What's in a weekend?

Hello, friends. It's been awhile. With several dozen half finished posts lurking in the depths of the interwebs, and a lack of inspiration to wrap that shit up, I figured I'd just pop up a little highlight reel of this past weekend for ya. (I know, it feels like a cheat to me too, but I just miss y'all, and don't want you to think I've died somewhere.)

Mercifully, the winter months are fairly unscheduled and not crazy packed. This is my hibernation period to prep for my psychotic social butterflying of the warm months. So, what does a lazy winter weekend look like? 

Friday

Another day of crushing it in the office. And by crushing it, I mean, I hadn't gone grocery shopping in a week (we're trying to eat down our freezer) and refused to let myself go out for lunch (#walrus) so ended up eating the handful of Cocoa Puffs I found in my drawer, and almost an entire bag of jelly beans. Beyond food choices, it was end of quarter prep and frantic Friday scurrying to hit month end budgets. You know, the exciting life of a digital product manager. 

Post work, dashed home and tried on approximately thirty outfits while the beau gave helpful feedback like "You look pretty" and "Your butt looks nice." And off we went to his mom's boyfriend's retirement party. Luckily, at his mom's retirement shindig, I'd insisted on making friends with all the fabulous female lawyers, so while the beau was getting showed off by his ma, I had some boss ladies to wine and dine with. 

As the evening progressed, I also decided to join up for the March for Our Lives the next day. Upon returning home, I went to the closet with my rally poster tagboard, markers, and stencils. And I sighed a great sigh that protests are so commonplace. And then I got to work.

Retirement celebrations and getting out the soapbox.

Saturday

Since the beau was working, I rose with the sun and went to mall walk with my sister. Yes, we're basically 95 years old, and no, I don't care. After getting in five miles and a shit ton of chitchat, I sped my way back downtown and straight to the march. I intercepted the beau's ma and her friend and we worked our way to the starting point. There, we heard empowered young voices, eloquently demanding change. It was inspiring and terribly sad. I hope that by the time I have children, they won't have to be the protesters of tomorrow. I hope the world will quit sucking by then... I've always been a bit of an optimist.

So, per usual, if there's something to be angry about, and a chance to throw my voice into the hurling masses, count me in. I have opinions and love a peaceful protest. Thus, we marched. And just as we were about to hit the end of the march route, I gave some hugs and made a mad dash back to my car. I was already running late for brunch.

Brunch was a fabulous birthday celebration with some more powerhouse women in my life. Many cocktails, much merriment. Several incidents of flying potatoes and random egg sputtering about. Laughs were had by all. By the time one o'clock rolled around, I had already put on seven miles and my heart had grown three sizes (much like the Grinch, only, like, it had started out pretty full already). 

With a few hours before the beau's return, I quickly finished up rewatching West World. (Since I really don't watch TV unless we're both watching something, and he hates rewatching things, it takes weeks for me to wrap things up, so this had been a month-long undertaking.) When he got home, it was long run day (as he preps for his next half marathon, leading up to the NYC Marathon this fall), so I cleaned, worked out, and cooked up dinner. We watched an episode of The Office while we ate (working our way slowly through the series, which I've never seen) and I retired early to go read my book for book club. (You'll Grow Out of It by Jessi Klein - aka my inner monologue published under someone else's name.) 

Gun control, portion control, all the things. 

Sunday

Since I can't really sleep in anymore (thanks, daily 7am meetings for work), the day started with laundry at dawn. While waiting, I prepped tablescapes for Passover Seder, wrote a few letters, read, and updated our trip itinerary doc. Trip prep has been a big theme lately, even though we're a couple months out. We've got flights, hotels, and rental cars booked. I've got Copenhagen pretty well laid out, and a long list of stops for the Faroe Islands, now we just need to plot the best plan to see everything efficiently. 

After the beau was up and laundry was folded, we walked to a nearby microbrewery and grabbed breakfast burgers. It's member appreciation month for the Film Club we're in, so we snagged a discount, which was nice. Then it was on to grocery shopping, and a venture out to the suburbs for hiking boot shopping (again, trip prep). As the afternoon approached, I settled in for a nap and the beau hit up the streets for another run. 

I awoke sweaty and hangry, a deadly combo. The radiators had been blasting us all day, and with my stomach in revolt, I viciously chomped the heads off of animal crackers for an hour, while watching a documentary about amphetamines and America's ongoing prescription drug problem. (You know, something light.) Then it was back to the to-do list and exercise, while the beau tapped into the latest Jessica Jones. 

Reading by the morning light; burgers for life. 

And here I am, writing up this blog post as the weekend comes to a close. A nice chill weekend, with a fair amount of productivity, and I'm happy as a clam. Usually by this point in the winter, I'm a total mess of anxiety, and am borderline depressed, scratching at the walls to be free and living my best summer-social-life. But, oddly enough, right now, I'm just plain content. A little hanger, and some crankiness from time to time, sure. All in all though, the weather is decent, my taxes are done (with limited struggle), we have a vacation looming, and really, spring is almost sprung. So, cheers to only a few more weeks of chill weekends. Summer scramble, we're fucking coming for ya! *game face, on!*

Gonna Kick Until I Need New Shoes

This is it. 2018 has officially arrived. With the chiming in of a new year, I raised a glass specifically with three dear friends to toast us in particular, as we enter into what will be our 30th year. The other revelers we were with had already crossed the threshold, but there we were, four fools, still in our 20s, toasting to life and ready for more.

Livin' that dream, stuck between 28 and 30.

The big 3-0 is still many months off in what will be a divided year for me. 2018 straddles my second vs third decade of life, so it's bound to be a year of self-created chaos, reflection, and debauchery. As such, I figured I should put down a few little anchors for myself. I've done the resolution thing some years, and tried for smaller monthly objectives in others. This year, I figured a few general guidelines and some specific to-do's wouldn't go amiss.

1. Check my credit score: like an adult.
2. Become debt free: only a few thousand bucks on my car stands between me and unshackling my burden. Could pay it off immediately, but will let this low interest loan trickle down - at least until we've nailed down vacation plans (and costs) for the year. For sure before my birthday. 
3. Get back to and maintain "base" weight: without letting the summer slide balloon me back up to walrus mode. This equates to losing about the weight of the holiday goose the beau cooked up the other day (#becausegoose) and keeping it off for all of 2018. Anything beyond that would really just be a bonus. 
4. Vacation like a boss: tentative travel plans for the years include: Vegas, Faroe Islands, Copenhagen, a few pop-downs to Chicago, and if I can swing it, another bout in NYC. 
5. Be a boss lady: time to decide what my next position at work should be. Movin' on up, friends! Gotta make those boss lady decisions and figure out which direction to go (and support my fellow boss ladies in the process). 
6. Maintain blogging pace: for the past three years, this little bloggie has been averaging about 2+ posts a month. With the summer dip (in which life is crazy busy and I neglect the internet entirely), that sounds about right. I could lie and say I'll increase my posting, but. Lies. We don't lie to each other on here.
7. Shower mindfully: speaking of nighttime zen, I plan to take more candlelit showers as night. Also, to take shorter showers. A hot shower is fab in the winter, but those long liquid blasts of heat also really dry out your skin. And, it uses up a lot of water as well, so, mother earth and all.



