house with the grandfather clock that had bunny ears and the little carrot garden outside his window. I would always get so upset when Giant Alice wrecked his perfectly pink home with her obnoxious tendency to just eat things that weren't hers (ugh).

(via)

And yes, the movie is kind of crazy. It's like a rainbow kaleidoscope exploded with talking animals, doorknobs, and playing cards. If you've read Lewis Carroll's Alice books, you'll know that some of the elements in the story are not only weird, but straight up bizarre. It only makes sense that the animated film would also be kind of nutso, but I love everything about it still.

Imagine my surprise and delight to find that the concept artist for this beloved movie has been honored for Women's History Month because, you know, Mary Blair was a woman and deserves some recognition for keeping it real with so many of the male Disney animators and artists of her time.

How perfect is it that one of my favorite Disney films about a young, non-princess girl in a colorfully vibrant and flair-tastic world was artistically rendered by a woman? There just isn't enough astrology in the universe to illustrate how perfectly wonderful and fortuitous this is.

Growing Up in a Girl's World

2014-03-26T11:37:00.000-07:00

At a very early age, I wanted to go to college and have some kind of career. I spent most of third grade writing extra credit papers about all of the planets to hone my writing and research skills.

When I found out about a nearby college-prep middle school, I begged my parents to send me even though that meant years of carpooling.

As soon as I could drive, I started taking community college classes and learning about scholarships.

I never aspired to be married or to have a family. Maybe it's because I was so hyper-intense about school, but my parents never encouraged me to do that or even made mention of it.

I don't ever remember pretending that my dolls or toys were "babies." For a very, very, very long time, I actually did not even like babies, and I have always been thankful that I do not have younger siblings. Other than myself, there was no one else who I wanted to be like growing up.

If you want to know how to raise an independent-thinking woman who marches to the beat of her own drum, to a rhythm that is typically too harsh for others to follow, then look no further than Ben Lewis. Every day, I am so grateful that my dad never tried to sign me up for something that I didn't ask for or commemorate milestones that I didn't want to be part of.

Looking back on my overly precocious self, I can tell you that I had a lot of growing up to do still because I was also as unkind as I was smart. I cut people down when they gave the wrong answers in class. I ignored people who wanted my help on their homework. I especially ignored other little girls who did not seem as committed to school as I was, and I am ashamed to say that I thought less of them.

I really had to learn how to be a nicer person. Yes, I had to learn how to do it. This isn't to say that I had poor social skills or that I wasn't well-liked growing up, quite the contrary, but whenever I had a choice, I preferred being alone because I knew that I was the only person I could tolerate for long periods of time.

I was a lovely child, really.

I knew that I needed to be a nicer person because of the guilt I would feel whenever I wasn't nice. I didn't want to be nice because little girls, as a whole, were supposed to be nicer, quieter, and kinder than little boys.

I honestly had no idea that that was the societal norm until I was in 7th grade and I was being disciplined for talking out of turn even though all of the boys in my class were encouraged to speak their minds whenever the moment struck them, hand raised or not.

When I realized that my gender was going to make my life-long ambition to have a successful career even more difficult, I was incensed. I was willing to be more considerate of others, and I was willing to have more patience in general, but I was not going to give an inch when my success was on the line.

My quest to be a nicer person was not going to be hinged upon the fact that I happened to be a girl.

This is a sore subject in the struggle between gender equality anyway, and to someone who has spent nearly all of her life on the other side of that stereotype, it really irritates me when people view my education, my career, and my life as atypical for a woman.

However, I have not helped this fight because I have refused to look at the whole picture for so long. Instead, I have been judging young women who choose not to go to college or enter the work force. I have been looking at such choices as a total waste!

What potential - squandered!

And for what? Some kids?

Some daughters who also won't want to go to college because they've been told that they have to be quieter, nicer, gentler souls than their brothers?

How are we breaking through that glass ceiling if so many of us are willing to live under it? What are we doing here?

I've been worried about myself and my own definition of success for so long that I have not been able to see that many women have found success and fulfillment in choices that are not my own.

These women who have celebrated and respected, in turns, my degree and my own marriage and my choices, I have denigrated. That is not fair to them. That isn't even fair to me and my unborn children.

For reasons that I cannot yet relate to, I have learned to respect that some women genuinely want and choose to be mothers, perhaps in addition to some kind of long-standing career or perhaps not. Sometimes their definition of success might not even match my own.

Some women truly do not want to go to college and choose not to go.

Some women want to be artists, perhaps of the sandwich variety.

Some women express their feminity by choosing to shave their legs or to not shave their legs.

As long as our choices originate from a combination of desire and life's own brand of serendipity, then we should be able to get behind and appreciate this kind of diversity, especially since so many women in this world are unable to make any choices for themselves.

You want to be a CFO for a major, multi-national company? Go you!

You want to go into the Army and become the first female Ranger? Go you!

You want to work part-time and raise your own kids? Go you!

You want to work full-time and figure out a feasible daycare plan for your family? Go you too!

I love that I grew up wanting to go to school. I love that I knew who I was about before anyone told me otherwise. I love that I am a fiery person who had to temper her own flame with a good dose of humble pie.

To be perfectly honest, this long-standing career that I thought I had wanted so badly is not all that it's cracked up to be and I've realized that my definition of success has changed significantly from when I was in the third grade. Yes, believe it or not, but my priorities are shifting and changing as I learn to respect other women's choices and go forward in my quest to not only be successful but to also be a nicer person.

If I have children, I want them to grow up loving themselves and loving their choices too. I want them to be good, kind people who care about others and can respect those different life choices that won't be their own. I want them to also embark upon life-long quests to be nicer people, and not because of their genders.

If I have daughters, I want them to go to school and try their best. I truly and sincerely hope that they love school, but if they don't, I know that I have the capacity to respect and even celebrate their choices. I hope they want to work, in whatever capacity, and that their success is not a "surprise" because they happen to be women.

If they have children of their own, I hope it's because they really want them and they made the choice to have them on their own terms, and not because someone told them they should be parents.

Perfection in Shaming You

2014-02-07T21:54:00.001-08:00

Body shaming is when you shame another person (or yourself for that matter) for being overweight or large or just not the kind of body that you have been conditioned to view as normal/beautiful/worthy/etc. I have been grappling with this issue for awhile. How do I feel about it? Do I think this is a real thing worthy of my attention? What message am I sending to my children by calling another person fat? By calling myself fat? Short and fat of it, no less. What do I want to contribute on this subject, if anything?

I don't know. For all of it. As someone who has yo-yo-ed on the scale in the past but has recently got it under control in the last year, do I even have a place in this dialogue? As someone who has never been truly overweight or obese, can I understand what's being discussed at the table? I don't know any of that either.

I do know that the images of beauty, specifically female beauty, that we are barraged with on a daily basis are absolutely fictitious. They do not have a foothold in reality, but that is what we want to see, not just in magazines and movies, but even in our everyday lives.

There is this assumption that fat people (large people, overweight people, not-perfectly-toned-and-tightened people) are lazy. They made the choice to be fat. They decided to eat their feelings. They gave up on their bodies. They just let themselves go. They don't want "it" bad enough. Etcetera. As a culture, we openly make these rash, harsh judgments on others without even considering their intellect, compassion, or life stories. We also one-up each other and only "appreciate" our bodies through a critical lens focused on shaming others: at least my thighs don't touch all over like hers. (I'm pretty sure that shaming another person to raise yourself up in your own eyes is not true appreciation.)

I have been guilty of this.

At times, I find myself comparing my own body to the other women around me. It's a totally insecure and unnecessary thing to do, but I know I am not alone in this. If you are also a woman, I know that you have checked to see if your legs look dimpled in those leggings. You have wondered if your bra is cutting rolls into your back. You have sized another woman up in an attempt to figure out if you're smaller, thinner, skinnier, sexier than her. And for what? None of this body obsessing is healthy, at least from what I can tell and have experienced.

While I am most definitely healthier for having lost some weight last year, I can tell you for certain that I'm not always comfortable in this thinner, fitter body. I have to actively remind myself to not inspect every dimple or wrinkle or crease on my thighs/stomach/wherever. I have to remind myself to not call myself fat or tubby or other mean insults because 1) they're not true, and 2) I wouldn't want anyone else to treat themselves like that, especially if they hear me shame my own body!

I still do not feel adequate. I am still not the body I see on magazine covers, even though I know that image is not real. There have been times where I have been so self-conscious about my body, and the weight I had gained, that I didn't even want to see my family so that they wouldn't see my puffier face or rounder hips. In so many ways, I am thrilled by what my body can feel and do, but it can crumble in an instant with one look in the mirror.

I know I'm not alone in this because I hear my friends, these beautiful people, express these same insecurities regularly.

