eat it, julie/julia

Okay, so I admit it. I've always been one of those people who can cook, I just don't always choose to. During college, I very rarely ventured beyond basic pasta dishes and occasionally a just-toss-in casserole for consumption throughout the week. It's hard to cook for one, and since my schedule was usually such that I didn't care so much to cook for roommates or join a dinner group. Those exist. I have no interest. So I mean-- lots of macaroni and cheese, Hamburger Helper, and bagel chips and/or Cheez-Its dipped in flavored cream cheese.

To my credit, I can make that macaroni and cheese without measuring any of the ingredients, so yeah-- I'm a pretty good cook.

I've gotten a little better about trying to cook since Mr. Ames and I got married. I've made some meatloaf and lasagna and various casseroles that are slightly more challenging and include more ingredients. Let's be real though, we're still living a "student" lifestyle, so mac&cheese is pretty much a staple.

Note: after months of deliberation, we have determined Kroger brand m&c to be superior, as far as low-priced m&c goes. Specifically Three Cheese Shells kind. Typically $0.49-$0.53.

But now that I've become super awesome health conscious (which I promise I am, in spite of the meals I've eaten this weekend, which would make it seem like I've fallen off the proverbial wagon, and perhaps I did, though I weighed myself this morning and was the lowest I've been all month so go figure), I'm learning to actually want to cook things.

I know, right?

Turns out if you cook things-- like, get a whole bunch of ingredients together and combine them according to a recipe-- it's way good for you and low in calories/WW points, if that's your bag.

Now I know I've been told for years and years that buying food from the grocery store is cheaper than going out to eat, and I will dispute that until you tell me to stop vocally disputing that. Exhibit A: I just bought a head of cauliflower, some cream cheese, and chives to the tune of $7.53, which is approximately $0.56 less than what we spent at Taco Bell for both of us to eat lunch this afternoon for Memorial Day Tacos.

That said, it's starting to feel much more rewarding to cook up something interesting and tasty and limited-caloric-intake friendly. And blah blah blah, yeah I know about budgeting and coupons etc. etc. etc.

My point, is that I got home from reading in the park and was overcome by the desire for cauliflower cheese soup. Found a recipe on ww.com for such a thing at the tune of 1 ww point per serving and hopped right back on my bike to get a few missing ingredients at Smith's.

Another Note: tooling around town on my bike is the best and I feel so darling, economical and heart-healthy about it.

It's currently simmering on the stove, not yet pureed and who knows if it'll live anything up to the Zupas kind I love so much (and is probably dreadfully fattening (which is why it's so tasty)). Also, I'm going to use the hand-held mixer we got as a wedding gift last August for the third time ever (don't judge me).

Aren't I domestic?

A delightful cooking tip: Will & Grace is best for listening to while you cook. Realistically, it's possible it is the greatest sitcom ever written no contest this is my blog you can't argue with me.


UPDATE: two hours, six dishes, two chopping boards, four spoons, a hand mixer, a vegetable chopper, a blender, 6 oz of cream cheese, 1 cup of mozzarella, 1 tbsp of garlic, a drop of not-butter, and a few shakes of parsley later, we've got soup.

How does it taste? Garlicky. Bland.

First attempt at soup: not really a success. Also, no longer 1 point. At least I'm getting like all my vegetable servings for the day.

Eh. Good try, self.


SECOND UPDATE: Ames just came home and without letting him taste it, I said I just wanted to get rid of it. Let's be real, I'm not going to take another sip of that stuff. And just how the half-pureed mixture that was chunky and such a lovely color might have (did) remind one (me) of some gross bodily excrement, so did it sound as Ames dumped it down the toilet.

bike tales

You know when you're trucking down the street and you see a random shoe on the side of the road? Like, just one shoe. On the side of the road. Busy road, not busy road-- just a shoe. On the road. And you're like, How the devil did that get there?
Are people just walking down the side of the road and a shoe comes off and they don't even notice?

Did some kids get in an argument in the backseat of a van and in a fit of fury one kid tears a shoe off the other kid and chucks it out the window and then their mom gets mad but the shoe is long gone? Or maybe she didn't even notice because this is only one of three arguments happening in her van with six kids and the silly flip-flop/cartoon/turtle/Jesus fish/Mac apple decals on the rear window?