Part "E.T. Phone Home," part Bates Motel

8. Declutter: specifically underneath the beds in our apartment. If I can continue to purge junk throughout the year, like normal, and attack the stuff squirreled away under the beds. It'll be a win all around. 
9. Book it: must book appointments for both dental and eye check-ups. Mustn't skip it. 
10. Call: because the last iOS update was a personal attack on slider phones, texting has become a pain in the ass. Back to good old fashioned telephone calls. 
11. Shut down: no internets after 9:30 pm. Nothing is so important that it can't wait, and this gal needs some end of day zen time (maybe that'll give me time to read the next Outlander book).
12. Drink: water. Like it's going out of style.
13. Listen: to more Mika. Seriously, his music always makes me smile. That'll get me back on my French music track as well, which is always a good time. 
14. Turn 30 gracefully: we'll see how that goes. But at this moment: I'm nothing but excited. 

Beyond this short list, my top goal is to stay feisty. It's easy to grow complacent. It's easy to be bitter. It's easy to hate. One must stay lively. Be determined. Keep fighting until love wins. Kick down every barrier to happiness. Prove that age is just a number, and badassery is timeless.

So. Let's go team. Let's keep kickin' it in 2018.*


* Kick ass. Kick the dust off this old town. Kick the patriarchy square in the balls. Kick a bad habit. Get a kick in the pants and get out there. Get a kick out of living. Get your kicks. Don't get kicked to the curb, or be dragged kicking and screaming into the new year. Whatever you do, just be alive and kicking! (I think you get the point.)

Playing Hooky

Cutting class and going on madcap adventures is the golden stuff that 80s movies are made out of. It's glamorous. It's exciting. You always get away with it, and even if you get close to being caught, it doesn't matter because shenanigans!

Ferris Bueller is that cool guy who I aspired to date in high school. In reality, I ended up being more of a Cameron. Pretty sure the only time I really skipped class was in college - to go see then President-Elect Obama give a speech. So, even when I cut class, I was still a total Cameron about it. Guess I just wasn't cool enough to pull that shit off.

As an adult though, playing hooky is more up my alley, because I'm using my well-earned vacation time to do it! (#TypicalCameron) Since the year is drawing to a close, the beau and I decided to hook it up together, and took off a random Thursday. Here's what the adult version of madcap, skipping-class-and-being-youths adventure looked like...

We slept in - til 8 am. Before hitting the road, we scooped up some local donuts and coffee. They had a Homer Simpson style one, which was obviously my pick.

"I could be the walrus.
I'd still have to bum rides off people."

The destination: IKEA. Along the way: a Jelly Belly distribution center. So for second breakfast, we got to sit on a train, wearing silly paper hats, while our conductor explained all the delicious ins and outs of the jelly bean business to us. With all that knowledge, we promptly proceeded to raid the giant gift shop. Samples and sales meant that we walked away with at least five pounds of candy (in bags, and on our person). It was heaven.

"It's a little childish and stupid,
but then, so is high school."

Next stop: Gurnee Mills. AKA a giant mall also on our route. The remainder of the morning was spent walking about,* checking out the occasional store, buying miscellaneous things like a shower curtain and candy cane tights. We discussed life, the holidays, the logistics of hijacking a dinosaur mall scooter rental, etc. Naturally, I went from zero to starving at some point, and figured that since we were on a mini vaycay, we should escape to somewhere tropical... the Rainforest Cafe.

One raving recommendation from a hostess later, and I had a giant mango mojito in front of me (the glass came free with the drink - and was promptly re-gifted for a White Elephant exchange a week later). The beau had a beer and a sandwich, while I partook in chicken tenders. The creepy animatronic animals (whose homeland is the uncanny valley) raged on as each "storm" rolled through, and by the time we were ready for the check there was a beautiful starry sky above and a rainbow nearby. Yeah, I'll say it, being two of ten people in a Rainforest Cafe is my jam. I drank the koolaid. I'd do it again. It was worth every overpriced penny. 

"It's one of my personal favorites and I'd like to dedicate it to
a young man who doesn't think he's seen anything good today."

Following our jungle excursion, the beau proceeded to run about the oddly massive (for a mall) arcade area, attempting each and every claw machine. There were at least a dozen. All clearly rigged and not acting in his favor. This spurred our departure onto the next location, the end goal, the mecca: IKEA. The place most relationships go to die.

At approximately 90 miles away, our "local" IKEA is at what I like to call a "safe" distance. Just far away enough to not often damage my wallet and cause an overload to the small square footage of our apartment. I allotted three hours to roam, which was just barely enough. The beau knew going in that I treat IKEA like a scavenger hunt / playground. Since we don't make the pilgrimage often, I insist on going through every display area on every floor. I let the arrows lead me and follow the floor plan they've specifically designed to entrap me. Unlike a timid rabbit, sniffing around a trap, I simply walk right up and lay upon said trap, and die happy. (Too morbid?)

"The place is like a museum. It's very beautiful and
very cold, and you're not allowed to touch anything."

At various points, I settled into my lovely living room of choice and take a little sit break to tally up what things I plan to squeeze into the car (and to calculate dimensions to see if it will jigsaw into the trunk). The whole plan of attack went smoothly.** We also stopped for some meatballs #BecauseSwiss (and because whenever I'm even slightly stressed, the beau assumes hanger and promptly feeds me - a fair bit of assumption that I chose not to argue against). And in the end, we both spent barely any money (sub $100 between the two of us) but took home lots of goodies and a few essentials.

En route back home, we swung into a swanky strip mall restaurant (where the walls were literally just bottles of wine and we were next to a fireplace) to meet up with some of our best dear friends for a catch-up dinner. Hours later, after what was probably our fifth meal of the day, darkness surrounded us as we cruised up the super-secret-spy-route to avoid tolls and head home. We were exhausted, and we had work the next day, but we were content.

So there you have it, a skip day that was perhaps the opposite of oh-so-glamours (NO-so-glamorous?), but was just what the doctor ordered. Candy, cocktails, furniture, food, friends. And at one point, sure, maybe we randomly broke into song in the middle of a parade. Maybe. It's all a bit of a blur. After all, life moves pretty fast...

* Fun fact: mall walking is one of my fave things. Like, old people mall walking where you just get your steps in, not even like shopping mall walking. 

** Until we ran into the random houseplant section near the checkouts - where I ripped open my wallet, started making it rain credit cards, and shouted "take my money!" Or something to that effect. 

Binge Hip

There's a certain phenomenon that's been spreading like a plague the past decade. It's an issue that has increased exponentially as the years have gone on. A phenomenon I fondly refer to as "binge hip."

You know how it is. You've had a long week at work. Hell, you've had a long frickin' month. The summer has been busy, you've barely had any time to yourself, and then this workweek decided just to give you the dagger.

Getting home, you wish to slip into some sweet abyss. You click on the TV. And there it is, an escapist fantasy tailor-made for you (and your demographic), blinking in a spotlight feature on your fave steaming platform.

Some new season has just dropped. It dropped harder than you dropped your weekend plans. A half-hearted "Not feeling well. Raincheck?" text, followed by your prompt phone call to the local delivery joint. All the food. You tell them to bring all the food. These provisions will need to last you for at least the next 8.5 hours. A mug of cocoa. A heap of blankets. You kill the overhead lights and plug in that random strand of holiday bulbs that you've somehow never taken down* and you settle the fuck in.

This is for the long haul. You've earned it. You deserve to just turn on, tune in, and drop out... but without psychedelics, and instead with a solid binge-watch. This is your means of escape. This is your time.

The doorbell buzzer goes off. Only an hour has passed, you've barely gotten into the second episode, and your food has arrived. A brief hiatus to tip the delivery guy and grab a fork from the kitchen (since of course there wasn't one in the bag - #TipRegret). A timely switch from cocoa to wine. The briefest of bathroom breaks. And you are BACK in it.

That'll do. Just enough to get through the
emotional roller coaster of the last seven episodes.