This kind of thinking is exhausting and lonely, and it's only worse for the people who we openly body shame. This body shaming that I do to myself is bad enough, so to shame another person? To someone I care about? Or worse, to a complete stranger? That is just uncalled for and enriches absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. Zip.

And then there is the other side of the spectrum: when someone is too skinny. We assume they're unhealthy. That they must have done something unnatural to be that way, perhaps a liquid diet or a special drug or an expensive procedure. That they couldn't have done it without some serious help. We compare ourselves to them and say acidly, "Well if I had that kind of time/money, I would look like that too!" And then that kind of sounds like an excuse and then it reminds us that we don't have perfect bodies because we are coveting someone else's and then we are ashamed of ourselves for not having that time/money/magic to be skinnier and sexier.

Or we assume these naturally thinner people just have a blessed genetic makeup...and that they don't even deserve to be skinny in the first place because of it. That they're just freaks of nature, and we shun and shame them for not "being real" even though WE WANT TO LOOK LIKE UNREAL IMAGES OF BODIES.

Ugh. Do you see what I mean? Does this sound familiar?

So, fat people are fat because of their own lazy choices...and skinny people are skinny because they had help or from factors outside of their control, like genetics? Wait, what? It's like no matter what size your body is, large or small, fat or skinny, it's just not going to be good enough, and that's pretty crappy since your body, apparently, is the only measure of your worth.

Except so totally not.

I am bringing all of this up because, well, because it bothers me that I have been part of this perpetuating, destructive cycle of body shaming. I have been self conscious about my body since I was 11 years old when I suddenly thought my thighs were too big. Even as a kid, I was already judging myself and others because of the images and beliefs that were being broadcasted on media outlets (and this was 1998: Before the Digital Age) and because the size of our legs was already a normal concern for 5th grade girls.

I don't want my children to grow up having love/hate relationships with their bodies and coveting the manufactured ones on TV and in print (if the printed press will still exist in the future). I don't want my friends to compare their bodies to others - I am tired of this being a common coffee break discussion. I don't want a stranger to think less of me because of my dress size, and I shouldn't think any less of others for the same reason.

This is all part of so many dialogues, and I'll talk about this until I'm blue in the face (ask my husband) but I really want you to ask yourself if you love your own body. And if you do, do you love it at the expense of shaming others for theirs? And if you don't, do you loathe it because you covet an imaginary standard of perfection?

These aren't pleasant questions, I know, but if we are already so critical of the way we look, we might as well be critical of the way we treat others because that's actually worth changing.

Hump Day Brain Dump

2014-02-05T09:00:00.000-08:00

Hump Day: The peak of the week where everything should go downhill thereafter, but we all know poop can manage to float to the top anyway.

Brain Dump: An attempt to organize my jumbled thoughts and internet discoveries so that my mind can have some room to endure the remainder of the week.

This is kind of weird to start with, but I have to talk about eye liner. I can't really do pencils because my lids are always oily and I don't have the energy to use a pot of gel and a brush (the nerve), so my only option is really liquid. Unless I want to go au natural (never). My love for liquid liner has ebbed and flowed in the past, but I'm a stalwart devotee to Marc Jacobs' version now. It has basically turned me into a makeup wizard. The felt tip is malleable enough for a quick sweep or an elaborate cat eye. If only I had a reason to look like a cat more often.

I really wish the Egyptians had never worshipped them because damn, cats still believe we are their human slaves. Our two sheebas have cost us hundreds of dollars in home repairs, and I frequently fantasize about what it would be like to give them away while I'm writing the check for another carpet replacement.

And then, I find some cat .gifs and a video of two adorable kitty sisters, and I love my cats all over again. It's not like I have the time to re-home them anyway.

Speaking of which, why are we always lamenting about how "busy" we are? Or is it just me? I feel like I see a lot of Facebook statuses clogging my feed on the very subject. This blog post reminds me just how annoying all of us young professionals are and how we should really shut up about ourselves. NO ONE CARES HOW LONG WE WORKED!

In fact, no one seems to care about how hard we work either, so what's the point? Why are we still showing up? Hmm, I am onto something here.

Besides having a job, the other tough thing about being an adult is eating your vegetables. It's like I'm supposed to include them in every meal all of a sudden and it bums me out. I've never really eaten brussels sprouts, much less cooked with them, but this salad might just change my mind because of two important factors: 1) bacon, and 2) bacon ciabatta croutons. With some (real) parmesan cheese on top? I'm definitely trying some sprouts this weekend.

In addition to ~~all~~ most vegetables, I rarely cook or prepare anything with yeast. I could have purchased a bad batch of yeast at the store, but the three times I've attempted homemade pretzels in the last six months have turned out to be flour-y, sticky messes.

On the flip side of this, I'm a ridiculously huge fan of doughnuts in all their varieties. After a life-changing cronut experience at Walt Disney World this last Christmas, I've been on the hunt for a manageable doughtnut recipe and I think beignets might be my calling. Chocolate stuffed and chocolate drizzle on top? SOLD. Yeast be damned!

Even though I just complained about people complaining about their long life/work hours, I have been dabbling in freezer meals because of my own long life/work hour situation. I no longer have to chop, dice, shred, mince, brown, marinate, or season all of the things for the same meal every night, and it has been nothing short of miraculous. My food-focused Pinterest board is pretty much the source of inspiration for the month's meals. It was also kind of fun to do all the prepping and cooking on the lazy Saturday before the big Super Bowl game. I now have more time to read my ever-growing stack of books!

I always make time to re-read my favorite series though, and every time I get through Order of the Phoenix, I always start to wonder why Harry and Hermione haven't gotten together already. Don't get me wrong, Ron is great, but Harry and Hermione had chemistry! And apparently, JK Rowling and Emma Watson are wondering the same thing these days. Maybe J-Ro should write a parallel story following this long-loved fan fiction topic. I'd read it.

If you can't already tell, I'm a big fan of YA fiction because I'm perpetually 15 years old.

The Hunger Games? Yes.

The Mortal Instruments? Yes.

Beautiful Creatures? Definitely.

Divergent? Reading it now.

I'm also a big fan of their corresponding films, but I'm not sure if Vampire Academy is a series I want to get behind. I feel OK about myself when I whip out a copy of Divergent (because I still read. real. books. like with pages) but maybe I should go the more covert route and read the VA series on my Kindle app to save myself some embarrassment. I'm just so behind the times I don't know if I can catch up with all of this e-reading.

I also know I am super duper late to jump on the Orange Is The New Black bandwagon, but uh, we flew through the first season like our Netflix account was about to expire. I love it. Maybe not enough to dress like Taystee for my next, ill-advised Halloween costume (Looking at you, Julianne Hough) but definitely enough to get excited about Season 2.

Game of Thrones also floats my boat and April 6th cannot come soon enough. I love to hate her, but Cersei Lannister is kind of awesome in spite of the whole incestual affair with her twin brother (yeeeeuck). Had she been born a man, her ambition and pride would not have seemed so despicable. Or maybe she (as a he) would still be just as despicable because of the whole Lannister heritage.

Arya Stark, though, is my spirit sister. It's not our fault that we looked like boys with our terrible haircuts at 11 years old.

//End

Ch-ch-ch-chaaaanges

2014-02-03T11:22:00.001-08:00

Every time I sit down to write something, it ends up sounding really morose and negative. Since many people tell me that I already write like I talk, I'm concerned that I'm becoming a huge downer. I think it has a lot do with job dissatisfaction and some injuries that are plaguing my runs, but there are times where I find myself in a deep, dark, uncool funk that is so unlike me.

The gnawing rhythm of daily life is wearing me down, man.

Wake up.

Snooze for an hour.

Really wake up.

Schlep on the uniform that I had carefully laid out the night before.

Throw my bags in the car.

Drive bleary-eyed to the office.

Run around the office.

Work at my computer with my bleary eyes.

Count the hours until lunch.

Lunch.

Count the hours until the end of the day.

Drive bleary-eyed in rush hour traffic.

Collapse into my house.

Sometimes go for a run, sometimes not.

Manage to make dinner.

Somehow brush my teeth.

Recline in bed.

And so it continues.

Even with that First World schedule, I have moments of great joy on a regular basis: first kiss of the day with my husband; satisfaction of a delicious, home-cooked meal; fresh spritz of a favorite perfume; a cozy cat on my lap or a happy dog on a leash. I really and truly love these moments, but a hefty portion of my day does not include any of those moments, so it's hard for me to find them and appreciate them.

I am a natural busy body who genuinely enjoys working. You can ask my husband: If I have "free" time (i.e. not in the office or preparing to go into the office), I am always moving. I love turning our house into a home and finding ways to turn the mundane into something aesthetic and efficient. I enjoy running and exercising and logging my workouts with some introspective reflection. Organization is my favorite past time. I will color code the bajeebies out of some kitchen pantries and laundry closets, let me tell you what.