Did someone's foot just get too hot or itchy?

WTF?

Well, I had an experience the other day that will explain why one little and adorable black flat with a little bow ended up on the side of the road. Just one little and adorable black flat with a bow. On the side of the road.
There I was, biking down the street as I headed home from work. I've become pretty good at biking that 2.8 miles each way, deftly avoiding gravel and illicit stones, an earphone in my right ear and my iPod tucked away safely (which makes me unable to hear people on my right who say things to me, particularly 8th graders, which is a different story entirely), and my wicker basket filled with purse, cardigan, and tupperware. I even made it to work this morning in 15 minutes.

But there I was, biking down the street. I passed the Wendy's and Target and Taco Bell and Burger King, and exercised tremendous self-control by avoiding the urge to stop at all of them (and the Scary Clown Station for Haribo Raspberries omg best evarrrrrrrrrr). I got to the intersection at Center and State, and I was waiting for the White Man Go, listening to my tunes and checking my text messages. [Note: I do not text and bike at the same time. That would be the most stupid.]

Now I need you to know exactly how embarrassing the next few minutes were for me. It is taking a great deal of proverbial pill swallowing for me to tell you this, because when it happened I was, for whatever reason, near the point of tears about it. TEARS, guys.

So the crosswalk gave me the White Man Go sign, and I push off to go across the street when suddenly my left shoe came off. Just off. Right there in the road, with a thousand rush-hour drivers sitting there watching me. With all the right lane turners waiting for me, I couldn't just stop and turn around right there-- couldn't get off the bike, throw down the kickstand and run after my shoe. This intersection is not kidding around in size, you guys. I had to go all the way across without a choice. I was filled with admittedly needless humiliation because even though, sure, it's embarrassing, it also happens to the best of us (well, the best of us who wear little and adorable black flats with little bows). I got across the street, actually pulled into the parking lot of the Sprint store there on the corner, and turned around to access the situation.

On the one hand, I felt silly enough that I thought, Goodbye shoe! I miss you already but no way in hell am I going to cross this intersection three times in front of all these people!

On the other hand, I thought, Hello, these are my favorite little/adorable/black/bowed flats that are a work-clothes staple. Go get your freakin shoe, self. Of course, all the while filled with mild panic and rising embarrassment-- me, in a Sprint parking lot, with a wicker basketed bike, and one shoe.

I stared at that shoe across the road, trying to decide what to do, when, in veritable slow motion, a car turned into that right lane, ran over my shoe, and swept it away down the street.

That's the part when I almost started crying. I mean, even though those shoes were only about $20 from Forever Young and I think they even still have them there so I could replace them, that's $20 I didn't want to spend on a pair of shoes I already have/had. I don't mind spending $20 on shoes I don't have. But if I've got to spend $20 to replace old shoe, and still want a pair of new shoes, that's $40 on shoes instead of $20 on shoes-- not to mention the $20 I already spent on the pair of now pairless shoes. Also, I was now having to face biking the rest of the way home, part of it on very busy State Street, with one right shoe-- or no shoes at all-- thereby looking like a hillbilly.

Sniffing and worried about scraping my toes, I removed my remaining shoe and hid it under my cardigan in the basket (because duh, people can see into the basket from the road (no they can't)), and played the hillbilly card, hoping that anyone who saw me would just think, How cute is that little barefoot biker, letting those toes wiggle on such a nice warm day! I know that's not what they were thinking, but let me just feel better about myself, okay?

The next few minutes are a blur in my memory as I busted my chops to get home quick, or at least into my neighborhood where barefoot bike riding wouldn't be quite so questionable or dangerous. I got to my house, stuck the mail in my bike basket, and said some choice words when I carried my bike down the dirty stairs to our apartment and then all the mail fell out and I couldn't put the bike down or else I'd slip so I had to walk all over the mail and then recollect it. That's when I texted Ames about how annoyed and bummed I was and let go of my stress with a 40-minute Pilates session because I'm a Pilates queen and I earned like 13 activity points in one day.