Before you know it, day has become night. Night has high-five the witching hour as it drove past it, on its way into what one might call the "wee hours." You've already had a judgmental automated prompter ask you not once, but twice, whether or not you're still watching. (The answer is, yes, I am. Save your criticism for my "to watch" list, bitch.) And then there it is, the black screen. Actual final credits rolling, instead of the usual spillover into the next episode. At least a minute before it'll serve you up the trailer of some similar black hole for you to crawl into as it sucks away your time. You stare into the blackness, back at your own haggard reflection, and click back to the main menu.

It's over. Accomplishment unlocked. You've concurred another wave of content. The water-cooler talk on Monday will be filled with your epic tales of this adventure you've had. You are a g'damn champion.

Blinking, the moisture slowly returns to your eyes. You look about and debate whether a move to the bed is actually worth it, or if you should just remain in your nest, surrounded by empty food and drink containers. It's so late, it doesn't seem worth it. After all, you've got a lovely imprint on the couch that is swaddling you just fine. But then that twinge of guilt hits, over what you've just "accomplished," and you decide that moving to the bedroom would be the "adult" thing to do.

You go to stand up, and a loud creak emits from your hip. Despite your best effort to rotate couch positions, you had continually settled back into that one spot. Nestled firmly into your blanket mound, with one hip holding you slightly aloft so you could snack. And that hip is not happy to have beared the burden of your binge.

To the bed you go, limping like someone sixty years your senior. You collapse into a deep sleep, your eyes embracing the darkness and lack of television glow... Nearly half a Saturday is gone before you finally glimpse the world again. You roll over and out from under the sheets to take a step towards the shower. A creak, a crack, and a pop later, and your hip has proclaimed its continued state of rage. Its warning you. Don't do this again. Go out into the world, walk about, exercise, move, or otherwise give it some room to shake its thing. That hip wants to be free.

You shuffle your way through a shower, your foot barely clearing the edge of the tub as you lift your lifeless leg up and over. A sleepy towel dry, and you promptly return to your pajamas. Grabbing a half-frosted pint of ice cream out of the freezer, you make your way back to the couch. The binge hip lets out a loud protest as you return under the covers and queue up yet another show. Real life, responsibilities, and binge hip be damned -  willpower was never one of your strong points.

If it's not on social media,
did it really happen?

* Hey, it worked in college, right? Strands of cheap lights can set the mood and are arguably less harsh than regular lighting. Let's not shame that shit. It's twinkly bulb magic and should not be typecast as only being able to supply a dull holiday glow. Also. I definitely typed "bulbs that you somehow've never taken down" and then stared, wondering why "somehow've" wasn't recognized as a word. You don't know me, spell check! 

The Walrus Goes to Disney

A new year meant a new attempt at not being the Walrus. Because I'm no Lennon (Or wait, was Paul the walrus? Shit.) AND mama's got a vacation coming up!

As y'all know, the "let's get healthy and not be a walrus" struggle has been a constant one for me over the years. My walrusdom is of course widely exaggerated, and I'm just in it for the melodrama, which is like a black hole sucking in everyone around me. The beau has to dodge the landmines I lay for him with questions like, "Does this shirt fit right?" and "Do I look good, like, other people would say I look good, or good, like, you say I look good because you love me?" The lady who runs the fitting room at H&M has seen every level of emotion. And the women's shelter and Goodwill have received buckets of clothes that I decided no longer fit (including all those crop shirts from my "Cameron Diaz" phase... sigh).

Meanwhile, I've tried a bunch of approaches to 'reset' or lose some poundage. Cutting sugars was a good one, but I don't have the willpower to do that all the time. (Definitely more conscious about it, since sugar is like killing us all, but I need my candy to live.) And since the gym wasn't working for me, I turned our second bedroom more or less into my home gym (sorry, guests! I light candles!) and started using the free work at gym.

Which brings me to the new year, where I decided to combo all my best approaches to trim some fat off before our fabulous Florida vacation (in which I will once again pretend to be a #BossWitch and gallivant about Harry Potter world). My approach for kicking the weight? Right here, wrapped in a bow for y'all!

Images shown to scale.
(Does everyone weigh themselves naked? I'll take any help I can get!)

For both January and February:

• Weighed myself every morning and wrote it down. Accountability and awareness.
• Did 5 squats every time I went to go to the bathroom. I know, it's weird, but it's all about habit forming!
• Tracked exercise. Had a spreadsheet with a list of moves and had a total goal to hit every two weeks. I need things in bite sized pieces or I don't stay committed #FactsOfLife The moves I were doing were for toning, with a max of 8 pound hand weights (if anyone wants a list, I'd be happy to send it!), so I wasn't beefing up but was tightening the flab. (Although, the guns on my arms may require a permit at this point - ow ow!) And honestly, the amount of effort averaged less than 15 minutes a day probably (not counting walking), so it was super easy to squeeze in.
• Walked it the hell out! I scheduled a 15 minute break every day during work to go hit the treadmill (because my desk is killing me) and took to the pavement whenever possible. Luckily had a few nice days in there to go walk by the lake, but when it was nasty, I took to mall walking (with the old retired people) early morning on weekends. It was fabulous. (I'm sure I'll write up a post about that someday.) 

Month of January:

• Was conscious about food choices, but not calorie counting or tracking. The beau was counting, so that helped slow my going out to eat, which was huge. 
• Besides the stuff I did for both months, in January I mainly just tracked exercise and ramped up activity level. Toning. Woke up those muscles so they could help me burn more in February.

Month of February (aka the last couple days of January - making around 25 days total):

• Because it's the shortest month... calorie counting! Yes, I ruthlessly tracked every little bit. This time I did not set a specific goal to fall under, but I did have one in mind (after using one of those little online calculators that says how many calories you should eat a day based on your age, gender, height, activity level, etc.) and shot for an average. This means I was NOT by any means fully depriving myself. I just had to look at a cookie and decide if it was worth it or not... and what I'd have to give up in its place.... Okay, so yeah, it was a bit of a struggle. Some days were better than others, for sure!
• Also tracked grams of sugar. Previously, when tracking sugars, I tried to keep in the recommended range of 25 to 50 grams per day. This time I was tracking more for awareness to make sure I wasn't just aiming for low calorie items that were killing me in other ways. And this helped shame me out of eating ALL the Valentine's Day candy - which, was... good. 
• Basically drowned myself drinking water. I was so hydrated this month that my shoes practically made squishy sounds when I walked. My brain and body loved it and it helped curb appetite too because I was always so full of water. ALSO, 5 squats every time I went to the bathroom? Well, when you drink buckets of water each day, the squat count goes way up! 

Here's a recap of where I averaged out and ended up:

• Weight lost: 9.2 pounds
• Average calories per day in Feb: 1438 calories
• Around 1400 per day would've been the range to lose 1 pound/week. 
• Note: my highest day was like 2300 calories - yay ladies night!
• Average grams of sugar per day in Feb: 60 grams 
• Max day was around 100 grams, so did pretty damn good on this one. 
• Note: one can of Mountain Dew, the sweet nectar of the gods, is 46 g. 
• Average miles walked per day in Jan and Feb: 1.6 miles
• My max day was over four miles - thanks mall walkin'! 

So just by keeping track and holding myself accountable a bit more, adding in walking and water, and doing a baby amount of exercise, I peeled off almost ten pounds with SUPER minimal effort. There's no point in denying that my willpower is next to none, so if I can pull that off, anyone can. And while there's always more to do (GAH why is body image a moving target?!), right now I feel pretty confident that I'll look wicked awesome in my wizard-kini on the beach. These Michelle Obama arms are ready to shove aside any children that get in my way as I go live the magic and enjoy my Disney / Universal adventure!