We call all of these activities "putzing" but really, I'm doing the exact opposite. I am getting shit done! When compared to the responsibility and scope of what I do at my job, whatever I'm doing for myself or at home just doesn't seem like real "work," you know? But it is. That is what I find meaningful, so why can't I openly consider it worthwhile to pursue and celebrate?

There are many unglamorous facets of every job (preparing a quarterly tax review does not exactly scream, "AWESOME!") but finding a real purpose in your work is very important. Some people get motivated by leadership opportunities. Others might jump at the chance to hone their problem-solving skills. I thought I was one of those people. I really believed that I was a trailblazing kind of person; that I was meant to lead others; that I can sacrifice a piece of myself day in and day out and then still have more to give.

Well, as it turns out, I'm not one of those people. Instead, I've learned that in order to be truly productive, I have to be happy with what I'm doing. It's crazy, I know, and not exactly enticing for future employers, but yes, my happiness will determine my success.

For years, I thought it was the other way around. I thought that my success would make me happy because I could buy things! and tell people what to do! and be at important meetings! (because that is how we measure success, right?) but instead, I have felt drained and inadequate and unhappy with the trajectory of my professional life.

I am a hard worker, but I'm a bit of a lone wolf when it comes to the professional, specifically military, workforce. I don't enjoy being a leader, but leaders are the ones who get lauded and promoted. I have shown that I work well within a team, but team players aren't ambitious enough to make it (whatever "it" is). I shine on independent projects that allow me to flex my creative side, but I usually only get to see them begin and rarely get the chance to see these projects progress.

So, maybe I should work somewhere else.

Crickets.

The thing about the military is that it's not for everyone, and as proud as I am for having served, I am ready to close this chapter. At one time, I truly believed that I was meant for this environment, but I am not cut out for the long haul. With my contract up in the very foreseeable future, I am on the job hunt for something new, something different, something much smaller and I'm truly excited to start fresh(er).

I want to believe that I stand a chance at being fulfilled on a creative, emotional level while also providing for my family because a girl's still gotta eat, amiright?

In the mean time, I can just keep writing and writing and writing until my hands fall off and by then we'll have robots that will type our ideas for us, so I'll just carry on some more. I'm also trying to find a way to define myself, not only as a potential employee and quintessential hard worker, but also as a creative person. I'm reading about and searching for new opportunities to grow, write, and organize myself into a feasible living.

It's crazy talk up in here, I know, but I am definitely serious about this quarter-life crisis of mine. Later this year, I will be in a different professional (and likely poorer) state of being. Just you wait, kids.

A Magical Disney Vacation

2014-01-14T17:20:00.002-08:00

Anyone who has been within five feet of me has already heard about our Walt Disney World vacation, but those snippets that you catch at the office door or in passing as you try to avoid eye contact with me just do not encompass how great of a time we had. You might be rolling your eyes so far into the back of your head that you're basically taking inventory of your own skull, but please, bear with me and my superfluity.

This vacation started in September 2012 while we were at Disneyland and Disney California Adventure in Anaheim, California. I know that you're thinking, "Why would someone start planning a vacation while they were on vacation?" and I understand that sentiment, but it was while we were at the original Disney park when the wheels in ours heads started turning with Disney nostalgia and excitement. Neither of us have been to Disneyland since we were children, and we planned this particular leg of our trip on a whim, so we didn't know what to expect as adults.

I had also done zero research prior to this trip, so there was a HIGH PROBABILITY that we would have had a terrible time. I had no idea how Fast Passes worked. I had no idea where were good places to eat at either park. I didn't even look into hotels - we ended up staying at a place across the street that had a questionable mattress. The only thing we had going for us was that we were visiting right after Labor Day weekend during the week, so school was in session and the crowds were definitely low.

In spite of everything, we had a really great time! We probably only rode or saw maybe a quarter of all the attractions that both parks have to offer (again, because of my lack of research) so it left us wanting more...and how much more Disney could you ask for than Walt Disney World?

The mouse trap caught me, and as soon as we got home from the Disneyland trip, I started researching WDW. I didn't want to make the same mistakes that I had made in California since we would be spending a lot more time and money in Florida. Based on our deployment schedules, we also wouldn't be taking this trip for at least another year, so I had a better opportunity to plan.

Now, I may have gone a little overkill on the whole research front, and many people told me that much when they asked what I was reading ("A biography on Walt Disney!"). Many people also told me that WDW was overrated and the crowds are just too monstrous and the lines are just too long for rides that aren't all that thrilling. Well, if you're going to a Disney theme park because you want an exciting, hair-whipping rollercoaster marathon, then you're definitely going to have a terrible time. Go to Six Flags or even some people's backyards - I've seen some seriously unsafe (but probably super fun!) tire swings in my day.

(Similarly, if you're not willing to do at least a little research to determine how to skip the lines (Fast Passes!) and beat the crowds (park schedules!), then yes, you will have a horrible time with everyone else who didn't do their homework. Is it that obvious that I was a straight-A student?)

We wanted to go to WDW because we wanted to spend time with each other in a fun bubble of Disney nostalgia. We wanted to compare Magic Kingdom with Disneyland, our only Disney theme park frame of reference. We also wanted to be kids again. I wanted to make sure we could do all of those things, no matter when we were able to go, so I got my nerd on and researched this vacation like my SAT score depended on it.

While I was deployed, Andy got to hear about my research every time I called him. While Andy was deployed, he still got to hear about my research every time he called! I really don't give his patience enough credit, but the fact that he was willing to listen to me plan this still-unscheduled vacation for months on end just shows how nice of a person he is and how lucky I am to have married him.

If you're wondering what Andy's contribution to this research was, then look no further than the subtle reminders he mentioned regularly:

"I don't think we should try to visit all 4 parks in one day, Shasta."

"Maybe you shouldn't schedule an advance dining reservation for every meal."

"That sounds great, but have you read anything else lately?"

"OK, Disney literature is not food. Please go eat breakfast."

Needless to say, he was the voice of reason in my planning process and without him, I would have been a veritable maelstrom of constant go-go-go activities that would have killed the both of us and ruined the vacation.

Our window of opportunity to finally take this trip fell on the busiest time of the year: The week between Christmas 2013 and New Year's 2014. If you want to avoid crowds, long lines, and general craziness, this is not the week to visit WDW. Unfortunately, we didn't have any other choice based on our leave schedules. This would have totally put a damper on our trip HAD IT NOT BEEN for the months of research I had already logged. I knew it was going to be crazy with hordes of people and kids and strollers (Do not get me started on the Stroller Brigade), but I also had a pretty good plan on how we could avoid most of the madness.

I know this post is getting lengthy and all of my readers (Hi Dad!) are bored silly, but at least you know the ending will be great because I already told you we had a fantastic time. If you're like us and had only traveled to Disneyland as a kid, then make no mistake: WDW is ginormous. There are four theme parks, all of which could swallow Disneyland and California Adventure up in just one of their many, many parking lots.

WDW can also swallow and absorb you up in their nearly-impenetrable Disney bubble because of their vast transportation system they have in place. If you're staying on one of their 31928 hotel resorts (which are worlds unto themselves because of the vast amenities they provide), Disney will pick you up from the airport (Disney Magical Express). There is a bus system dedicated to all four parks - you can catch a ride from your resort to a park within 20 minutes. Depending on your hotel, you could even ride the Monorail, take a ferry or canal boat, or walk over a bridge to at least one of the parks. We liked not having to drive anywhere, but this might not be every person's cup of tea since you're at the mercy of the mouse, so to speak.

We stayed at Port Orleans Resort Riverside. This is listed as a "moderate" tier resort (So, expensive compared to non-Disney hotels, but middle of the road for Disney.) and it is located near the Downtown Disney area, which is a separate Disney-owned shopping and nightlife area. If you want to pretend that you're a southern belle out of Gone With the Wind or a slow-moving fisherman with a nice glass of sweet tea on the river, then this resort is totally for you in terms of the details, atmosphere, and grounds. We really enjoyed our stay here, but because WDW has so much to offer, we will likely not stay here again because we want to stay closer to either Magic Kingdom or Epcot Center.

On our first full day, we made the mistake of getting up early and visiting Animal Kingdom. Of all four parks, AK is the least loved by a landslide. Some people see it as a glorified zoo. Some people just don't get the magical, Disney feeling they get from the other parks, especially Magic Kingdom and its beautiful Cinderella Castle. We were also not that crazy about AK, and those three or so hours we spent there that morning were all we needed. Now, our "mistake" wasn't visiting AK, per se, because we had park hopper passes and WE WERE GOING TO SEE ALL FOUR PARKS, DAMNIT, but rather, getting up early.