And that is how at least one of those random shoes on the side of the road made it there.



I still haven't figured out what to do about the question of replacing them. They really are such cute shoes. Shoe. It is a cute shoe.

my not-dancer body

I was a dancer once.

I've mostly given up that title for myself these days, and I call myself an actress/singer who can dance, but I'm not a dancer anymore. At any rate, I have always been a part of that world where body image is so present. It's been an interesting, difficult, and defensive journey.

I studied ballet pretty seriously until the end of sixth grade when I started out as a competitive Irish dancer. I craved an Irish dancer body-- though Riverdancer Jean Butler helped to pave the way for a tall, willowy, balletic figure in Irish dance, the girls I admired in my school and at competitions were built more like soccer players: athletic, sturdy, powerful. I thrived in that world and was successful until high school, when I discovered acting.

I've always more or less known my "place" onstage. Getting cast as an "adult" and not as a "child" as a freshman indicated to me that I didn't look or sound like a kid next to some of my daintier peers, and I've always had a knack for comedy, frequently landing me in supporting roles. The moms and the funny maids don't have to be thin and beautiful. I started to develop a feeling of complacency in my appearance, smiling at figures like Claire Danes but not exactly motivated enough to look like her.

In college I picked up dancing again more seriously. I was cast on the second-tier international folk dance team and spent my summer touring Utah and the Midwest. My adviser had "advised" me to get into better shape, but didn't keep me from progressing. I dropped to a size 6 that summer without doing a conscious thing about it, and kept the weight off for fall semester. I look at pictures of myself and hardly recognize the comparatively thin face. I didn't feel super thin. I hadn't worked for it. Again, complacent.

Early spring of 2006 I was diagnosed with Graves disease, a hyperthyroid condition that was affecting my sleeping patterns, my metabolism, the health of my eyes, ability to concentrate, emotions, and learning. Dropped out of school, developed a regulated life pattern, and put on a lot of weight that summer. When I tried to return to folk dance in the fall, I was not reassigned to a team, and my instructor discussed with a friend of mine (not me, mind you) my need to lose 20 lbs before I would be reconsidered.

I struggled with self confidence, but didn't particularly do much to lose the weight. Given my height, my weight was just barely out of the healthy range-- less than 10 lbs at most. I still fit into the tour clothes I wore as a freshman on an important team. Another teacher did give me a chance the next semester, but by the end of April, my participation was again discouraged.

That was a turning point in my life, though at the time it simply made me angry and defensive. That teacher, so conscious of my weight and my size, told me things that are burned into my memory. She told me I was too heavy to dance on any team, and justified her decision by telling me things like, "I don't want you to find yourself in a situation where you can't fit into a costume or a partner can't lift you." I had never had a problem with either. She then related stories of other girls she had to let go due to weight or size, and in a twisted effort to encourage me told me how she sees them years later, fit and thin, and she just says to herself, "Why couldn't they have worked so hard when we needed them on the team!" She let me go under the guise of finding a place for me to succeed.

Her "encouragement" did nothing but make me angry for a while, then defensive. Rather than get my act together when I was still in the 150s (and therefore almost healthy range), I threw myself into acting and into my English degree, bent on proving that I could be talented, fun, castable, pretty, smart, and popular in spite of those extra inches that apparently kept me from any capacity to dance. I performed in eleven consecutive shows over the next 18 months, "found" myself (and ate delicious food-- and lost weight!) in Europe, discovered my passion for English and writing, met and started dating my now-husband. I have since graduated college, married, succeeded in bigger and better stage roles, and held down two "real" jobs which have taught me that I am capable of more than I ever thought myself to be.

I'm now at a bit of a standstill. I have proved to myself that I can be all that without being a size 6 (or smaller). I have shown myself what I am capable of, and have let my weight creep up on me. And for the first time since that teacher kicked me off the team and out of the club for being too heavy, my defenses are down. I want to lose weight and be healthy to complete my range of capacity-- and maybe even have a fighting chance at being cast as the pretty (but smart) girl in the play :)

I will never thank that teacher for the hurtful and cruel things she said to me. In many ways, I won't mind if I never see her again.

