Details, details...

So apparently I should have waited (or thought longer) about my "resolutions."  I think I'm doing ok on the "Big Picture," but Im pretty sure I already blew it on some of the smaller commitments I made.

New Year's weekend was a smashing success. I'll write more on it later, but mostly the only thing that you need to know is that McCloud and I decimated a bottle of McClellan's, several 18 packs of Coors Light, two bottles of Champagne and lots of "hot tub drinks" (Read: sweet liquors mixed with each other) as well as a shockingly delicious variety of snacks.

Note scotch, coffee, beer

and carrots (for posterity) ---->

My downfall came while we were shopping and I wandered over to the weird random salsa/hummus/dip section of the deli.  What I found was somewhat life changing.  Right there next to the hummus (that I intended to buy and dip carrots in), I saw it : "Better Than Ranch."

BETTER than ranch? what's better than ranch!?? says I.  Apparently this dip is, in which case I must have it. I coveted it. I was already thinking about what gross fried delicious things I could smother in it...
So I grabbed it, and continued with my shopping...

Basically, this is like when alcoholics purchase good wine "for their guests."  Somehow you justify the purchased, fooling yourself that the self control will kick in later so you shouldn't worry about not having any right now.  Yeah, okay darlin, whatever makes you feel ok about the purchase... just wait till you get home and have to stare at the sweet, sweet syrah sitting up there on the shelf. 

In my case it was the Better Than Ranch that would be staring at me from the fridge every time I opened it to grab another beer... until I was drunk enough to give in to its sad lost puppy stares and dip AN ENTIRE bag of Bagel Chips (of the roasted garlic kind, obviously) into its thick, perfectly seasoned pot of figurative honey.

As it turns out, it was better than ranch!  Though I think I may have made myself sick and already totally failed at my attempt to get off the Ruffles/Ranch addiction that I've been trying to kick since August of '09.

So that's my shameful confession.  More on the weekend later, when my Ranch Dip buzz has worn off and I can think clearly again... 

On a positive note, we did have a very fruitful session whereby we brainstormed our resolutions for the new year as well as old habits and thoughts that we needed to let go of.  Then it was into the fire with them for a nice cleanse before the stroke of midnight. 

(We would have had one of McCloud's signature baptisms, if it had been just a little bit warmer, the dock was not submerged and the hot tub was actually full and warm.. Alas it was not the case, so we settled for flames, and called it good)

<--- liberating fire, and three crumpled balls of good intentions for the new year...

New Year's Absolutions

Assuming that we ever stick to the "thematic" content of this blog and actually discuss diet and exercise, the New Year offers plenty of opportunity for discussion, goal setting and general measurement...

As you would have it.  I am not in the sort of mindset that allows for much of any planning, and certainly not embracing any sort of accountability whatsoever.

For posterity, here are some boring, though applicable goals for 2010:

1) stop eating Ruffle potato chips dipped in ranch
(this will be hard)
2) regain my ability to deadlift 120lbs for three sets. (currently lifting 60lbs)
3) regain the knowledge of where  exactly my hip bone lives... (hipbone currently MIA)
4) Either increase ass, or decrease love handles, such that love handles are no long the "most promient" feature in that region. (ew.)
5) abstain from drinking 2 nights each week
(also will be hard... I might exempt wine spritzers from this..)
6) Abstain from drinking for 2 weeks straight before June (why not shoot for the stars, right??)

In point of fact, I'm less concerned with "resolutions" and more concerned with "absolution."  I hope that 2010 brings with it a renewed sense of vigor and enthusiasm for life and the things I chose to put in it.  I expect increased freedom from self consciousness, be it body, emotional or otherwise and at least two steps forward in terms of my contribution to the rest of society (assuming that my helpful snarkiness and judging of others isn't nearly as helpful as I think it is).