You see, I am not a morning person. I am basically a child: if I have an immediate urge to eat, sleep, or pee, then that is all I can focus on. (I guess I also just described a bear...) I feel like we would have spent more time at AK had I been more alert, but after a 5-hour flight, 3-hour time difference, and only 4-hours of sleep, I needed to hibernate. This ended up being our M.O. for the whole trip: visit a park earlier in the day (though not as early as this first time!) then take a nap at the hotel followed by a visit to another park late into the night. This really suited us, but we also weren't on a super strict timeline and we don't have kids, so experiences will vary.

Epcot Center, or the park with that giant golf ball thing, was a very adult-oriented park from what we could tell. This isn't to say that topless women were hanging off the attractions, but rather, a good portion of the park is not catered to children. Specifically, the World Showcase Lagoon is a huge semi-circle that houses a detail-infused area of the following countries: Mexico, Norway, China, Germany, Italy, United States, Japan, Morocco, France, United Kingdom, and Canada. Now, we can make all sorts of socio-political comments on the choice of these countries and how Disney chose to portray them, but really, let's just appreciate what is most important about this part of Epcot: THE FOOD.

We did our best to sample at least a snack from each of the "countries" during our two different days there, but we didn't even make a dent in what there is to offer. I can't even imagine how delicious everything must be during the Food and Wine Festival in the fall. By a land slide, our favorite thing we consumed was the infamous Cronut, or the doughnut made of croissant dough devised from a New York bakery legend. Nearly every country also had some kind of engaging film that I geeked out to because I like these documentary-type films. The other half of Epcot includes Future World, the classic Epcot Center. We didn't get to experience as many rides and attractions here because of time slash our interest in buying more cronuts, but other than that TERRIBLE Mission Space: Orange ride, I really enjoyed Future World too.

OK, Mission Space is a "cool" ride in terms of the science and technology used to actually simulate going into and being in outer space, but one of my biggest fears in life is to go in space. Why would that possibly happen to me? I don't know. I should have known better than to go on this ride because there were MULTIPLE warnings that people who are prone to motion sickness (me) and people who don't like small, dark spaces (also me) should not be on this ride, but I did it anyway and I vow to never to do it again. Andy thought it was awesome, natch.

Hollywood Studios reminded me strongly of California Adventure - or is it the other way around since Hollywood Studios came first? I don't know. In any case, the Hollywood Tower of Terror is significantly scarier and more terrifying at Hollywood Studios than at California Adventure. I do not really like this ride at all, but I had to compare the differences in the name of...a non-existent science? Or something? Not to spoil the fun, but just know that there is a lateral, hallway-type movement in addition to the constant elevator drops. I was crying at the end of it. Andy thought it was awesome, again.

Last but certainly not least (We visited every single evening!) we have the Magic Kingdom. I had a sneaking suspicion that I would love this park the most based on my wonderful memories of Disneyland, and I was not disappointed. Cinderella's Castle is truly majestic, especially with the holiday lights and decorations. It took my breath away every night, and yes, we pretty much only visited at night because that is when crowds were lowest or non-existent (especially during Extra Evening Magic Hours until 3AM!) and there is something really fun about running around the park at night.

We made a point to experience nearly every ride and attraction, and some of my favorites are not even the big headliners, like any of the mountain rollercoasters. Instead, I really enjoyed The Hall of Presidents, Carousel of Progress, The Enchanted Tiki Room, and pretty much anything else with audio-animitronic technology. Yes, I'm basically and obviously a huge nerd.

Nearly everything we did on this vacation was memorable. OK, that's hyperbole, and not actually possible since our brains regularly "delete" unnecessary information while we sleep so we can't really remember EVERY detail, but you get the idea. Every ride, every attraction, even every meal (Andy would say, "ESPECIALLY every meal" because we ate some pretty delicious things.) was a significant memento for us. This was all underscored by the fact that we had barely seen each other in the last 13 months, so maybe even a trip to our local Target would have been just as exciting, though doubtful what with the recent security breach.

The Disney parks are all about making memories at their establishments so that you will want to continue visiting and continue making these memories with them (and spending more money, as you pessimistic people will remind me) and that is something I can really get behind. I'm a very goal/destination/results-oriented type person, and this WDW vacation satisfied that part of my psyche because the destination was so grand: Walt Disney World! The Most Magical Place on Earth! The vacation also allowed me to enjoy the journey each and every day, which is what a family trip is all about in the first place.

You might scoff and insist that we could have made just as many meaningful memories somewhere else, or without a vacation, or at least without such a significant amount of money, and I will agree with you because that's definitely true. However, the planets aligned in such a way that we had the time, money, and resources to plan such a trip, and I'll be damned before I let an opportunity like that pass me by when we spend the better part of most years separated from each other. I also believe that all of our research paid off in the end because we didn't conclude this vacation "needing another vacation" to recover. Instead, we were excited to start planning for our next one!

Well, maybe Andy is a little Disney-ed out, but considering how long it takes us to plan and schedule a trip, he should be ready for our next vacation!

My Year in Running

2013-12-09T16:00:00.001-08:00

2013 was the year I decided to start running more seriously after a decently long hiatus (something close to five years). Instead of running a few miles maybe once a week to make sure that I still remembered how to put one foot in front of the other (In case you are wondering, I never forgot how.) I just started...increasing my mileage, little by little, just as many running experts would advise you to do.

To be clear, by "increasing my mileage," I mean "running longer than one mile and doing it without stopping" because running one mile WITH stopping was basically my M.O. this time last year. Yes, ONE YEAR AGO, I could not run one mile without stopping and hating my life.

This might seem surprising to you considering how often I run now, but it's important for me to remember where I started and to remind myself to not regress in my efforts. I also don't want to come across as a snobby marathon runner who can't relate to a non-runner because I can relate and I want to humble myself before you.

If I am snobby, if it's for entirely different reasons anyway.

It all started with a number on a scale, as many of these kinds of stories do. That number was higher than I could ever remember and what's worse, I was letting that number define me. I'm all about loving your body and dressing the body you have now as opposed to the body you want later on, but this number (161) corresponded with a lot of other unpleasant, unhealthy aspects of my life to include elevated blood pressure and the biological guarantee of type-2 diabetes in my future.

So, as many other people are wont to do, I started avoiding the scale. When pants stopped fitting, I wore bigger ones. When exercising started getting harder, I stopped altogether. I was hyper-aware of my body, but I was also doing my best to shield myself from it...which is actually really easy to do because of this human ability called DENIAL.

For what was definitely the better, though it felt like the worst possible thing at the time, I had to step on a scale and weigh myself in front of other people. It was a gut-check. I was shocked. I thought the scale was broken! I was in a land far, far away from the comforts of my own home and family, and here I was, kind of...fat. Say whaaat?

After a few sleepless nights of self-loathing, I decided to do something about it all. I started this journey on December 29, 2012 on a rickety, dusty treadmill in a makeshift gym out in Afghanistan. I powered up this ancient piece of equipment and "ran" for approximately 14 minutes with frequent walk breaks. I did this nearly every day for six months - increasing my time by a minute or so every few days and walking less and less each time.

During this phase of the journey, I had no idea how quickly I ran/slash/walked because this treadmill was so worn out that the display was unreadable. I basically kept pressing the "UP" arrow until my speed was increased enough that I felt like I was dying. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that I was pushing a 13-minute mile at my slowest and brought myself up to a 9-minute mile average.

I also started doing other things in the gym besides, like, crunches. I started lifting weights. I tried rowing, biking, and elliptical-ing. I started reading articles about running. It was so strange. I was actually becoming fit and looking for new ways to work out. I was researching about exercise, I mean, c'mon, really? WHO WAS I?

What was really strange is that I stopped caring about my weight. The running and lifting and gym-ing wasn't about that number anymore. It started that way, yes, but very soon, I didn't care anymore. I still don't care. It is so bizarre, but stepping on the scale is no longer a moment I brace myself for because I know that I am stronger, faster, and healthier than I have been in a very long time, and that number doesn't necessarily reflect those changes. To be sure, that number dropped by a solid 40 lbs, but even if it creeped back up, as long as I could still run, jump, and live like I can now, I don't know if I would mind.

When I came back to the States last May, I was excited for obvious reasons (e.g. family, friends, American living, modern plumbing) but I was also excited to put some pedal to the metal and hit the road on my feet. I had spent nearly six months running on a treadmill and my butt was as flat as a pancake. And while I will always have a weird soft spot for treadmills, there is something to be said about running out in the open air with a new day dawning before you:

It's hard.