But I am grateful for the inspiration to learn to love myself for myself, no matter what the scale says.

to dye would be an awfully big adventure

I'm thinking of dyeing my hair later this summer as a reward for being awesome with the weight loss. Of course, who knows when this will happen because, although I am becoming a pilates goddess and I may even bike 11.2 miles today and I drink so much water I (read: my bladder) can hardly stand it, the scale is being rude and standing still. We'll see. Trying to stay positive and just be even more motivated than ever.

But the hair dyeing. What do we think of this?I think I might also be more inclined to embrace my extreme caucasianinity. So pretty.

I'm also psyched about the style of the haircut itself for when my hair gets longer. I could pull out some of my headbands and even have my sister Lizzy take pictures of me with cool hair and cool headbands and white skin which we could add to our respective portfolios.

I accidentally dyed my hair a similar color once in high school. I was terrified of it, since it wasn't the color on the box. Luckily my mom had a box of medium-dark brown handy, so it turned out this really cool dark, dark, dark auburn that turned coppery in the sun. That was cool hair. I guess I was afraid of extreme/unexpected hair changes back then. Not anymore.

This summer is all about extreme self changes. GET IT GET IT GET IT.



I wonder if having rad hair, in addition to a more defined jawline, would also make me as rad a singer as Alison Sudal (A Fine Frenzy)?

i have/had shoes

I love shoes.

Okay, I know girls have to love shoes, but for real-- I love shoes.

The thing is, I'm not super picky about my shoes. I don't spend a lot of money on single pairs of shoes, I just spend money on a lot of pairs of shoes. I collect shoes. I have always received compliments on my shoes. Shoes, cardigans, and headbands. Definition of style to me.

Let's not get crazy, though. I have cool shoes but only in select styles. I dig flats. I like pretty heels, but I like them high, and I like them classic. I am no Kim Kardashian when it comes to shoes, though I will admit, these caged booties are pretty awesome. If only I were brave enough to wear them.If I could, I would have a walk-in closet, and I would dedicate a whole wall to shoes. Not a new concept, but of course, in my little basement apartment, I don't have a walk-in closet, and my shoe wall is reduced to a shoe bin that I've been carting around since my freshman year at the dorms. And even though I hoe through my shoes every year or so, my shoe bin has lately looked like this:
Quelle nightmare!

47 pairs of shoes! Not only do my shoes not even all fit in the bin, but it's a disaster pile that is impossible to dig through. And though I'm as sentimental as they come, and I can argue, "What if I need them sometime!" as hard as anyone, I will always want new shoes. So Mr. Ames gave me the instruction,

For each new pair, I must get rid of two.

Those yellow heels, the green fake Keds and new tennies are my three newest pairs of shoes, for which I had not yet sacrificed to the shoe gods, so I decided to reorganize, beginning by making three areas of the living room: 1. For Keeps 2. For Maybe Keeps 3. For Probably Not Keeps.Of course, there's the fourth group-- For Keeps Forever Because These Are Already A Late-90s Relic:Eat your heart out, Melissa Joan Heart. My grandchildren had better appreciate these in 50 years because these will never get thrown away. I wore them to my 8th grade "graduation" dance and had my hair done at the salon and wished John Ferris would have danced with me. I should really give them their own box and stack them with my wedding shoes-- that's how real I'm being about them, guys.

After my sifting, I kept 29 pairs and put 6 pairs in a box to offer to the thrifting gods.Red flats I wore to college convocation and are actually little girls' shoes; black flats I wore for the run of Pericles all fall semester 2008; sandals I got at Rite-Aid for $8, painted green heels I sniped from HCTO before a yard sale that were used in Thoroughly Modern Millie; navy grandma loafers that I got at DI, wore four times, then determined I wasn't cool enough to wear grandma DI clothes the way my friend Julie does (she particularly wears polyester and pleated pants very well); and beach shoes from Maine that were taken in this picture, and then determined to not be sacrificed after all because I can take them back to Maine where they may become suitable porch shoes.