Something about the last part of 2009 has been very, very entrapping.  Nothing tragic, no big loss, no big changes, but something akin to a slow, comfortable suffocation.  I've gotten complacent (and puffy) with regard to most things and am now feeling the effects of that approach. It's time to start walking my talk and owning my actions (thanks McCloud) and raising my standards.  My intention is to identify habits that ultimately make me sad (ie those delicious ruffles coated in ranch) and steer my life away from them.  Only I make those choices, so only I can free myself from their obnoxious results.

Not to get too sappy, but it seems worthwhile to at least pay some attention to what I am thankful for this year, since this forum tends to see more of my cynical rage than my thankful appreciation for everything that's really pretty decent in my life (including my lovehandles.. they could be worse as an unfortunately shaped lady at the gym made very, very obvious to me yesterday).

My hot list from 2009:

Serious good fun with work and trying to make people play nice (/reducing hate crimes)
Driving the coast in The Boy's fun new car
Phenomonal girl getaways (vagas, scottsdale, san juans, fire island, seattle..)
My Parents' 35th Anniversary - ta-da! (and I still have liquor left over from that party!)
Coaching the volleyball girls back to Tri-Districts for the first time since I was in a high school uniform..
Clocking some serious time up at the Cabin (/ My Happy Place)
A triumphant return to the gym, complete with new shoes, and headphones so I can watch trashy tv while I "work out"

Ok, that's enough retrospective, emo ranting from me.  Time to pound out some work, read some other blogs then get my pretty self back up to the cabin where I plan on ringing the new year in with lots of bubbles, hot tubbing and a probably new year baptism in the pacific ocean.

Cheers to the new year, I hope that it is full of delicious champagne and good people to drink it with!

xoxo

Fight.

So, I'm fully in the habit of a coffee and a cigarette for breakfast. In a word: amazing. In another word: Gross McCloud.

Anyway, this staves off breakfast for sometime whereby I typically nibble on almonds at my desk or poach eggs. But this morning I had to drive NORTH. like Canada north. SO, at noon I am starving and only half way home. Luckily for me the outlet malls (hey, they are the premium ones...) are next exit and I'm about to pee myself anyway. So I stop, pee, buy pillow cases...naturally and avoid visa havoc by not even going to the side with kate spade, cole haan and burberry, kudos me.

But I'm still hungry. I manage to avoid the obvious Auntie Anne's pretzel stop but I get hung up at the vending machine (ooh, it takes $5 bills too!) So I put in a fiver and opt for beef jerky. Protein is much needed. The little metal squiggle spins. And stops. And no beef jerky falls.
And then it spins again.
I'm hopeful.
It stops.
I'm hungry and confused.
It spins again!
I'm thrilled!
The machine continues to do these little spins (to which I can only imagine my facial expressions looked like something Lucile Ball would do), but eventually gives up and spits out 12 quarters. Awesome. So I put 8 quarters back in the machine and press the beef jerky button again. It reports to me: selection no longer available cell broken. Well this screen has about as big as a vocabulary as I do and more emotional wherewithal than some dudes I've dated but goddamn it I'm really hungry. So I opt for peanuts. E7 to be exact. $1.25. But something bad happens when I hit E7. The peanuts don't move but the meat sticks next to it do. EW. Enter another $1.25. E8. E8 is what I want. The peanuts fall. Finally. I left the meat sticks.

Old Friends.

Right. I must second McCloud’s sentiment that gorging on nachos and extra guac in front of The Trainer is not exactly ideal. For one thing it significantly lessens our credibility when we assure him that we are “definitely eating well” and also “doing lots of cardio.” Oops.

I mean, there’s probably an advantage to him knowing our secrets, because ultimately the skinny jeans don’t lie and neither does my wheezing when I try to support my own body weight. Though realistically, at this point I’d be thrilled if my fat pants fit nicely and I could jog for 60 seconds straight without getting a side ache. 