Like, waaaaay harder than I anticipated, and the Old Me would have quit as soon as I hit the pavement. This New Lighter-But-Don't-Care Me was excited though! (Also, I had signed up for the Seattle Rock N Roll 1/2 Marathon on June 21st and the full Portland Marathon on October 6th, so I didn't want to waste my money by giving up on this whole running venture with $300+ on the line.)

I felt inspired, though, and I didn't quit. I didn't even want to quit. Running awakened this previously dormant piece of my psyche: curiosity. I am curious to know how far I can go and how fast I can make it and how hard I can push myself now. I am curious about what else my body is capable of: Can I bike just as hard? Will I be able to reach that summit? How about kayaking? What about that?

I will always consider myself a novice runner because it still feels new, refreshing, and sometimes even scary to me. (It's pretty scary waking up on the morning you're about to run 26.2 miles.) I am always on the lookout for helpful running gear and God knows I'm always trying to improve my form so that it's less like a dying badger and more like a human who is running. It is both a meditative process that clears my mind and a highly physical action that leaves me exhausted, breathless, and wanting more out of myself. I've signed up for races the weekend or even day prior because I thought, "Why not?" and that is something I would have never, ever done just 12 months ago.

Like any year, 2013 was full of ups and downs. My husband and I spent more time apart than ever before. Our dog chewed up an entire door frame. I ran out of paint when I was painting our 25-trillion-feet ceilings and I have yet to finish that project. The trivial list of First World problems goes on and on, but running has brought me so much clarity because now I can see beyond those peaks and valleys, and the horizon looks pretty nice.

While it hasn't been a full year yet, I wanted to list my running achievements for 2013 to stay motivated through 2014 and to maybe, possibly inspire you, any of you, to try something new and work at it, whether it's running or nail art or fostering baby squirrels.

4 x half marathons (Seattle Rock N Roll Half, Dash Point Trail Half, Joint-Base Lewis-McChord Half, Amica Seattle Half), PR: 1:36
1 x marathon (Portland, OR) PR: 4:25
3 x "fun runs" - 5K Color Run, 4-mile Turkey Trot, 12Ks of Christmas
2-mile personal best on an APFT: 13:34 (Whoa! Trust me, I surprised myself.)
Logged 1,021 miles (450 of those on a treadmill!)

The year has been paved with a lot of calluses, bloody toenails, irritated tendons, and a few worn out pairs of shoes, but 2013 has been a very positive, Eat Pray Love kind of experience. If you're thinking about changing your life with fitness this coming year, I guess you should consult a physician first, but really, just prepare yourself that it will not be easy.

You have to want it every single damn day. You have to know that it's not about the destination. There are no "end results." There will be no definitive "after" picture. That's not what Your Year should be about because 365+ days (give or take a lifetime) is too short to care about how you look and how much you weigh and what size your pants are.

Now if you are sitting there thinking, "Well, running isn't for me!" then let me ask you, "Why not? How do you know?" I did not know that my post-high school self could run, and here I am running at every opportunity that my body will allow. Had I not tried it out that one day last December, I never would've known.

Movies of My Life

2013-11-25T07:31:00.002-08:00

It's easy to look at your life like it's some kind of yearbook. If you keep a journal or blog, you might find yourself cringing at your past attempts to express yourself. If you're a scrapbooker or a devout photo album maker (bless you), then you might also find yourself cringing at your past haircuts. I decided to take a look at my life through movies.

Movie that my pregnant mother was on the way to go see before her water broke and I was born:
Witches of Eastwick

My first memory of a non-animated movie:
The Poltergeist (Horrible memory.)

Inappropriate, R-rated movie I saw at a super young age that my parents woefully misjudged:
Desperado (Don’t worry, Dad, I don’t really remember it since you covered my eyes most of the time.)

Movies that I watched over and over again so many times that the VHS tapes broke:
Cinderella
Alice in Wonderland

First movie that I watched at a slumber party that ruined my enjoyment of slumber parties for the rest of my life:
The Shining

Scene from that movie that brought me to hysterical tears and forced my parents to come pick me up early:
“RED RUM! RED RUM! RED RUM!”

Movie my younger cousin and I watched 12 consecutive times over Christmas break that inspired us to try climbing walls and bending cutlery with our minds:
The Matrix

First movie I saw with a boy at a theater, like for a date but we didn’t call it a date because I would’ve gotten in trouble and I’m pretty sure my dad thought I was seeing it with some other girls:
The Bourne Identity

Movies that I pretended to enjoy during my film courses in college but have no desire to watch again because I thought they were kind of lame:

The Graduate
Blade Runner
2001: A Space Odyssey
War of the Worlds (1953)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Movie genre that I pretend to like and enjoy:
Sci-Fi

Movie genre that I actually like and pretend not to enjoy:
Romantic comedy

Movies that I will watch on TV even though I just watched them last week and there are only 20 minutes left to watch by the time I’ve discovered it was on TV:
Any Harry Potter film
Home Alone
Home Alone 2
Pitch Perfect
You’ve Got Mail

Movies that I have seen once but don’t intend on seeing again even though everyone else watches them very frequently and rather obsessively:
All Star Wars films
Les Miserables (2012)

Movies that I really, really hate and can’t believe that people enjoy:
Bridesmaids
Taken
Taken 2
Meet the Parents
Meet the Fockers
Little Fockers
Pretty much every Adam Sandler movie, but specifically, Big Daddy

Movies that I watch when I am feeling lonely and/or homesick:
Mr. Holland’s Opus
Father of the Bride (1991)
Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Movie that I pretended to watch in order to hang out with this guy (who is now my husband) because I told him it was for my film class, but it wasn't:
Fight Club

Movie that I have not watched in its entirety in spite of the 5 attempts to finish it wherein we didn’t even kiss so why didn’t we just watch it, ugh:
Fight Club

First legitimate movie that I saw with my then-boyfriend (who is now my husband):
Midnight premiere of The Dark Knight. We both fell asleep.

Movies that I want to see the midnight premieres of:
0

Movies I’ve fallen asleep while watching that my husband always teases me about:
The Avengers
The entire Lord of the Rings trilogy

Movie I can quote every single line of dialogue from:
Mean Girls

The only chick flick movie that my husband will tolerate watching with me:
The Devil Wears Prada

That one movie that my husband secretly enjoys watching with me because he thinks the character Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) is pretty badass:
The Devil Wears Prada

The movie that my husband will never watch again because I embarrassed him on the internet about it:
The Devil Wears Prada

Movies I’ve seen that I wish I could un-see and delete from my frame of reference because they’re kind of horrible but I’ll continue watching them, hell, I even own a few of them:
The Twilight series
Love Actually
She’s All That

The only movie that brings me to tears no matter how happy I’m feeling before I start watching it:
Marley and Me

Movies I’ve never seen that people are always surprised to hear about:
Dirty Dancing
Blackhawk Down
Little Miss Sunshine

The last movie I saw in theaters:
Thor 2: ~~More Abs~~ Dark World

The last movie I watched at home:

Identity Thief

The last movie I purchased on DVD/Blu-Ray:
This Is The End

The next movie I intend on watching:
Mandela

Just kidding, I'll probably see this movie next:
Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues

Treadmill Troubles

2013-05-06T21:34:00.001-07:00

So, one time I deployed for six months. I know, that is kind of a big deal and I should have mentioned it sooner, but I was too busy eating Oreos. For the most part, it was a great experience. I really had a lot of fun in a war torn country that is full of people who shit in the same water they drink regularly. I worked with amazing people and learned a lot about myself. I realized I'm not nearly as tough as expected, but that that's an OK thing and I can still tolerate a lot of bull crap when it matters.

I also managed to lose a lot of weight, and this has been the most eye-opening experience for me. I had no idea that I could run as hard and as fast as I can now. I had no idea that I had it in me to NOT eat a whole package of Double Stuf Oreos. I had no idea that I could lose 40 pounds on my 5'2" frame and feel pretty much the same on the other side. Skinny me? Chubby me? Still me and having lived as both people, I like them equally.

But this isn't about my deployment or my weight loss journey, at least not entirely. I will have to explore those topics considerably over the course of a lot of posts and caffeine-fueled beverages. Instead, this post is about my butt.

If you know me in a manner such that you are horrified by the thought of reading anything about my butt (e.g. Sorry, Dad.) then maybe go look at Bachelor Frog memes or something.

Alright, I came into this world with a blessing of a backside. I am not going to out my husband as an "ass man" (as opposed to "breast men" anyway) but I know that my former perky and round butt was not unappreciated.

I mean, I'm not saying I was Beyonce or anything, but I could give her a run for her money in the right amount of sequins.