I found12 pairs to be unfit (read: too stinky) for any other human to wear.Goodbye red boat shoes I bought during Little Women and wore through England! Goodbye music note shoes! Goodbye favorite flats, and first pair of trendy boots I bought in my adult life for only $19.99, and best cranberry knit boots every missing one button! Goodbye Rocket Dog velcro shoes I found on eBay as a senior in high school after they stopped manufacturing them, and New Balance sneakers that saw me through all my folk dance years! Goodbye slip-on moccasins I got at the BYU bookstore for 40% off that were almost ruined when it rained torrential rain the very first day I wore them, and the yellow jelly shoes that never looked good with my ankles but were jelly shoes and therefore had to be worn!

18 shoes gone / 2 (for each new pair at a 2:1 ratio) - 1 yellow heels - 1 green fake Keds - 1 tennies = 6 new pairs for the summerrrrrrrrr!

Only we're on a budget, Mom, so I won't get 6, promise.

step 2: enjoy exercise

Do you know what I became today?

An Early Morning Exerciser.

Alright, I guess it wasn't "early morning" so much as it was "8:30am." But it was morning, and it was exercise, and I did like it.

Mr. Ames has to get to work before me now that he's Mr. Supervisor, and since we're both working all the time and being healthy (he put me to shame biking 5.3 miles to work yesterday and then 5.3 miles back) so we go to sleep around 10PM (which is the most boring of us), I'm trying to get up at 7AM with him so we can hang out for a few minutes. This morning we ate breakfast and I watched over his shoulder as he checked Facebook. Snuggly, eh?

So okay, he packed up and hauled off to work a little after 8, and since it only takes me 20 minutes to bike to work including all the green lights I have to wait for HAIRTOSS, I decided to do Pilates for a while. I got my "powerhouse" fired up, and got through that Hundred, and got in my second 8oz of water for the day, and then I biked to work. Because I am in the zone about this, guys.

That said, I'm still stuck at my last week's weight and I'm annoyed about it, but think how good it'll feel, self, when I tear through that 163 next week. I'll be like, "EAT IT!"

Only I won't have eaten it, and that's the point.
Because I'm investing all this time in a thing that I have previously been kind of unwilling to enjoy (that is, to exercise with the base purpose of exercising [as opposed to dance rehearsals for the purpose of a performance or whatever]), I'm very tempted to also invest in a set of suits in varying colors that look something like:This woman is hardcore, and looking like her would make me look hardcore and force me to feel hardcore, and the hope is that by looking and feeling hardcore, I will become hardcore.

Maybe tracksuits will also make me extra hilarious, too. Bonus.


Tricks to liking "exercise"
1. Ride adorable bicycle that makes me feel like Amelie (listening to the soundtrack on an iPod is an added plus).

2. Ride bicycle/walk to places that give me no choice but to make it there, and then have to come back again, so I am not lamely stranded.

3. Add Crystal Light packs to boring/plain/gross water so I drink water but it doesn't taste boring/plain/gross. Call it "Happy Water" in honor of little sister Biz.

4. Wear clothes meant for "exercising" (as opposed to pajama bottoms and band t-shirts) while "exercising."

5. Expand "exercise" wardrobe as rewards/treats/motivation to "exercise" more frequently.

6. Literally smirk at former lazy-self with satisfaction when tracking large amounts of "exercise" on my daily Weight Watchers online track sheet, since new hardcore-self is better than former lazy-self.

7. Pretend that "exercising" is my favorite and I'm the best at it.

8. Grunt to self occasionally during light weight lifting sessions to appear badass, then giggle to self (after completing that set so focus isn't lost).

9. Wear makeup during workouts to feel pretty even though skin is bright red with extreme circulation and dripping from sweat.

10. Use the Think System. A lot.

partay

Since I don't have my adapter to upload the pictures from my phone of the sentimental, cathartic, character-building I had last evening involving the 47 pairs of shoes I had in my closet (as mentioned on facebook), I'll just throw a public party for myself to celebrate:

1. The new phone I got yesterday to replace the old/dead phone which had been fixed four times. This is only a temporary phone, since I intend to have the HTC Evo by the end of summer, but a fun toy in the meantime. And I'm learning to type on a qwerty keyboard.

versus

2. The sore muscles I have from doing a great workout yesterday because I'm not going to let this silly little plateau get the best of me.