Stand tall, friends! Spring is coming!

The '017 Files: Feb

In this month's edition of "get-yo-shit-together-girl": 2017 is one month gone and a Disney vacation looms!

Let's start with a recap on January. This was the month of the bear. One minute, I was in deep winter hibernation mode, hiding from the world in my cave, in a social slumber. The next, a mama bear, protecting the rights and fighting for her cubs at the Women's March. Then it was onto being a loveable teddy bear, squeezed in the arms of someone who loves me so much they might pop my head off (that's an "alternative fact," I was actually a monster during that time, but loved nonetheless). And above all, a roly-poly Pooh Bear. Wintertime is awful, I miss being too-busy and I hate the dreary weather (there hasn't even been snow to be pretty - if I'm going to be cold, it can at least look pretty out).

So, as for the January gameplan - things went pretty alright. Here's a summary on how my list from last month actually worked out in real life:

Habit Forming:

• Aced it on the daily flossing, tea for breakfast (in place of cocoa), and five squats before I pee (which was confusing for several people, I'm sure). 
• Packing my lunch the night before? Eh, that was just okay. Hit or miss. Mostly my usual morning scramble to toss something in my work bag, only to find out later that the lid was loose and there is stirfry in my wallet. Room for improvement, we'll say.

Tracking:

• Exercise tracker - solid and far exceeded all my goals. Which means I was probably going easy on myself and just set my goals too low. Thanks, past self, for the ego boost due to low estimation! Will estimate properly going into February.
• Daily "must do" calendar - pretty much crushed it. I cheated a few times and shuffled things around, added some things just so I'd have more to check off, etc. but overall pretty well done.
• Daily weight tracking - this girl has some work to do. Days were tracked but the numbers were not always so nice.
• Journaling - absolute fail. Nada. Didn't do zilch. Two days in I realized this one was a wash. Maybe some other time.

Be more invested: this one will be an ongoing bit. I'd consider this one a "roll over" item for the next eleven months...

She's making a list, and checking it twice... 

Which brings us into February! It's the shortest month, so it needs to pack a punch. And to be honest, I started out my items for the month on Monday, so, sorry January I stole some of you. MOSTLY because I need to ramp it up before our trip to Orlando, which kicks off on the 25th. Here is what's on the to-do this time around, let's see if we can't stick to it!

Habit forming

• WATER - Need to focus on hydrating like a mother this month. A) Water is good for weight loss because it flushes the system and makes you feel fuller longer, or something something science and B) last time I went to a theme park I had a nasty encounter with wicked bad dehydration and I basically want to preemptive strike that from ever happening again. Aiming for 5 big glasses a day at work and 3 at home, which means I'll be peeing every five minutes... which means lots of squats. So. Double win! 
• 15 minute walk break at work every day. Currently I do this some days, but all the coworkers who I've bullied into going on walks have been moving on to new jobs. Soon enough I'll be walking alone, but I still need to keep at it. It's a good mental health break and will hopefully prevent me from eventually dying at my desk.
• Posture posture posture. Goodness do I need to work on this. Since my desk is already killing me (see above), the least I can do is not die a hunchback.
• Less complaining. Holy cow, I've been cranky lately. Call in the mid-winter jicker if you will, but damn, need to cool it and quit being such a Debby-D. Working on shutting down some of my complaining. Only room to discuss improvement ideas for shitty situation, must block out the pure ranting and raving.
• Smile every time I look in a mirror. I mean, I usually do this to check if there's anything in my teeth anyway, but I'm going to make an extra effort to give myself a big old grin as an affirmation: look at that sexy beast beaming back at you, because you're frickin' crushing it today.
• Dress the part (#bosslady) and not be lazy about my attire at work. It's easy when there's no real dress code. Come on closet full of clothes, don't let me down! (note: shall rock the pantsuit in similar fashion as Paul does in that video #britswag) 

Tracking

• Having shorter daily "must do" list, but keeping up on that housework 
• Still tracking weight and exercise daily - ramping up the exercise goals so I try a bit harder this go of it
• Adding on tracking for calories and sugar grams to get that beach bod (I know it's in there somewhere!) ready for, well... the beach. 

See you again in March, old friend...

"Big Goals" 

• Do NOT pack like an asshat for Florida. I always overpack, but not this time!
• Do my taxes... without my mom. Because I should pretend to be an adult and do them myself. (If I end up in jail for doing something wrong, I'll look back on this with regret, I promise.)
• FINALLY finish up getting our passports renewed. I've been too vain to go in for the photo. The previous one was glasses and braces though, so really, it's all up hill from there and I shouldn't worry so much. 

Since the first couple months are really the jumping off point for the rest of the year, I'm glad that my goal making and taking has gone well. The attitude will adjust as the sun begins to shine (and as executive orders stop being written), and in the meantime I'll just try to keep the bear in check. Let's hope February is more like the month of the mermaid... 

ForgetFull

You often hear people refer to certain actions as instinctive. "It's like riding a bicycle," they say. Once you know how to do it, no matter how long it's been, you'll remember how. The method curls up inside the creases of your brains and surfaces at the point it becomes necessary again.

Most of that is total shit. The last time I tried to ride a bicycle I pretty much just tipped right over and looked like an asshat. (Granted, I was never the picture of balance and pose, but that's not the point.) Because sometimes you just plain forget and need to relearn. To retrain your bod.

Sometimes, when I forget one of those intuitive things and, I hit quiet panic mode. There have been several times in my life where I've randomly forgotten how to spell the word "because." Why? Because if you LOOK too long at that word, your brain can talk you out of it... Surely that's now how it's spelled. You've mixed up the letters. Or added too many. It definitely has too many letters, take some out... And the next thing you know, it's taken five minutes to hand-write a sentence and you've replaced "because" with "due to" since there was no agreement to be made regarding letter sequencing.

But I digress.

The other day I came to a very stark realization that threw me completely for a loop. I was getting dressed in the morning, in my usual fashion, and glanced over at the mirror to make sure all the buttons of my blouse were done properly (we've all made that mistake) and I realized...
I wasn't sucking in my stomach.

Why have you betrayed me, ice cream, old friend?!?

Now, it's not that I've suddenly lost weight, or was wearing a baggy shirt or something, so it wasn't necessary any longer. It was just there. There was my tummy. Just chilling. Not protruding, but just a part of my body that you could see was there, that existed hidden just below that layer of fabric.

And I was horrified.

What was it doing there, being noticeable? (Ultimate betrayal!) Immediately, I tried to suck it in. To no avail. The "forgot how to ride a bike" hysteria bubbling up, I lifted up my shirt and gave my midriff a good stare down in the mirror. It was like my abs had forgotten what to do. I continued to try to pull it in, but despite my efforts and no matter how much I glared, my gut didn't budge.

How long had this been going on? And how hadn't I noticed?? I tried to think back on the history of this habit...