The working out is coming and going in fits and spurts. What was exceptionally productive last week-crashed, burned and then exploded over the Christmas weekend. I exercised some restraint during holiday festivities with the family, but the real issue came during the weekend after the holiday when we decided to catch up with “old friends” (there were some actual old friends present, but really I think this means we caught up with Jameson and cheap champagne). 

The weather has been GLORIOUS recently, which prompted The Boy and I to start on a trademark “long walk” with an initial stop for brunch someplace. This obviously featured more mimosas than “meal” and McCloud joined us part way through. We finally ousted ourselves from the friendly French Café (sitting outside in the sunshine no less!) and wandered through a few shops en route to our next watering hole (another café come bar where you can drink in the am guilt free..). 

Obviously we continued the mimosa train (though we removed the unnecessary “orange juice” after the first round… wasted space) and stumbled through a few small plates here and there. Fries… meat plate… roasted carrots (read: butter sponges)… cheese boards… and before we knew it we had been there for 6 hours. 

Whoops.

Now, the good news is that we managed to squeeze some high quality socializing between the rounds, but the bad news was that our cocktail waitress found us none too charming even though she was set up for the tip of a lifetime. 

Anyway, we mobilized... in an effort to make it to a different neighborhood hill to see yet another visiting holiday friend, but got distracted by the reopening of an old bar/rock club venue with a distinct amount of curtains and upholstered chairs now filling the windows. Not people to let anything related to food or drink occur in our hood without our knowledge; we obviously popped in to test out the new surroundings... It was cute. Dark, nice furniture, lots of good nooks to hide in with friends, but a distinct presence of “shitty dance music” in the background as well as a strong ratio of gay guys to straight anything. Now, I love me some shitty dance music and I DEFINITELY love me some gay men, but the last 3 bars that have opened within walking distance to the condo have gone gay or gone shitty dance scene, or gone shitty-gay-dance-scene in approximately 1.2 weeks after their opening. So while I enjoy the big bar, exposed brick and nod to an English manor, I’m a little nervous that the new spot might soon become hostile to anyone not gay, not dancing (to shitty music), or both. We shall see.

Anyway, we finally made our way to our destination which was fun. Lots of people, drinks and chatting. And clearly there was plenty of Jameson and Tequila (ouch, really? Was I the asshole that ordered that!??) . After clocking a substantial 13 hours of consumption, The Boy and I dragged ourselves out, leaving McCloud behind (whoops, loss of 10 friend points). Upon entering the cab we hailed, it became obvious that we needed something in our tummies aside from Irish whiskey, so we quickly exited the cab in favor of “Dick’s Drive In” for what are unquestionably the BEST drinking sponges in the world. I typically hold myself to a reasonable ONE deluxe burger, but the boy grabs two and I added an extra fry before we repositioned ourselves back in a second cab.

Realistically, a burger at 1:30am is not the brightest contribution to my waistline, but the silver lining is that it ALWAYS prevents a hangover, and seeing as how McCloud did not join us on our hamburger adventure (loss of another 20 friend points.. ALWAYS feed drunken friends burgers. Always), she was less than thrilled to see me as we headed to see The Trainer the next morning.. But we survived, and shortly after we enjoyed the delicious, delicious nachos.

In typing all of this, I feel even grosser about my decisions this weekend, but all of them were fun, entertaining and most importantly DELICIOUS.

Hopefully this week sees a little more restraint, but as I look at my calendar and a scheduled trip up to the Cabin looming for the long weekend, I doubt I’ll see much in the way of good decisions OR restraint as we head into the new year. 

I guess that’s why I’ll be getting my ass handed to me by Trainer man every day between now and then. It’s one of those masochistic efforts that makes me think that the Catholic Church and I might get along better than I think.

Buuuuut, I’m not going to be exploring THAT little road anytime soon.

Boundaries.