3. How I'm weaning myself off The Juice. Goodbye to you in very, very large amounts, old friend. We'll still have each other sometimes.

4. Moments away from 20,000 hits. WHAT THE WHAT! How shall I celebrate? What kind of crappy giveaway can I do? What would you like to see posted? Let's get crazy up in here, you guys.

hit me up

Check out my ticker over on the right bar there, guys.

I'm approaching 20,000 hits.

Maybe that doesn't mean a lot to you, but it means a lot to me, especially since traffic has really picked up in the last year since I actually started making an effort to have a legit blog that's not lame.

Sometimes it's still lame, but I'm working on it.

Help me get to 20,000!

jeans obsessed

Are these not the greatest looking pants that ever existed?

Perhaps they will be my -25 treat.

bike thoughts

I'm in the market for a bicycle.

For the last two days, I marched home the 2.8 miles from work and it made me feel really good about myself. I'm inclined to get a bike so that I can ride to and from work all summer, which will allow me to actually get outside for any length of time since I'll be holed up inside for the next month, and also let me get into that hot Esther Williams bathing suit as mentioned here.
I'm really digging something along the lines ofwhich is a Schwinn and from Target at only about $160. There's room to clamp on a little basket back there too, which will be nice to keep my purse in. Or milk. Or a puppy named Eli (short for Elliot) as mentioned here.

All the Electra bikes ever created are really beautiful but seem to be about $400-600, which is pricey, but this will be my primary source of transportation on a daily basis between the hours of 8:30am - 5pm.I really like this Electra Townie because the colors remind me of my Dad for some reason, circa 1978. Also has a basket option. Also a 7-speed, which would be nice even though my commute is basically level the whole way.
Then there are the Velorbis beauties, a veritable Porsche of bicycles. At $1295.00 a pop, this baby must ride beautifully-- and the wicker basket is included (or at least it had better be fist shake). Clearly I'm in no position to fork out $1300 for a bike, and I'm not sure I would do even if I could afford it, but it sure is pretty to look at.

I went on the Walmart website just for kicks to see what was available, and just when I thought I'd given my heart to a retro-styled bicycle, I saw this:Do you understand what this is?

It is a cherry red, adult-sized tricycle with a basket large enough to carry two 25-lb bulldogs (according to one review). ARE YOU KIDDING ME ABOUT THIS? Schwinn, $250. The downside is that they aren't available in stores-- you have to order it online. I'm hesitant to go for it without having test driven one, but this option is just delightful. A tricycle, you guys.

Thoughts? Which direction should I go? Can you recommend any good bike vendors in the greater Orem area? Is it worth it to chance a blind purchase on an adult-sized trike, or will the novelty wear off PDQ?

a sad tale

As mentioned yesterday, it was a gray, drizzling, London-y day. When 4:45pm rolled around and Ames was at work and I just couldn't bear the thought of staying late at work like I had intended to, I decided to make like a Londoner and walk 2.8 miles home. I totally felt like



Then I lost all control and ate 100,000 Homestyle Chicken Go-Wraps and French Fries. I felt actually really great about it because 1. they are delicious 2. I was with good/funny/the best kind of friends 3. the ranch dressing part is really good 4. I'm still within points count for the week.

This morning I woke up and got on the scale. Then I felt like:



Moral: if you are not very hungry, self, and you plan on getting that hot bod you want, quit overeating or you will never be able to reward yourself with the perfect Esther Williams bathing suit.

sundry

The outfit I'm wearing today would probably be better suited for late winter with all my layers and ankle boots, but it's May and it should be spring and too warm for me to wear all this. But it's not.

Damn volcano.

At least it's a cute outfit-- even though it's better for late winter-- and I like the gray, drizzling weather because it reminds me of Rochester or of England, which are two places I would rather be right now.I took this picture when it was very gray and drizzling. I'd like to live there in the gray drizzle for a while.