• Middle school: straight as a board, no butt nor boob to speak of, as my fellow classmates started sprouting by several inches and flaunting newly formed cleavage in spaghetti strapped tanks. Eventually I figured out that if I pushed my bum back and leaned my chest forward, there was a slight illusion of curves. Cue years of resulting back problems and funny walks.  
• High school: same shit as above, plus the beginning of my back-of-mind obsession with the 0.7 solution - aka the waist-hip ratio of my dearest Audrey (and many other iconic ladies). If you sucked in, it was like it was almost possible! Come on, hourglass!
• College: late nights in the library throwing back buckets of Dew, wing night, fishbowl night, dollar burger night, unlimited swipes at the caf, plus a total lack of "real" exercise, THEN having to squeeze into some skimpy outfit for a Greek dance each weekend? You can bet your bottom dollar I was holding my breath and every bit of bulge back that I could (special thanks to control top pantyhose, dim lighting and beer goggles!). 
• Post-college: new city, new friends, more nights on the town than one cares to admit. The cattle auction that is modern dating didn't allow for jiggly error. We all know that the reality of the "paint me like one of your French girls" pose is you holding in your stomach with every ounce of energy you have, lest the reality flub sideways. Let it be known: any "sexy" breathless voice heard in the bedroom is probably coming from a woman whose abs are shaking with tension, anxiously awaiting the turning out of a light.* 

So when did I forget how? Is it because I became one of those "settled down" gals in a relationship? ... Oh geez, someone please tell me I'm not that girl in sweatpants with one of those volleyball player headband things over my ponytail, wearing fucking Ugg boots and eating a pint of ice cream in the street while my perfectly fit BF runs circles around me. You know, the one who "gave up" because she "already got a good one" and "doesn't have to try anymore." ((vomits in corner))

OR is it just that at some point I stopped caring so much what other people thought? That I accepted myself and my body a bit more and finally stopped being so self-conscious?

OR maybe that I finally stopped buying clothes that were "super cute" and that I'd "fit into someday" or that "look good if it's not a fat day," and finally just bought clothes that fit who I am and compliment my bod as it is, right here right now?

OR did I somehow get complacent and lazy? Is this just a part of the zero-fucks-given mentality that comes as one approaches 30??

OR am I really just so drastically out of shape that the atrophy in my abs has finally gotten to the point where I tell them to engage and they just look up from the couch, pausing the Netflix, and say "go get me a sandwich, bitch"? 

It's hard to tell what (or when) the turning point was. But, if you see me making funny faces, or holding my breath, just pretend I don't look like a freak. I'm practicing. My tummy needs to train, to relearn in case of emergency. What if I run into Ryan Reynolds (just after his divorce) some day?? Pretending to look skinny isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. Cue "Eye of the Tiger" and, maybe hold off on the ice cream... for a few days.

* Well helloooooo self-conscious whispers of my youth! Long time no see! Thanks for making that middle decade of my life an anxiety ridden nightmare... It's cool, I get it. Yeah yeah, no, I forgive you, it was a long time ago... Yeah, I'm doing just fine, and you?... Oh, married, huh? Wow, that's great. Two kids? You don't say. Well, I'm glad life is going so well for you... Me? Oh, yep, just swell. Stellar. Not still fending off demons from my past at all, I mean, yep, job is great too!...  Yeah, we should really meet up, grab a drink some time, catch up properly...  For real. Let's do it and not just say we'll do it. Yep, any time.... ((head spins around like in the Exorcist, pushes off bridge)) 

The '017 Files: Jan

No matter how together my life is, somehow, this nagging feeling creeps back in every so often. I get anxious as the little voice (holding a big megaphone) starts shrieking, "Get your shit together!" Get more organized, get in shape, eat better, be happier, advance your career, be a better friend/girlfriend/sibling/daughter/woman/person, etc. The voice has a pretty standard mantra to rattle off, and the anxiety fairy sprays glitter in my eyes til I don't know which way is up and I find myself buried in a bag of chocolates. (Because chocolate drowns all worries, duh.)

Maybe it's not necessarily "good" or "healthy" that this uneasy feeling hits like a ton of bricks so often. But, I like to spin it as a positive little check-up. A nice, motivational little "hey, don't forget to be fabulous today, you go-getter, you!" Of course, I spin it like that so I won't spend even more time freaking out about freaking out... (Don't feed the monster, girl!)

Give me your magic, fountain!I'll take all the luck I can get for '017.

SO, that leads us to 2017. No, not making "resolutions" again this year, but I do want to try out a few things to see if I can kick it up a notch from 2016. One thing will be a "1st of the month" post to collect my thoughts / gameplan for the month ahead... that'd be this, in case you didn't guess. Otherwise, the things I've decided to focus on for January:

1) Habit Forming (I'd like to get a few new ones):

• Daily flossing
• Drinking water/tea first thing each morning, not hot cocoa
• Having my lunch packed and ready each night before bed (want to get into meal preppin' but we'll see how quickly that picks up in the new year - need to research/get ready for that one)
• Doing five squats every time I go to the bathroom (to sneak in some extra exercise)

2) Tracking: 

• If I could curl up inside an Excel spreadsheet and live there, I just might. I use spreadsheets to track life sometimes (calories, exercise, reading time, moneys, etc.). It gives a clearer look at the big picture, and I can't fudge the details when they are quantified right in front of my face. So, I'm starting up my exercise tracker again from now til our Orlando trip (end of February). Will start up another tracker in February (probably budgeting - I know I can't maintain too many at once without getting annoyed, so best to ramp up).
• I love me a good calendar. Besides the big one for social engagements, I have two smaller ones for daily record keeping this month. One is taped to the bathroom mirror and has three to five "must do"s for each day. They're mostly cleaning/apartment maintenance related items. You know, so I don't just scramble before people come over, or randomly freak out that I'm not keeping our place nice enough / am failing as a girlfriend. And, so I can actually remember when I last cleaned the tub and not just think I did it recently (seriously, when was it?!). The second calendar is to track my daily weight. I promise that I hate myself for this one, as I'm a huge believer that health is so much more than a number on a scale, BUT this one is due largely to my "falling off the wagon" and needing to get reoriented with my bod. Weight isn't everything, but it can help remind me that the healthy eating and exercise needs to be a continual priority to help lose/maintain. This calendar is a slippery slope warning beacon, because we all know I've got zilch on the willpower front. 
• Journaling. Yeah. I don't know how I feel about it either. I've had my stints (did the "diary" thing in HS, wrote a daily positive blurb during that dark year after college graduation, etc.), but it never seems to stick. So for January, I'm giving it another go. (Don't I wish I had enough patience for that bullet journaling stuff!)

3) Be More Invested:

• Lean in more at work and get focused on how I can grow/benefit from some of the department changes coming through in the new year. Also want to do some additional training beyond my regular work load. 
• Care more about what food I'm putting into my face and invest in my long-term health by picking better food options. 
• Listen better and be more observant, in order to improve relationships (personal and professional).
• Care about dental health, too. After one root canal, I'm not looking forward to more time with my dentist, but I do need to get a few other teeth-related items addressed now so I can start fresh and strong going forward. Get my chomps all set. 

I think that'll be more than enough to be going on with. 2017 hasn't even hit the 20 hour mark yet and I've already got enough bullet points to keep me busy for the whole darn year. Taking it one month at a time, and hoping to come out of '017 shinier than I came into it. 

Takin' a Chill Pill

Winter is coming. And my shivery soul is dreading the hell out of it.

Wisconsin winters create a sort of inescapable cold. The kind that chills you to the bone and settles in for five to nine months. A cold that makes the first 40 degree day of spring seem like shorts weather. Yeah, I've grown up with it. Yeah, I can deal with it. But no, that doesn't mean I'm on board with it.

Living all these years in the frozen tundra, I have a lot of memories about the cold. After a particularly chilly happy hour the other night (I still can't feel my feet and my bum knee is basically resigned to never bend again) and much discussion about how this winter may be the worst one in awhile (if the Farmer's Almanac says it's so, it is the frickin' law of the land), many of those have bubbled up to the surface...