On the flip side of things, I have dabbled with running off and on for the last 10 years. I have ran distances at qualifying times and I have dry heaved doing just one lap around a track. For the last two years, I've been secretly longing to start running again as my main form of fitness and secondary choice in stress relief. Two years is a long time to sit on your ass and think about running, but I did anyway.

Oh, and my butt? It got bigger during this time frame. I had to buy jeans in sizes that I thought only pregnant women wore.

Deployment came at a great time because I was at my hugest and on the precipice of being in really, really bad health. I started running on the lone treadmill available to me as I lived in the area that was not conducive to outdoor running (Uh, twisted ankles and torn ligaments much? I hate rocks.)

At first, it was bad. Like, extremely bad. I would run so early in the morning when no one else was awake just so no one would see me sputter and gag as I pushed myself through mile after mile.

Then, I don't know. It just got easier. I just kept running on that treadmill like I had nothing better to do. 5 miles? That's a warmup. 10? Whatever. 15? Now we're talking. I couldn't stop and I didn't stop and I am proud that I managed to stay motivated running on a human hamster wheel day after day after day for six damn months.

And here I am, 40 pounds lighter and infinitely faster and woefully butt-less. Treadmills destroy your butt. It is an ass muncher in the worst possible way. I now can't fill out a pair of pants without some padding and I NEVER THOUGHT I would be a pancake butt woman.

So, as I struggle to add squats and lunges and dead lifts to my fitness routine, I catch myself looking mournfully at my own butt in the mirror. Actually, it's not that I'm at looking AT it so much as I am looking FOR it.

Maybe you're sitting there rolling your eyes at me.

"God, she is skinny now. Get over it!"

Maybe you're a woman with a fine derrière laughing at my expense.

"Hahahahaha!"

Maybe you shouldn't have read this post about my butt and you're upset with yourself.

"I can't look her in the eye anymore....but then I'll look at her butt! OH GOD NO!"

Whatever the case and whoever you are and whatever state your ass is in, I want to caution you from running on a treadmill nonstop. Apparently, you don't really use your hamstrings or glutes as the treadmill extends your legs for you. I know, that sounds like science to me too, but this woman at the gym explained it to me when she caught me staring at her butt. I had to tell her my situation so that she wouldn't file a sexual harassment complaint, and she really sympathized with me and gave me that nugget of knowledge.

But she is a bitch because I could have dropped a book on that shelf...

This is NOT a DIY Blog

2012-08-22T15:39:00.003-07:00

I might not come across this away on the internet or even real life, but I'm actually a nice person.

Like really! You can talk to me, and I will respond - usually with a smile! Sometimes even with a joke. I love a good joke, so I usually feel inclined to share them with people because I like to laugh and to make people laugh and to hear laughter.

I know some psychologist would tell me that I use humor as a shield to protect myself from whatever psycho babble blah blah, who majors in psychology besides bossy people? I just don't like confrontation or yelling. I really don't like yelling actually. It makes me nervous and like my dog, I tend to get gassy when I become nervous.

When I do yell and let my inner Tiger Mom out (it has been known to happen), I never feel better. I actually feel worse, so I try not to yell altogether. About anything. Even when I have to yell across a football field, I'd rather ~~run~~ walk (who am I kidding?) to the other side and use my indoor voice.

That is, until I painted my living room.

OK, some background: I like to read a lot of DIY home improvement-type blogs because I like to look at other people's homes and judge their cleanliess, and I am inherently very frugal, so I appreciate projects where I can save a buck or two.

And painting the walls in your own house? That is, like, the cheapest and easiest DIY project you could ever do! Anyone can do it! Some people can even do it without painter's tape and drop cloths!

I fucking hate those people and their God-given Wall Painting Talent.

Why we decided to paint the largest room in our house first, I will never know. Why we waited to start drinking until 10 hours later, I'll also never know and I might regret that most of all.

I grew up doing a lot of different painting projects, so I assumed that skillset would come back to me as we opened up our first can of paint (of FIVE). I assumed very wrong. I also assumed that since these DIY bloggers could paint any room in about 3 hours, it would take us about the same time.

I was even more wrong on that one. In fact, I was so wrong that I was just fucking stupid.

When the first coat of paint went on, I didn't know what to say because the sun had gone down and I couldn't see anything. Then we turned on the lights, and I could see that we needed another coat of paint. Then all I saw was the color RED, and people, we painted our walls gray-iege, so either something was wrong with my vision or holy shit, I hate painting.

During the second coat (and opening of beers), we finally started on the ceiling. We don't have crown molding, and now I know why people want to have crown molding. It's not because they want decorative ceiling fixtures; it's because it gives you a clear reason to NOT paint the damn ceiling.

Nearly 12 hours later, we finally had a finished living room and an appointment to see a marriage counselor because PAINTING ROOMS? That is stressful on a marriage, y'all. I feel like I know where Britney and K-Fed went wrong, you know?

While I admit that the room looks more put together, I don't know if I can look back at that experience and say to myself, "Remember that one time when it took us 12 hours to paint our living room? Fa ha la ha haha la ha ha fa la la la." Because no, it wasn't funny.

At all.

Since then (which was, like, 2 months ago, sorry), I have painted two bedrooms by myself because 1) I don't want to subject my husband to that experience ever again and put our marriage on the brink, and 2) the bedrooms are teeny at 8'x10' cube shapes that actually take only 3 hours to complete.

Painting a room alone in the middle of the day is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I've learned to yell SO loudly and curse the longest expletive-laden sentences uttered by a woman that the builders across the street have come over to make sure I was doing OK.

And honestly, I've been feeling a lot better about these home improvement endeavors knowing that when I have a DIY meltdown, I can just cry my fifty shades of grey-eige to the whole damn neighborhood.

That doesn't even make any fucking sense, but if you've read those E.L. James novels, then you don't understand anything anyway.

This Is Me on a Diet

2012-03-20T07:53:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I weigh a lot. Now is one of those times. Normally, I'm OK with this because I support and identify with women of all shapes and sizes. But lately, I'm less OK with this because I'm not active anymore, and I'm putting really bad shit into my body on a regular basis.

People, I am eating my feelings like NOBODY'S BUSINESS, and they haven't been very good feelings lately, so it has been very, very bad (but oh so delicious) food.

Balance is good. Binging is bad. Starving is worse. So where do I draw that healthy line when it comes to what I eat?

This is my inner turmoil:

Me: I really should start eating healthier food.

My Legs: Yeah, I agree. It's a getting a little Jell-O-like down here.

My Mind: MmmmMMmmm, Jell-O.

Me: You guys, I just don't know if I can commit to a diet.

My Mind: Don't call it a "diet" - call it a "lifestyle change." That is the new phrase for diet.

My Legs: It's supposed to be about, like, changing how you live for the better through what you eat.

Me: That still sounds like a diet.

My Legs: OK then, Negative Nancy, way to poop on this party. You're not the one suffering, you know! How would you like to be squeezed into the strait jackets you call PANTS every day?

My Mind: That's harsh.

Me: I GET IT. I eat a lot of cookies and don't do a lot of running, and I see what this is doing to all of us.

My Mind: Speaking of running, you're not very good at that either.

Me: I'm serious. I want to be healthier!

My Legs: Then things are going to have to change. Like, big time. You and I will need to get close and work together.

Me: Um, how close?

My Legs: Super close. I need to be your best friend every day. You need to take me out on hikes and stuff.

My Mind: HELLO? What about ME? I'm the cognitive center of MIND POWER over here. You can't leave me out!

My Legs: You'll come with us too. You need to convince her to go outside.

Me: Ick! I hate being outdoors.

My Legs: See what I mean?

My Mind: Being outside is not that horrible, except for the daily rain, sleet, snow, and/or hail. Oh, and that wind! It's awful.

My Legs: ......you're really not helping.

Me: Forget the outdoors for now. We'll worry about that when the weather finally perks up.

My Mind: Hahahahaha, that won't happen any time soon. We're in Washington.

Me: Whatever. Let's focus on what I should be eating.

My Legs: How about what you SHOULDN'T be eating? Those cookies and pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream ring a bell.

My Mind: Don't hate on my BRAIN FOOD!

My Legs: You are NOT any smarter with all of those sugary calories!

My Mind: How would you know?! Your piece of the nervous system is NOTHING compared to my labyrinth.

Me: I guess I should stop eating those things, and maybe lay off the pasta, bread, and potatos for awhile too.

My Mind: NoooOOOoOoOOOoOOoOOooooo!

My Legs: Yeah, that's the spirit! Now let's get some fruit, vegetables, and lean meat up in the kitchen!

My Mind: NoOooOoOOOOooOOoOOoOOoo!

Me: Yeah, OK! Let's do this! I can make those changes. It shouldn't be too hard to start eating those things.

