Inspired by the proverbial polka dot bikini

If you're wondering why I haven't lately posted about my fitness goals, well, it's because I haven't made any fitness goals. What I thought was going to be a week-long respite from running turned into a month-long hiatus, and, now, two months later, I'm still going strong. Surprisingly strong. I've replaced almost all of my workouts with yoga, have run only twice in the past two months, lifted weights a grand total of zero times, and yet my body weight is (slightly) down and my arms have noticeably firmed up. I'm sure my body has just responded to the change in routine, but considering it's officially beach season, I'll take whatever change I can get.

No matter what my weight, I still seem to have that problem with my waist. That's why I jumped at the chance to participate in Jill's fitness challenge, in which a number of us bloggers have set our own personal goals, and created a single, master blog on which to follow them. Check in to track my progress as I attempt to master 2500 crunches by July 1st. If I did the math right, that should break down to 500 per week, or 125 4X per week. I can find time to do that, right? Even if some of those are ON the beach.

This past Memorial Day weekend was a good one. I knocked out one beach day, two dinners, three nights of drinks, all of my errands, and still had plenty of downtime in between. Last weekend I had two good celebrity sightings: Justin Guarini, from the first season of American Idol, and Dave Grohl, from the Foo Fighters. Tonight I am headed out to celebrate my dear Nicole's birthday with a few rousing rounds of Tranny Bingo. And over the next few weekends I'll be further celebrating her birthday, my birthday, and the sudden, unmistakable onset of summer.

I'd better get cracking on those crunches.

Off her gourd

Maybe I've been working in marketing for too long (or maybe I just have a dirty mind), but does anyone else wonder WHAT ON EARTH that woman was thinking before she let this serve as an advertisement for her nutrition company?

Let me reiterate: this is an ad. It's not some unfortunate candid shot that slipped past the photo editor in a rush to make deadline. Someone paid actual money to have it look like this, and had final approval before it ran.

I'm guessing the intention of the ad is to show that eating vegetables can be fun. Except, the only people that really look like they are having fun are Dr. Dildo there and maybe Granny in the second row. Both the redhead and the broccoli bouquet woman appear appropriately mortified, and smartly hide behind their herbage. Ms. Artichoke might be trying to express something, but her face is too frozen with fillers for me to guess what.

It turns out that Sra. Squash is not a doctor, but does hold degrees from Princeton and UCLA. Which, at the very least, should show that all the intelligence in the world still can't buy a lick of common sense.

Kitchen accomplished

I'm writing this while sitting half-dressed in my living room, one load of laundry in the washer, another load of laundry in the dryer, which, are now, thankfully, fully installed in my very own laundry room. This may quite possibly be one of the best days of my adult life.

Most of the kitchen work was done last Friday (thanks for your prayers and well wishes) but a few things had yet to be installed. Fortunately, by the time I came home today, everything was fully functioning, swept up, and, for the most part, perfected.

Kitchen before:



Kitchen after:

(The day versus night shots don't really do the new look justice, but you get the idea.)

Basically, they re-tiled my countertops, refurnished and updated my cabinets and drawers, installed a new floor and stove, and painted all surface areas. It's not all necessarily the style I would have chosen, but it was free, and is a HUGE improvement over the kitchen I moved into four years ago. It is likely a huge improvement over the kitchen that was built 40 years ago.

One thing I do miss is my old floor:

The black and white tile was so 1950's kitsch. The new floor is generic 1980's linoleum, and while it's fine, definitely lacks the character of the floor, before. Oh well. The complaint department is closed. I am SUPREMELY content and happy.

Living in the Sears showroom

I'm not much for praying, but if you are, please feel free to put your hands together that this will be done by the time I get home from work tomorrow.

Viva Las Vegas

We're on Day 6 of the kitchen remodel project, and while my kitchen is getting better by the day, I can't say the same for the living room:

I knew that the new appliances were being delivered on Friday, however I had not expected to come home to find one of them in the middle of my apartment. I'm not ever going to complain about getting a washer/dryer, but I hadn't anticipated that it would spend time anywhere but my soon-to-be laundry room.