• When I was in pre-K, there was a blizzard. I don't remember if I was only enrolled in half-days or if it was cancelled due to bad weather, I just remember being bundled up in my snowpants, boots, puffy coat, hat and mittens - a mini, mobile marshmallow. My grandma came to pick me up and half dragged me through the parking lot because of the drifting snow and wind. People kept getting stuck in the lot, but my grandma had a big old 1980's Bronco, so we were going to be fine. She popped this little puffer into the back and went around to get in herself. The back seat had a faux-fur (green/brown in color) thrown over it and my grandma told me I had to stay on the fur, and wrap myself in it. I'm not sure if this was because the heat in the Bronco wasn't fully working due to the cold, or if it was her attempt to keep me in one spot while she maneuvered the storm. Likely, the latter. She told me to save my stories for later (I was a chatty child) and just listen to the radio. The song was "Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye." My grandma sang every word in her smooth baritone (the result of years of lipstick stained cigarettes, likely), while I sat as a silent Eskimo, wrapped in fur. And that song reminds me of her to this day, the woman who always helped maneuver the storm.
• In college, I was friends with an Australian exchange student. We were sitting in class when the first snow of the year began to fall. She stared out the window, completely distracted for the next hour, waiting. As soon as the period ended, she excitedly ran out and we followed, to watch her experience snow for the very first time. Before we could stop her, she scooped up a big handful of fluffy pure white stuff and held it up to us in amazement, ignoring our protests. After a minute of excitedly talking about it, as I tried to force her to put it down, she suddenly looked at me in horror and said, "I can't feel my hands, what's happening??" At that point she finally dropped what was left of the flakes, appalled that it had betrayed her. We took her off to the bathroom to run her hands under room temperature water (never hot - we've all played that game!) and explain to her how mittens work and how not to get frostbite. She was alarmed, resentful, and yet fascinated. Sure, we could've tried to stop her, but it was a beautiful joy to witness (even with a dramatic bitter shift at the end). And really, some things you just have to experience on your own to fully understand. 
• In early 2014, the polar vortex struck. I was living in the upper of a poorly insulated, old house. Single at the time, I had no alternative place to stay. The cost to heat my one bedroom apartment - keeping it at a brisk 58 degrees - was almost $200 a month, and this poor gal refused to pay beyond that.  When the vortex came, I was basically a sitting duck. The windows were already covered in their seasonal caulking/plastic, but I also took the liberty of barricading furniture against walls to act as insulation. I hung "tapestries" (aka blankets) to block doors. I baked daily. Anything to keep warm. One particular day, with a windchill around -40 degrees, my car wouldn't start. I didn't have internet at the time, so I remember walking down the desolate street (not a soul was out - no one wanted to foolishly "brave" the frigid doom), three blocks down to the local coffee shop. The cold was so harsh, it cut through my layers like a knife. I worked remotely from the coffee shop until early afternoon, when they were literally closing due to the cold. Upon my return home, I gathered up every remaining blanket, pillow and stuffed animal, and created a fortress against the cold, in the middle of my living room (my two couches acting as the main walls). Wearing sweatpants over my tights, and a giant penguin Weasley sweater over my under armor, I popped on two layers of fuzzy socks and a stocking cap and burrowed into my nest. I'd lit every candle I could find, determined to warm myself by the fire. My heat was set to 70, but to little avail. I watched the frost grow and crawl up the windows and kept my electric tea kettle brewing within arms length, to feed my booze-laced cocoa. It was one of the longest nights I remember ever having... And yet, it was probably the closest I'll ever come to actually being a caterpillar in a cocoon - so that made it oddly cool. Though my metamorphosis was far less beautiful/graceful, I'm sure.

Should've gotten a hand blanket...

• A different year during college, there had been a blizzard that had covered the campus in several feet of drifted snow. The email went out: all cars must be moved so lots can be plowed. A deadline was imposed. Panic rippled throughout the townhouse village I lived in: no one had shovels. Not having a car at the time, I went out into the fray, fully bundled up in my winter gear, to help out where I could. The scene was both ridiculous and heartwarming. Hungover young adults, donning stocking caps and boots over their pajamas. Groups fully decked out in winter snowboarding gear, complete with goggles. Students in tennies and hoodies. All using whatever they could find to free the cars. With an assortment of pots, pans, bowls, and sheer willpower, we slowly uncovered and pushed out vehicle after vehicle. Teamwork and frostbite abounded that day. 

The cold is inevitable. Whilst living this far north of the Mason-Dixon, there's really no way to avoid it. All one can do is hope to make some warm memories to heat up the heart during those cold times... 

....Cheesy? Way too cheesy on that one? 

Yeah, most definitely. 

Really, I often get to the point where, despite my wonderful memories from various chilly moments in my life, I get totally fretful about the approach of winter. I figure one may as well pack on a few pounds and just use the walrus weight to ward against the chill. BUT then you have to work twice as hard in the spring to get fit again, so that's no good. Really, it's like...  just suck it up, buttercup, let's all pretend we're tough mid-westerners who relish the ice, grab our liquid blankets, and we'll all hold up together til the thaw comes. Let's hope there are some shenanigans to keep us occupied til then. 

Accidental Cardio

Something has been amiss this week. Maybe it's those post-wedding blues. Or the return of fall, which means that winter is just around the bend. Or maybe it's just fluxes in hormones and weather. (Or maybe I just got bit on the bum by a bitch bug.) Whatever it is, this girl needed to jostle something back into place.

Best place to start: tackling the walrus and getting back to some sort of physical activity (other than bustin' out sick dance moves at various wedding receptions).

So, gave it a go. Jumped back into my go-to TIU workout. Rearranged our second bedroom so all the mirrors were just perfect for me to openly judge myself so I'd work extra hard. Locked the beau out and went to town for a time. Decent workout, clearly out of shape, but did pretty swell for still dealing with my bum knee (#CuzIm90).

Post workout, bopped over to the bathroom to rinse off. Decided to bump some jams. I haven't gotten in good shower jams in far too long, so spent a few minutes deciding on music. Tried to reflect on the source of my funk (my weird week funk, not like, my groovin' dance funk) and decided on a throwback. Went way back and tried to think what my favorite inspirational tunes had been back in middle school, during a much simpler time. Came up with the quintessential song: Under Pressure by Queen and Bowie. Freddie and Bowie, my straight up favorites. That was just the ticket!

Putzed with my phone to get the song going. Set it on the sink and hopped in the shower. After the infamous opening beats, as the stellar vocals chimed in, I realized the volume was way too high. Moved the shower head aside, shook some water off. Quickly scrambled out of the tub and turned it down. All set. Back in shower. Hot water, cool shampoo, hitting all the right notes.

Hardly a minute in, the song stops. Hands in hair, mid shampoo, my eyes popped open, filled with rage. Shampoo in said eyes. A cranky sigh, a half-assed rinse, and I was out of the tub again, this time caring less about dripping, as my frustration built. Can't a lady just get her groove back and shower and Bowie in peace without all these interruptions??

Realized it was a WIFI issue, so spent several minutes awkwardly pacing naked, with my phone above my head as the water flung off my waving arms and I tried to regain signal. Finally, restored. Set phone down and turned back to shower, singing all the "de da day"s leading up to Bowie's epic line.

Opened curtain, got in.
"It's the terror of knowing what this world is about..." 
Realized I wasn't alone.
"...Watching some good friends screaming..."
There was also a GIANT centipede that was half crawled out of that little "overflow" thing above the drain and below the spout. It was halfway out and was already two inches long. Panic set in.
"...'LET ME OUT!'"

"These are the days it never rains, but it pours."