My Mind: You won't make it! You don't understand! WE LOVE COOKIES!

Me: We need to LOVE OTHER FOOD!

My Mind: ....stop yelling at me....this is really hard to handle....I can't process all of these changes...

My Legs: You're super pathetic right now. Don't you want to live longer?

My Mind: Sure, but but but but but but but but can't we have one last cookie? Or bowl of spaghetti? Like as a goodbye?

Me: That's not a bad idea.

My Legs: NO! We need to start eating well NOW or else it will never happen!

Me: But if it's our last meal eating like that....we should make the most of it...

My Mind: And we can start eating better any time....like tomorrow.

My Legs: NO!!!! You guys are so - wait, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Put the Oreo down NOW!

My Mind: She already touched it, she might as well eat it!

Me: Mmmmm, creme filling....chocolate biscuit goodness....om nom nom nom.

My Legs:...........................

My Mind: Mmmmm, sugar high....spike in energy.....om nom nom nom.

My Legs:..........................

Me: This is the best cookie I've ever had.

My Legs:.........................can you at least start wearing bigger pants for me?

I am the Cookie Monster

2012-01-23T06:58:00.000-08:00

If you haven't already heard, Western Washington (i.e. The Better Half) endured the Snow-Pocalypse of 2012 last week. Twelve inches of snow might not seem like a lot to you if you're from, say, the Midwest or wherever, but I'm not from one of the lesser states in the union, so twelve inches of snow is a lot to me.

I was snowed in for three straight days, and it was AMAZING. I took advantage of my bonus vacation by reading paranormal romance stories (What? Twilight, hello?), writing and deleting an innumerable amount of blog entries, and watching everything that I recorded on my DVR last year.

If you want to talk Housewives, I am all caught up so let's chat.

What I didn't do while I was snowed in was cook or bake very much because I ran out of appetizing food after about 12 hours. I only had a container of sour cream, random pastas, an egg, wine, and peanut butter in my kitchen.

Oh, and some onions.

It was at that moment when I realized two different things:

1) Domino's delivers, rain or shine.

2) I should never, ever run out of cookies.

I thought I had a well-stocked pantry, but my cookie-less 5-day weekend proved me wrong. Pizza can only sustain me for so long, you know? I was devastated to realize that I couldn't even bake anything chocolate chip or cinnamon sugar related, and I was at the edge of sanity when I discovered that I ran out of Oreos too.

Now that it's Girl Scout Cookie pre-sale season, my hunger for daily cookies might have clouded my purchase because I ordered forty dollars worth of cookies this year.

I know you're probably judging me and the size of my pants, BUT I REALLY DON'T CARE because of the following reasons:

1) I am supporting future leaders of America.

2) I am doing my best to make sure that one little girl scout gets the Top Cookie Sales badge this year.

3) Have you ever had a Samoa? Or a Thin Mint from the freezer? Stuff of DREAMS, people.

4) This will prevent me from running out of cookies during the next snow storm.

5) I stopped weighing myself many months ago anyway, so this will not have an impact on my self-esteem.

6) My husband will only eat the broken ones forcing my cookie consumption tp be subsequently smaller, if by a fraction.

7) You can only get these boxes once a year! ONCE A YEAR!

There are probably more reasons that I could add to this list, but I have been typing this entire post with my new pair of smart gloves and while they're awesome for track pad usage, they aren't ideal for typing. I wasn't really expecting that issue because they're "smart" gloves, but I'm assuming the patent is still pending on the keyboard-friendly pair.

I'll be the first in line for those babies and every blog post thereafter will be composed with them.

Thinking About Getting a Cat? Think Again.

2012-01-10T19:02:00.000-08:00

Growing up, we always had a cat. Usually, it was a big, fat, fluffy sort of cat that did a lot of sleeping and ignoring me. Maybe I forgot what they were like as kittens because my current cats? They are NOTHING like the cats of my youth. They are driving me to alcoholism with their kitty shenanigans.

That Hermione and Luna duo? TOTALLY BAT SHIT PSYCHO.

Let us count the ways:

1) Cats will steal your money.
True. I have an entry way table where I put down my daily essentials: keys, wallet, phone. I always set these things down on this table. I have never deviated from this pattern because I would lose these things if I did anything different.

My cats have witnessed me leaving my belongings there every day and have shown zero percent interest in that table until just recently. I leave my debit card in the front pocket of my many-pocketed wallet, and they managed to take it out of that pocket the other day.

You know, the pocket that snaps shut.

And then they lost interest in it and left it in their litter box for me as a nice surprise.

2) Cats can break down doors, or at least try very, very hard to do so.
I have tried to let my cats sleep in my room with me, but when I'm asleep, I become a jungle gym as far as they are concerned. I've been woken up countless times to find my cats wrestling on my face.

Now when slumber is imminent, I trick them into leaving my room by turning on this laser pointer thingy (a.k.a. The Babysitter. I hope this thing works on human babies.) and running back into my room.

Once the laser pointer shuts off, they find other ways to entertain themselves including, but not limited to, eating toilet paper, knocking over lamps, and breaking down my bedroom door.

I've been trying to get some footage of their antics, but I've come to the conclusion that they are throwing their bodies against my door with a running start because that is the only way to explain the thunderous sounds that they generate hour after hour.

More than once, I've woken up in a panic because I thought someone was trying to burglarize my home, but really, it's just my cats being insane.

3) Cats will attack anything and everything because they are always on the hunt.
Shoelaces? Prey.

Fingers? Prey.

Hanging towels? Prey.

Toilet paper? Prey.

Chairs? Prey.

Debit cards? Prey.

Something must be hunted at all times. Everything has the potential to be hunted at some point or another. This means that all of your belongings, and I mean all of it, will meet cat claws sooner rather than later.

I used to have leather chairs. Now I have two wooden chairs covered in leather ribbons and white upholstery stuffing.

4) Cats want to get all up in your grill.
You know when you are all snuggled up on the couch watching your favorite movie and reminiscing about your imaginary life as a Disney Princess? (What?) Cats will hone in on your state of comfort and then sit on your face.

Or paw at your face. Or knock the remote out of your hand (see #3). Or sit right in front of the TV blocking your view of Belle singing about her provincial life. Or lick your hair.

They will do anything it takes to make sure you are annoyed, disgruntled, frustrated, or generally upset, and then they will expect you to serve them because they are assholes like that.

5) Cats are picky as shit and nothing can please them.
Their food will never be fresh enough, especially when they can try to have your dinner. The water in their water bowl will never parch their thirst because there is a toilet they could try to drink from or a sink they could sit in while you are brushing your teeth. Their litter will never clump properly, and they will want to dig and dig and dig and dig into their box until all of the litter has been kicked out of the box.

You can never pet them enough. Cats want to know why you are going to work and paying your bills when you could be petting them. They're all like, "Who do you think you are, Human? Come hither and pet me right away."

The cat toys and cat treats and other cat-oriented gifts you buy for them are never good enough, and they will never ever sleep in a cat bed when they can sleep on top of your diaphragm instead.

In spite of, you know, everything, I do love my cats because every once in awhile, they will sit next to me, purr, and not attack my hand for about 10 minutes straight. It's almost like they're my pets and I don't live to serve them and make them more comfortable.

2012 - What What!

2012-01-01T16:04:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, you crazy hooligans!

Did you party until the wee hours of the morning?

Or did you fall asleep to the sound of Ryan Seacrest's voice on TV?

Whatever you did, I hope you did it safely. I, for one, stayed up well past midnight, but that's only because I took an 18-hour nap earlier that day.

I'm serious. I really did sleep that long. Impressed? I thought so.

I'm not one for resolutions, mostly because I forget them. I also think that they can be rather limiting because of the boundaries they can create in your daily life.

If you want to "eat healthier" this year, your intake of cookies and ice cream dramatically decreases. If you want to "lose weight" for 2012, you spend less hours watching Real Housewives and more hours at a gym. If you want to "save more money," you're shopping less.

People, I cannot live life like that. A life with less dairy, NeNe Leakes, and Sephora is not the life for me. However, I see the value of having a resolution (or a few) because it's like having a personal tracker of stuff you want to do in the next year that can make you feel happier.

I just don't like the word "resolution" very much because it's, um, rather resolute. Like, if you don't do it, then you're a big failure at life. What if you start out the year, you know, lifting more weights, like you resolutely promised yourself, and you realize that going to the gym is not your cup of tea? Why stick with something that makes you unhappy?

Resolutions should bring you joy and open some doors to new possibilities! You want to limit yourself? Well, that's what Lent is for.