Fortunately, I had the foresight to make out-of-town plans this weekend, and first thing Saturday morning got up to go to Las Vegas. My friend Lauren had invited me to go with her and her roommate, Matt, and since they were driving and planning the whole trip, I thought it would be a nice, easy excuse to get out of town for the weekend. Matt invited his two friends, and by 10 AM, the five of us were on the road driving towards the Nevada desert.

I was a bit hesitant at the idea of five people in one car, especially since three of those people were 25 year old boys. My oh-so-mature self didn't like 25 year old boys when I was 25, and mentally prepared for the worst. Naturally, they turned out to be the highlight of the trip.

When did I (and my friends) get so old? That's what I kept thinking as the boys kept us in stitches with their back-and-forth banter, their stupid jokes, the way they teased each other and, as the day wore on, us. Everyone I knew (myself included) would be talking about mortgages, work, relationships, remodeling. Maybe how The Fashion Show compares to Project Runway (it doesn't), or, for guys, how Pointless Sport Number 1 compares to Pointless Sport Number 2. These guys were just hilarious in their effortless interactions, and it made me miss the days when everyone I knew used to be so carefree.

In case you were wondering, hotel prices are incredibly inexpensive right now, and we ended up in a suite at the Venetian. That's the nicest I've traveled to Vegas, yet! We arrived around 2:00, got settled in, and headed back out to chill by the pool at Tao. For the next 30 hours, I swam, drank, danced, and reveled in the energy of everyone around me. And while my body is physically exhausted, mentally, I feel remarkably refreshed. Photos are here.

Neck pillow not included

A few months ago, I came across this blog post, in which the writer shared her secret for serene air travel: before flying, she downloaded white noise onto her iPod to help her fall asleep. I remember going home, thinking I'd do the same; however when I searched iTunes, I either couldn't find it or decided I didn't need it. In actuality, I probably remembered that I can rarely sleep on airplanes anyway unless I'm medicated, at which point the application wouldn't be necessary. (Perhaps that's how I ended up with Ellen DeGeneres' audio book, instead.)

(Which, by the way, I do not recommend you fall asleep to, as it is distractingly funny. I also don't really recommend it for air travel unless you know the person sitting next to you or don't get embarrassed by seemingly spontaneous outbursts of laughter.)

For reasons completely unrelated to air travel, I did ultimately end up downloading this Sleep Stream application to my iPhone. There is a free version which I tried, and liked so much that I ultimately splurged on the $2.99 "upgraded" app. The premium version offers about 20 different sounds (Breaking Waves, Mountain Winds, and yes, White Noise), plus different binary beats for sleep, focus, energize, etc. It even has a timer so that I don't waste my phone battery keeping the sounds playing all night, long after I've fallen into slumber.

Last night, I was alerted that there was a free upgrade available for installation. I downloaded it, then browsed through, trying to discern what was different. Basically, there were a few new sounds added to the roster, and which do you think I noticed?

Airplane Cabin.

Naturally, I clicked on it to see if it had recorded screaming babies and the persistent on/off "ping" of the seat-belt sign, but mostly, it was just a high-pitched hum that sounded like - you guessed it - white noise. So, now, even if I don't want white noise to help me fall asleep on a plane, I can have the noise of a plane help me fall asleep at home. Which is, quite frankly, the last thing I would ever associate with "restful".

Clearly they don't know who lives here

Kitchen remodel, Day 2


Like I would, anyway.

Life in the shallow lane

On a (somewhat) lighter note...

Yesterday afternoon I was supposed to go on a first/blind date with yet another online suitor. We had talked on the phone a few times and had good banter, so I was willing to overlook the fact that he only had two photos posted - neither of which gave me a clear idea of what he looked like - and that he was a huge sports fan.

It's not that I mind sports, per se. It's that this guy clearly stated he was looking for a girl who would watch out of interest and not of obligation. I told him during our second phone call that that would likely never be me, but he must have select hearing loss because five minutes later we were setting up a date for Sunday afternoon. We agreed to talk the day before to firm up a time and a place.

Come Saturday, he asks what I want to do. Red Flag #1. Guys, I know some of you might think this looks casual and open-minded, but seriously? On the first date, take control. You know (vaguely) where I live, you know (exactly) where you live, you should have at least one suggestion of a place where we can meet halfway. Especially if you've had four days to think about it. Please come to the phone call prepared.