With zero regard for water spillage, completely ripped the shower curtain out of my way in order to find something to smash the creature with.
"Turned away from it all, like a blind man..."
Total flood, water everywhere. Thrashed about. Grabbed toilet paper, but it just like melted (as TP is wont to do when it gets wet), so that was no good.
"...Sat on a fence, but it don't work." 
Decided to sacrifice the pink polka dot hand towel from the dollar store. Turned back to the shower to destroy the pede.
"Keep coming up with love, but it's so slashed and torn. Why, oh why?"
Dramatically threw back curtain. Further flooding.
"Whyyyyyyyy?"

And it was no where. It had escaped / gone back to the fiery depths from whence it came. I set the towel on the tub ledge and got back in to just finish my shower, my heart racing. Closed the curtain... and that's where it was.
"Insanity laughs, under pressure we're breaking..." 
A silent, open-mouthed shriek of horror, and I began batting at the curtain. The pede scuttled frantically down to the tub, away from the flailing plastic. Water flying everywhere. More scuttling, more waving about. Total chaos.
"Can't we give ourselves one more chance?? Why can't we give love, that one more chance? Why can't we give love, give love, give love...."
STOMP. Instinct took over and I literally took my bare foot and smashed the pede against the tub.

Then I had a nervous breakdown. Filled with regret over my reflex, I attempted to scrub off all my skin with that damn pink polka dot towel which had failed me. At no point though did I regret the song choice. And that's what really maters.

Sorry, towel, I have to go light you on fire now.
(Note: blur is from my literal throwing in of said towel)

The Move, Part 2: The Rock to My Roll

I frickin' can't wait to not  live alone.

For the past five years, I've been in my "big girl" apartment, all by myself, living some version of the dream. Some of it was real swell, and I'll really miss it. But other parts of it were just plain awful and exhausting. Trust me, I'm all about being the independent woman, and I kind of rock at it, but at the same time, I'm kind of relieved to have a "person." Someone to share the load (Samwise Gamgee, anyone?) with.

There were plenty of times living alone where another person would've come in handy:

• When I needed help zipping up / buttoning a dress. We all know the hanger method, and we risk life and limb to look good, but it's a real pain.
• The times when I was sick and had no one to take care of me, so I just moped around being melodramatic. Being sick alone is like, the frickin' worst. 
• Opening jars. Sure, I have a rubber husband (that's what my ma calls those gripper things - get your head out of the gutter) and am stubborn as hell, but seriously. I've actually thrown away a jar because I couldn't get it open and was frustrated. 
• Speakkkking of frustration. Pictures for this blog. All the contortion moves to get my elbow out of view (only to end up out of focus). All those hours taking countless photos to get just one to turn out okay-ish. An assisted selfie would've been welcomed.

Hey, Elvis, you'll spot me while I hang upside down to get this pic, right?
Thanks, buddy!

And there are also plenty of reasons why living with my number one bang will be swell:

• He comes with Netflix. And Amazon Prime. And Hulu Plus. And all the streaming things. I'm not saying that's the only reason we're moving in together. But I'm just saying it sure doesn't hurt... 
• Food. He's a dang good cook - and has a Kitchen-aid! Plus, this way we'll have one fully stocked kitchen with which to prepare food, instead of the slippery slope that is the, "Oh, I didn't know you were coming over, so I only have vodka in my fridge... how about we just go out to eat?" For reference: see the ten pounds of "love weight" I gained the first year we dated (and have mercifully worked off). 
• Logistics. Finally no more back and forth. No more calling in cars for overnight parking (or forgetting to and panicking at 4 am before being like, "Screw it, I'll pay the ticket"). No more "your place or mine?" No more "shit, I forgot to grab my sunglasses / shoes / pills / life, we have to go back to my place." Hours of our lives will be saved by not having to coordinate this nonsense. AND I won't have to sound like such a pathological mama bear by following every goodbye with, "Text me when you get home safe." 
• Speaking of me being the walrus and logistics.... I started writing this post the other day and came back to just that starter line. I have literally NO clue where I was going with that, but I'm fascinated to find out some day. Huzzah open-ended thought!
• Insta-booty call! Right? That's a thing?? At least, I don't think I'll have to wait and text him (across the room) at 3 am. And if I did, what if he didn't answer? And I like saw him look down at his phone and make a sigh noise like, "UGH, not this bitch again, it's late, closed for business"?! Gah! ...I don't know, this is all new territory. 
• One set of things! No longer will I need two sets of makeup, two toothbrushes, two gym bags, two phone chargers. No more! It will all be in one place, just, with doubles of everything for awhile. But one place!
• No choking and being eaten by wild dogs! We all remember that episode of Sex and the City where Miranda starts choking to death, alone in her apartment. It scared me so bad that I ate nothing but ice cream for almost a year, just so I wouldn't accidentally die alone (or, well, that was my excuse anyways). And, as Bridget Jones so gracefully put it, living alone always comes with a risk of eventually dying, fat and alone, and being found three weeks later half-eaten by wild dogs. I'm hoping that both these scenarios can finally be avoided, just by having a live-in.
• He often treats me with the terrified kindness with which one would treat a pregnant woman. I pout for chocolate and an hour later he's like, "I got you some chocolate." And I'm like, "Wait, you left to get chocolate? When?" (pouting can cause a total disconnect from reality, as can a lack of chocolate) AKA he's the sweetest and treats me well - it'll be nice spending more time with my swell fella. 
• He balances my otherwise total chaos and high strung-ness. He's like the Mac to my Cheese. The Robin to my Batman. (Yes, I get to be Batman, I have a stronger chin.)
• The whole paranoia thing will hopefully be better. Because A) if I hear a noise in the other room, I can just assume it's him and not a serial killer and B) if that noise occurs in the other room when he is with me, I can send him to go see what it is, while I cling to the knife I hide under the bed and perch behind the door, ready to spring... so, well, okay, maybe the paranoia will actually be more dangerous than ever in this scenario, when I accidentally stab my beau. But maybe not! Maybe he'll just protect me and we'll be fiiiiiine... (Your Honor, I'd like to have this blog post stricken from any manslaughter investigations)
• Bloggin' beaus. Since we both blog, we can sit at our little kitchen table and write on our respective laptops. And I can be like, "Pass the sugar, babe." And he'll be all like, "But you're not drinking any coffee." And I'll be like, "I know..." It'll be BRILLIANT! 

In less than a week, we'll have the keys. It really is the point of no return. But luckily, that's okay, because as much as I totally loved living alone, I know living together is going to be even better... Or definitely better than being eaten by wild dogs, that's for sure! I'll set the bar there, and we'll work on stretch goals later.*

Steppin' into some unknown territory here! Putting our best foot(s) forward.

Click here for Part One: In which I totally freak the shit out.

Click here for Part Three: In which I build a rockwall.

*Seriously though, it's going to be fantastic. Don't let my snark fool you.

Resolutely Yours

Why hello there, 2016! Fancy seeing you here. You sure snuck up on us all! Barely got used to writing the "15" on my dates, and here you are to screw that all up again (luckily the 5 and 6 are an easy to correct - thanks, similar looking numbers!).

While 2015 sure was a hoot, 2016 is already shaping up to be one heck of a 365. To keep grounded during all the shenanigans, I decided to resolve a few things. Be resolute. Let my resoluteness abound. Not like, make resolutions, but you know... basically make resolutions. We all know once you attach the word "resolution," it's over. So really, I just decided to take some things I've been meaning to do and put them in list form. Because I don't trust anything that's not in list form (thanks, Buzzfeed, you've ruined my life).

In case you're looking for some resolve of your own, or just are curious, here's the list that will intertwine itself into my daily 2016 doings. You all have permission to obnoxiously hold me accountable now, and I have permission to say, "What list?" come May if I haven't held true to any off it. As is the American way.