The only problem (as if it's a problem) with gray drizzling is that it's like my body just knows when I wake up in the morning if it's gray and drizzling outside, even though we're holed up in our little basement cave apartment and you really can't tell the difference between a gray day and a drizzly day without going outside. But I have a sense for gray drizzle days, which may be nothing more than the fact my sinuses can predict the weather and I get all foggy and headachy when it's gray out. So I guess my body does just know. But I mean, the problem is that my favorite thing about gray drizzling days is staying at home, curled up in a snuggie and watching TV or reading books. It doesn't matter which, especially if Mr. Ames is right there all snuggly too.

I'm making spreadsheets and drinking Diet Coke.

My voicemail light is blinking, and I'm avoiding it.

I'd really like to have the Shoga sushi lunch special for spicy tuna and rainbow rolls, but no matter how delicious the rainbow roll is, the crab legs sticking out of the ends always terrify me and my imagination runs wild.

I'm so glad my summer camp has a lot of scholarships and subsidies to offer because I'm reading all the applications we've received so far and I want to award everyone something-- and so far, I can!

I've lost 2 more lbs. I'm aiming for 2 even more before Saturday.

But for real, can I have that puppy to snuggle today a gray and drizzling day?

hello, new friend

Oh hello, Maggie Gyllenhaal. Your dress is perfect, and so is your blazer, especially the shoulders. Also, so are your shoes and hair. Please be my friend?

let me show you about my mom, a day after mother's day

This is my mom, Diane.

Here's what she looked like in college, when she was my age:

Maybe I look more like her than I might have thought?

She had cool recital dresses to sing songs in.

Check out these shoes, please. Also, she still does that with her hands.

She sings jingles like for My Little Pony, and used to sing back-up for people like Aretha Franklin (who still owes her money).
She married her BFF Andy, who is my dad, and they attend cool parties together that I throw.
She was pretty happy when I married my BFF Ames because all I ever wanted was to marry my BFF like she married hers.
She was pretty glad when I graduated from college.
She taught me how to love Disneyland.
She especially loves dogs like Sprout, and places like Maine.
Once she got to play my mom onstage all summer and it was my most cherished theatre experience of my life.
I love you, Mom. Please dress like Cher more frequently.

un-anecdotal

I've been trying really hard all week to figure out some clever little funny thing to blog about that doesn't involve the weight loss thing. This blog is not a weight loss blog. I do not want it to become a weight loss blog. There is more to me than my weight loss (though you wouldn't be able to tell, since it looks like I'm falling out of habit again-- and I'm about to blog about weight loss again, even though it was my goal to not do that thing).

But okay. You got me. This week, there kind of has been nothing more to me than my weight loss, aside from the fact that I've decided to keep my dark hair after all and not go caramel colored.

Tres exciting, aren't I.
So far, the Weight Watchers has been everything everyone has always promised me it would be. I opted for the online track because I
1) don't have time to attend meetings to weigh in.
2) want to do this for me and not because I have to check in with someone about my progress.
3) talk to Ames (and everyone else) about it ALL THE TIME, so it's like I'm checking up with him (and everyone else) about it anyway (ALL THE TIME).
4) am checking in with someone about it anyway since I'm keeping track on my blog.

So the big confession is: I've actually adjusted my goal, based on the fact that I actually adjusted my starting weight since I actually ate my weight in Polish food last weekend in celebration of my Dad's birthday. This is not an exaggeration. If you are Polish, and you decide to eat Polish food with your Polish family, it is requisite to eat your weight in perogies. There is no other option. Particularly if you lack self control around Polish food-- like I do.

I weighed myself Sunday night (admittedly, after dinner) and weighed 171 lbs. YIKES. But this is the number I typed into my stats on Weight Watchers the next day, and my goal is to lose 31. 140 lbs. I haven't been so thin since my intense BYU Folk Dance days. But it's doable. And I'm excited. And as you'll see on the sidebar, I've kick-started by losing 6 lbs already (almost all of it perogie weight) and I've got no intention of slowing down. GET IT GET IT GET IT GET IT.

In other news, I really want a puppy. This puppy, in fact:

Of course we can't have a puppy in this apartment, and we won't be able to move to another apartment where we could have a puppy until September or something, which means this puppy will probably never be our puppy, but I can dream.