I consider myself fairly self-aware. With this self-awareness has come the realization that I am not much of one for boundaries. Turns out it appears as though I was born without a moral compass (potentially to the detriment of my entire relationship with my mother: if she even only knew) and without this fancy little thing my dear friend refers to as a "ticker". The ticker prevents you from talking about sex, shit and most basic bodily functions in front of people that probably don't need to hear it: co-workers, aunts/uncles, boyfriends, quite frankly random strangers. My ticker is GONE. You might see an ad for it on those flyers with the missing persons.

But I digress. So I have boundary issues, big deal. Some girls have Daddy issues. We all get over it somehow. However, a line was CROSSED yesterday, even for me and in an unexpected way.

After a relatively easy workout (read: hangover)I proceeded to invite my trainer to join us for lunch (wrong McCloud). Due to said hangover it wasn't much of a salad day. So instead, I naturally ordered the NACHOS, in front of my trainer! The guy who listens to my constantly bitch about my lovehandles, and my thighs, my stomach rolls and my back fat and anything else I can think of at the moment as I'm in weird positions in front of the mirror (yes, I wish it was for some other reason other than the workout).

And I don't really just mean eat, I mean gorge. I mean peel the melted cheese off the skillet, dip it in guacamole gorge. I even ended up with guacamole on my sleeve...and pants. In fact, apparently I looked so ravenous he even gave me his black beans (aw, is it love?!)

Alas we parted ways. If only my trigger wasn't missing along with my ticker maybe I'd feel better about myself today. Or seeing my trainer again, ever.

It's the hap-happiest time of the year....

As mentioned in yeterday's less than charitable post, this Holiday Season that has snuck up on me like a stealthy, secret ninja ambushing me with cocktail parties, shopping lists and general stress (with a distinct lack of good tidings or cheer of any sort).  Aside form the unseasonably warm weather, which makes it feel more like a crappy day in March than a crisp December evening, I really cannot believe that Christmas is right around the corner. As in here.

Which means that its time to stop complaining, start drinking and enjoy myself.  :)

So our best to you and yours.  Hopefully you are celebrating with people you love (or who at least share your love for whiskey...) and taking a day or two to gorge on food and beverages.

On the docket for tonight?  A couple bottles of wine, pomagranate martinis, cheeses and bread pudding. 

What more can a girl ask for?

Christmas Shopping (or why the general public freaks me out)

it's only slightly ironic that I just deleted a draft for a post on "good cheer" and "christmas spirit" in order to write this one, but I guess that speaks to the fleeting nature of my patience/tolerance/interest in humanity. 

I just returned from what is (thankfully) my one and only trip to the Mall this holiday season. I can remember that in years past I used to love the hustle and bustle of shopping.  I liked the lively hum of happy people trotting through the shopping centers while all of the decorations and christmas music made life feel a little more festive.  usually not one to enjoy shopping in droves (sample sales, clearance racks? no thanks.  I learned long ago that THIS consumer is more than willing to pay for manicured racks and polite and informed sales people fighting to help guide my purchasing decisions..) christmas time was the one exception.  Sure, parking's a bitch, but why worry? what else did I have to do??

I realize now that part of my cheery seasonal outlook was due to the fact that until very recently all holidays were associated with some sort of extended vacation.  Christmas always meant time off and free food while I snuggled like a spoiled bug in a rug down in their basement.  Sleeping in, fresh homemade lattes and long walks to the park were about all I ever had to fit in around my "holiday shopping" in years past.  It also meant that I usually hadn't seen my family for months so any and all quality time was cherished and novel. 

Things have changed.

I'll be the last one to pretend that I am lacking in free time or flexibility in my life, but the whole notion of living in the same city as my family has sort of taken the sparkle out of the festivities.  Holidays just don't feel "rare."  I see my parents daily (they watch my dog while I "work"/shop/blog), and my desk LITERALLY touches my brothers... Plus we descend on mom for lunches, stop by on weekends for help with projects and regularly have family dinners.  Its just sort of hard to feel excited about going out of my way to shop/cook/dress up for just another family dinner...