1. Tidy Up: Life is never spotless, but I'm making a point to clean up my place each night before bed (dishes, putting things away, etc.). That way, when the serial killer that's been lurking in the shadows my whole life finally strikes, and Derek Morgan comes to my apartment to investigate, he'll look around and think, "Wow, this girl really had her shit together. It's too bad she's dead now because we'd have been perfect together." (And then he rips off his shirt...in mourning.) 
2. Hydrate: Not just drinking more water - that's a given. I may as well live in a desert for the amount of water I consume. It's a constant struggle to pick H20 over my other favorite awful forms of "hydration" (Dew, it's you). But besides that, I need to moisturize better, too. My face/neck regime is solid (thanks, Grandma!), but winter in the WI takes a toll. Let's face it, underneath our clothes are entire bodies are covered in scales. Bridget Jones let the cat out of the bag there. It's time to spend the two minutes and $2 it takes to put lotion on my legs/arms/everything else once in a while, like an adult.
3. Jam It: Love me some good jams, so decided to put a few new radio stations into my rotation. New music keeps life light and dance moves fresh. My sister gave me the precious gift of a shower radio, and currently it only gets two stations: church and local alternative. I've opted for the latter. My hippie rubber ducks approve.



Shower companions, jammin' it up.

4. Get in Touch: Being blessed with a wide array of wonderful friends and family, it's time to stay in touch better. Yes, that means scheduling phone calls sometimes, and spending a week trying to work out timing conflicts, but it's important. Blanket apologies on any previous neglect; cocktails soon (but, for reals this time).
5. Square One on the Noms: Time to quit hoarding food like a squirrel. I'm working on eating up all my food stuffs so I can start fresh and maybe just a wee bit healthier. (No, I'm not just going to throw it away! Y'all know I hate to waste - especially when it comes to food! I'm taking one for the team and eating it til it's gone.)
6. Get Out of Dodge: Boy, my passport sure needs renewing. Finally upgrading to a photo without braces and glasses - huzzah! Also, need to pick out adventure number three for the year. With Key West in February and Colorado in September, there is an awful six month gap there that is distinctly lacking in trips. Simply unacceptable. 
7. Be the Mermaid, Run the Race: Speaking of Key West, this gal has to pull off a swimsuit in a few short weeks. Much dread, many workouts. Besides that motivation, this spring/summer, I have re-upped my commitment to doing a 5k with the beau. It didn't work out so well last spring, but this time I'm determined not to let him down. Eye of the frickin' tiger and whatnot.
8. Shine On: Must revisit the positive attitude of old. Have lost it a smidge, so it's time to get that shine back. No one likes a Debbie Downer, cranky bee.
9. Life Skills: Get some. Like knitting. The end times could strike at any moment. What will you contribute to the post-apocalyptic nomadic herd? If you don't have something better than a keen eye for a good Instagram pic, they'll kick you to the curb. Time to revisit old abilities that have gotten rusty maybe - like building a fire and shooting a gun. Or knitting. Seriously, I really keep meaning to learn that one.
10. To Blog or Not to Blog: Speaking of life skills. Story telling is totally one. If I'm going to keep on this though, it's time to get a domain and maybe switch to another platform (any advice on that one is much appreciated). And get back into the writing rhythm. Else maybe this lil guy should take a hiatus. Decision to be made soon.
11. Streamline: Time to pare down some of my knick-knack, bric-a-brac, beloved little trinkets. I've always wanted my living space to contain enough objects that, should a guest be present and I need to step away for a minute, they would be able to occupy/entertain themselves. Case in point, my elephants. 80% of visitors know what I mean. Because trinkets are my favorite. But, there's that fine line between happy and hoarder. New year, fresh start! 

Starting off on the right foot... certainly not the LEFT one!

The Walrus Quits the Gym

There are certain universal truths for most twenty-somethings. They all start with "at some point, in your twenties you will..." and end with things like "do something silly you regret" or "feel overwhelmed by financial decisions" or "bitch about work." Jumping to just the female version of that list, one thing you're bound to find is "join a gym, start a diet, attempt a new health regime, etc."

Shortly after on the list, you'll find, "quit the gym, cheat at diet, say to hell with salads, etc."

Now, I'm not discouraging living a healthy lifestyle or saying we're a bunch of quitters, it's just a straight fact that we're busy ladies. We've got other things to do, and sometimes we don't want to prioritize healthy stuff. Because happy hour sounds easier after a long day at the office. And some salads are just gross. And I had to look up how to even spell "quinoa." And counting calories is the worst. And no, I don't want to know what's in bologna; I want to bite out a little smiley face from it and hold it up while I laugh like a five year old.

Morale of the story: I cancelled my gym membership. After going really steady for a time, then not, then back again, then taking ALL the classes, then quitting due to my bum knee (#CuzIm90), etc. I fell out of the habit again this summer. It was like a bad relationship; one that I was paying to be in. Spending my hard-earned cash money for something is typically motivation enough, but twas not the case. Finally decided to cut ties and save the $300 a year. This walrus has been quite content with the choice.

A few reasons quitting the gym isn't the end of the frickin' world:

1. The Internet: There are a ZILLION workout videos on the internets. It's actually insane. I've been following an eight week "Fit for Fall" program that gives me all the details for zero dollars. No fancy equipment needed.
2. Fewer Excuses: I can't skip a workout because the weather is bad or it's not safe to drive (Wisconsin problems, world). My gym is my living room, and the traffic to get to there from my kitchen sure ain't bad. 
3. Workout Outfits: They can be literally whatever you want. I can workout naked, or wearing ridiculous looking neon pants, or in a giant sweater because my apartment is freezing, whatever. No one is going to see it, save for the family of claw-machine stuffed animals that hangs out on my couch. 
4. Noms: If I want to pause for a snack break, I can! Okay, wait, this one's not necessarily "good" but... it makes me happy?



Those cookies won't lift themselves! Time for some curls!
(my space pants make me stronger)
#WillSweatForSweets

5. Self Motivation: People say that if it was just left to working out at home, they wouldn't have the willpower because of other distractions. Well, if you don't have the willpower to shut off the TV for twenty minutes, you probably won't be motivated enough to drive to the actual gym either. So...
6. No Human Interaction: Because sometimes I just want to be a hermit and not deal with some bro glaring at me while I use the free weights (they're just ten pound dumbbells, buddy - I am NOT in your way here!). After a long day, the last thing I want to worry about is looking gross-sweaty in public and trying to not feel awkward when my locker is right next to the totally naked woman on her cell phone and I can't remember my lock combo.
7. Sweet Sweat Jams: The soundtrack is in your hands, not the hands of the teenage boy at the check-in desk. All the D. Guetta! 
8. Never Forget: Water bottle. Gym shoes. Headphones. My muscles. There's nothing worse than getting to the gym and having forgotten something. You don't want to turn back, but some of those items (like shoes) are kind of essential. That hair tie will make or break your workout! 

Seriously, they're like elastic angels.
These are actual currency at the gym.
(also just spent ten minutes thinking my fingers look weird...)

The point could be argued many ways; but for me, I'd say this was a decision well made. Maybe someday, when I'm in superstar adult mode, I'll make the gym a habit again.* But for now, I'm going to stubbornly do it all on my own without anyone's help, because that kind of stubbornness is what twenty-somethings are made of. That and hashtags. 

*And all the other healthy adult things. Like meal planning. And doing more than just ripping out the "superfoods you should be eating" article from the waiting room mag at the doctor and putting it on my fridge. And getting healthy magazine subscriptions myself so I don't have to steal pages from expired issues at the doctor's office...