Anyway, here are my resolutions-slash-things-I-want-to-do-to-be-a-little-happier for 2012:

1) Try out homemade laundry detergent
I know this might seem like a weird one, but have you seen what's in a bottle of Tide or Gain detergent? Laundry chemists or whoever put some crazy shit in those bottles, and then I wash my sheets in that, and then I rub my face on those sheets at night getting that crazy shit all over my skin and sometimes my mouth because, you know, we all drool a little bit, and who knows what that's doing to me internally.

I'm normally not worried about toxins and additives (HELLO! I eat cheese in a can sometimes!) but the folks at Yellow Brick Home sold me on the idea with their cute glass container of homemade detergent.

WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M A SUCKER FOR PACKAGING! Sue me!

Who knows, maybe this will inspire a whole eco-friendly, green-tastic way of living for me. Or maybe I'll just have some cute soap in my laundry room.

2) Go on day/weekend trips in the surrounding area more often
I spend a lot of weekends on my couch in my pajamas, which is great, but maybe I could change things up and wear jeans outside the house for once. By no means am I an outdoorsy sort of gal, but I can appreciate the occasional vista or sunset or rising tide here in the Great Northwest (so long as there is a major metropolitan area within 1.5 hours) and since my days here are numbered, I really should get outside more.

And who better to do it with than my partner in ~~crime~~ life? We deserve to have some mini-blasty-blasts together.

3) Write more. In general. Overall.
I know that some writers are very strict about how prolific they are in a given time period, but I'm not there yet in terms of my writing prolific-ness. As evidenced by my sporadic blog posts, I really don't have a distinct writing or publishing schedule. I write when I write and sometimes, things get published, and sometimes, things get scrapped.

Even still, I want to write more. In general.

I don't want to start on page quotas or anything like that until I feel comfortable because that is too resolution-y for me. You know how some people get rid of their scales and just gauge their weight gain/loss tango based on how tightly or loosely their clothes fit? I'm going to try and do that with writing on this here ol' blog.

Overall.

So that is how I'm going to spend 2012, in addition to my usual 2011 shenanigans that involve Oreos and reality television.

What are your non-resolutions?

The Real Housewives of Seattle

2011-12-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

If you're not into scripted, trashy reality TV shows, then we might not be able to get along because there are few things that I love more than a new episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. The southern hospitality mixed with the ghetto-fied Louis Vuitton bags is like a dream come true.

Kim Zolciak? I need to meet you and your wig, mostly because I want to know if your lips have been surgically enhanced or not.

Is Atlanta not your scene? Maybe The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, New York, Jersey or Miami get recorded on your DVR every week or maybe none of these shows meet your television standards. I'm honestly perplexed as to why Bravo has not included the city of Seattle in the mix.

As someone who has lived either in the heart of the city or the surrounding Seattle area for most of her life, I think I have a pretty good idea of what the housewives cast of Seattle would be like.

Let's meet them!

Skylar
As a former dot-com entrepenuer in the early 2000's, Skylar sold her online company for a cool 1.5 millions dollars and now lives in the perfect, pleasantville-esque, neighborhood of Magnolia with her young family. She opened a hot yoga studio last year in order to "have something to do" but her husband's salary at Boeing is enough to pay for her Range Rover, their kids' private school educations, and all the debt that her yoga studio is accumulating. Skylar considers herself to be very liberal and does her part to help the environment by bringing her own mug to Starbucks for her non-fat, no-whip, sugar-free, decaf mocha every morning.

Emma
Born and raised in the tiny bubble of Mercer Island (a.k.a. Millionaire Central), Emma had been living the high life. She met Skylar at University of Washington where they both majored in Communications and were sorority sisters at Tri Delta. Recently divorced, Emma has been down on her luck because she only receives forty grand a month in alimony, so she is a frontrunner in the local Occupy Wall Street movement here in Seattle. As an activist, Emma spends a lot of time baking cookies and creating care packages from her three-story, waterfront home on the Montlake Cut for her OWS brethren who stay outside in the cold night after night.

Maddie
After dropping out of college twice, Maddie spent her early twenties bar-hopping and cocktail waiting at various restaurants and clubs in the Belltown area hoping to land a rich man. While maxing her dad's credit card at the downtown Nordstrom last spring, a pro-football athlete for the Seattle Seahawks mistook her for a model, and the rest, they say, is history. Right now, she is planning her 650+ person wedding, but she has to hurry because there is already a baby on the way for the engaged couple!

Linda
If you're in need of some relaxing lamaze classes or you need to find an amazing midwife/doula, then you only need to give Linda a phone call. After having a traumatic hospital experience with her first child's birth, she has made it her goal in life to provide Seattle women with natural and therapeutic baby care, that is, for those who can afford her services and products. She invented and patented an eco-friendly baby sling, and has since opened three different birthing centers in the local area. Skylar and the expecting Maddie are just some of her many high-profile, big-bank-account clients.

Nicole
Originally from Spokane, Washington, Nicole is a gun-owning, deer-hunting, mountain-climbing Republican OB/GYN who is married to a Microsoft programmer. As an outspoken doctor who is confident in the power of medicine and science, Nicole has a hard time believing that the natural, pre-natal care that Linda provides is medically safe and sound. Even though they are complete opposites, Nicole is a close friend and neighbor to fellow housewife, Skylar, probably because they both drive Range Rovers without any gas-guzzling shame.

Maureen
While she has never been married and tells everyone that she is happy being single, Maureen is still looking for love in the Emerald City. Unfortunately for her, this liberal tattoo artist lives on Capitol Hill: the gayest, most-rainbow-lovin' neighborhood in the area. An avid bike rider and No-Shave-November participant, Maureen is not your typical housewife, but as a true Seattle native, her colorful personality is just what the other housewives need.

Will Maureen find love on this season of The Real Housewives of Seattle?

Will Maddie be able to have her grandiose, NFL-star-studded wedding before she has her baby?

Will Nicole convince Maddie that Linda's birthing center is not safe enough for her delivery?

Will Emma get her head out of her ass and realize how filthy rich she really is?

Stay tuned!

My Ho-Bag Was Retired in 2008

2011-12-11T20:17:00.000-08:00

I want to explain the definition of a "ho-bag" because I don't want you to be confused with similar variations of the term. First of all, a "hobag" or "ho bag" (no dash - see that?) is a term usually used by women who are referring to other women, typically their female friends.

It's a way of saying, "Hey, you kiss and do hanky panky with a lot of different people, and I'm judging you, but it's OK, so let's go shopping."

Women are strange creatures, I know.

(And I also know that women should not call other women derogatory names because if men aren't allowed to say those things without being offensive, then how can it be OK for women to say it nicely to each other? And ~~most of the time~~ sometimes, we don't say those names very nicely anyway, but let's not get into the politics of this right now.)

So, a "ho-bag" is a noun too, but rather than referring to the woman herself, the word refers to her bag of tricks that keeps her prepared for, uh, slumber parties and similar one-night activities. Toothbrush, toothpaste, change of underwear and/or clothes, makeup, prescription medications, and a stick of deodorant are the basic essentials that are necessary for a lady who is staying the night elsewhere.

Maybe she has her bag packed because her boyfriend has space issues. Or, you know, they just started dating and she doesn't want to overwhelm him with the products.

Maybe it's packed because she is spending the weekend with a friend.

Maybe she is a gypsy.

Maybe she just likes to bed hop.

WHO KNOWS?! The reasons and possibilities for a woman to have a ho-bag are virtually endless, but I think it's obvious that the ho-bag is an essential morning-after recovery tool.

I have not been utilizing a ho-bag since 2008 because that is the year I started dating my then-boyfriend/now-husband. After being taken off the market officially in 2010, I have put my ho-bag in complete retirement.

When I spent the night at a friend's house this past weekend to have some much-needed girl time, it became very apparent that I am severely out of practice in the packing of a ho-bag.

How in the hell am I supposed to fit all these essentials in one bag?

How did I do this ever?

Have my beauty and hygiene routines become so out of hand that they require multiple bags?

Apparently, yes.

I brought FOUR different bags with me like a crazy bag lady. I had a bag for toiletries and makeup; another bag was for my clothes; a different bag was for some snacks because WHAT IS A SLUMBER PARTY WITHOUT SNACKS?

Not a party, that's what.

One of my friends really out-packed me in the ho-bag department. Not only did she have the one ho-bag with all of her overnight essentials, but she also managed to pack her laptop, camera, and chargers in there. She only had to make the one trip to and from the car with her one bag. I, on the other hand, looked like a disgruntled Christmas shopper with bags criss-crossing my body every which way.

I just needed a mini-van, and my look would have been complete.

I have never really noticed the different between being married and not being married because my husband and I have always been so happy together, but you guys, I cannot pack for shit anymore. For the first time ever, there was a great divide between me and my friends because of my inability to pack for one evening.

Is this why so many moms have cargo-like diaper bags?