Now, the optimisitc side of me says  "Gee Gingham, what a blessing! you work with your family, see parents every day, and regularly have lovely, entertaining dinners all together.  Everyday is like Christmas for you!" 

But the tired, local, cynical side of me questions why I even bother. Well as I've learned in the past week, it turns out that apparently, I don't really "bother" at all.   This year brought record unpreparedness in terms of gift buying and an all time low with regard to inspriation.  Fortunately I've caught up with myself and as of the most recent (unfortunate) trip to the Mall, I am DONE. 

The Mall:

Now, this is a nice Mall, its bright, airy, has fancy shops with 'fancy' patrons and recently underwent a makeover that greatly increased the sophistication associated with clomping around from store to store.  In theory this should have been easy.  I enlisted my mother to take me, so as to avoid holiday parking fiascoes and having to stalk exiting shoppers laden with bags back to their cars then wait (with blinker on) as they slowly load up the trunks of their Lexus SUVs and struggle to shove their requisite adorably dressed toddler into some sort of child seat, while what feels like hundreds of cars line up behind me impatiently. So thanks mom, I appreciate you helping me avoid that particular pitfall of shopping. (really. I do.)

You can appreciate then, that since I had a chauffeur and had called ahead to have my item held and ready for pick up, that I figured this would be a brief, low stress encounter. 

Which, for the most part it was.  I suppose the trauma came from being completely unprepared for the scene of people which was more reminiscent of a rural county fair circa 1987, than high end shoppers calmly looking for their perfect holiday packages...  First of all, people are gross.  For the most part everyone was either sneezing, coughing, drooling or by some other measure secreting some sort of liquid.  I was instantly grossed out.  Also, as I entered at an end of the mall not usually frequented by me, I was forced to walk by the indoor McDonald's (this is gross on its own.. where do they pump all their sick grease fumes? I swear to god its muggier and stickier near that McDonald's than anywhere else inside the shopping complex... sicker).  But today, my first challenge was negotiating my way around the extensive line of people anxiously awaiting their reconstituted meat sandwiches.  Trying to cut through a line of angry hateful hungry shoppers is difficult as most of them are willing to first assume that you are attempting to cut in  line.  This is confusing for people and I think that I only managed to enrage a few grown men as I found a small gap and dashed through attempting to not look anyone in the eye or look back at the carnage.

Next up was the SANTA LINE.  Holy Crap.  Usually the Santa line has cute kids with their cute moms all lined up and ready to go.  Well not this close to game time.  This close to the midnight hour, all that's left are the moms and dads who can't get their act together and their unorganized, ADHD kids OR the sick, extra snotty children who delayed their Santa visit due to H1N1 like symptoms... 

A December 23rd Santa line is possibly the most REPULSIVE thing I have ever seen. 
It is also unending. 
I tried to renegotiate my path so as to avoid the Santa line, but I underestimated it and every turn required at least one (if not two) crossings of gross, snotting, sneezing, liquid-secreting little kids and their manic, crazed looking, desperate parents. 

Screaming Child (note the liquid secretion) 

----------------------->

The rest of my dash was a blackout.  I remember only stepping on a squeak toy and making an unfortunate realization that a lady's shirt had a horizontal zipper across her chest in order to provide immediate access for her slobbery kid to attach itself to her breasts.  This also explained why her breasts appeared to be secreting liquid, as indicated by her somewhat damp shirt...

I purchased my one and only treasure from the trip without instance (safe in the quiet, calm walls of a luxury goods store) and used the newly accquired high quality (and firm) shopping bag to clear my path as I scurried out of the craziness.  Emerging back into the daylight I felt a little like an action hero at the end of a movie when they are safely helicoptering away from some swirling, screaming tangle of mummies, zombies and terror behind them. 

If I am ever to attempt that crap again it will not be without McCloud at my side as a competent tackle and a flask of Jameson on my hip for courage.

Now its time for some serious wrapping...