Fortunately, I came prepared with my own suggestions, so I said, "Well, it's supposed to be a nice day, so I was thinking we could have drinks outside somewhere."

He was like, "Yeah, were you thinking Jamba Juice or coffee?"

Red Flag Number 2. Not to sound like an alcoholic, and not to embody my favorite cliche, Carrie Bradshaw, but I do not believe it's a date without cocktails. Anytime a guy has asked me out for coffee I have immediately lost interest and assumed he was either lame or in AA. At this point, I'd actually be excited to meet someone in rehab because the coffee dates have always, inevitably, turned out to be lame.

So I said, "Well, actually, I was thinking of grabbing a beer or something, but if you aren't much of a day drinker, that's cool. I could do some Jamba Juice." Lie. I hate Jamba Juice. I'll drink one, occasionally, but they're a waste of calories and I'd rather just have the fruit. Or an ice cream.

I went on to say, "As long as we can grab some sun somewhere, I'll be happy." I have a flask. Maybe I can spike my juice and reclaim the afternoon, after all.

"Oh, well, sun is actually a problem for me. I'm a skin cancer survivor."

Silence.

Red Flag Number 3. Um, have you met me?

"Oh, um, er, uh..." I stammered on like that though did manage to verbalize an apology while silently thinking that I need to get out of this date, stat.

I should note, here, we were meeting at 4 PM. The early May sun should not be a huge problem at that hour, and so, I reasoned, I shouldn't be that upset about missing it. Right? But we could never have a future together, certainly never go on vacation together. I couldn't even imagine spending a summer dating -- I'd feel guilty laying out and he'd be a constant nag about the sunscreen. No. Just, no.

I was at the end of my wits, by that point, so I finally kind of spat out, "Okay, well, what do YOU want to do?" Since you are making this so difficult.

"Well, I thought we could go to a park and just talk or walk around."

Okay. Fine. "Alright, well, I don't know any parks around here, so did you have one in mind?"

"Oh, yeah!" he bounds back, enthusiastically. "There's a great park right here in Sherman Oaks that I go to all the time. And it has plenty of shade."

Great. A park across the street from him, that was, at minimum 25 minutes from me, and usually more like 40. I've never discriminated against dating someone in the Valley, but I sure as hell didn't want to drive a half hour or more to spend a sober, shady afternoon with a stranger I had so little in common with.

"Great!" I chirped back. It was too late now. I lacked the balls to tell him that I really didn't think this was a good idea, though I knew there was no way I could go on this date. I was utterly turned off both by his lack of planning and our clearly different ideas of a fun afternoon. My disdain only increased as he warbled through driving directions, confusing different streets and turns. I stopped writing them down half way through. I knew I wouldn't be going.

How, exactly, could I cancel on him, though? He had pulled the Cancer Card! After something like that, it felt a little shallow to explain that we had nothing in common because I was a big drinker with a tanning problem. Maybe I should meet him. Maybe he could change my ways, save my skin, salvage my liver.

Or maybe I could trust my instincts and realize that keeping an open mind does not mean compromising ALL my standards. If he wanted to sit in a shady park, he could have suggested that off the bat. Or, once we had agreed to meet in his neighborhood, he could have at least offered to pick us up a six pack.

I wrote him a kindly-worded but straightforward email, explaining our differences and why I did not think meeting would be a good idea. To his credit, he left me a lovely voice mail and an email in response, apologizing and offering to change the terms of the date to anything I wanted. But, I didn't want to change the date so I'd be happy; I wanted us to be on the same page about what constitutes fun on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the first place. Between the sports, the sun, and the soft-focus photos, I just knew it wasn't going to work. And if anything could be saved, it was going to be my weekend.

So I wrote back that I was sorry and appreciative but was still going to pass, and went to a Sunday afternoon pool party, instead. It was seriously the best decision I've made in weeks.

Stagnant

To paraphrase (okay, plagiarize) my blogging friend and unbeknownst-to-her soul sister, Tiny E, as you may have noticed, when the going gets tough, the tough stop blogging. I'm done, people. I'm fresh out of blogging inspiration for you.

It has been exactly a year since my LA Times essay ran, and I have had exactly nothing published since then. I told myself I had a year to coast off the glory, but if nothing else had been published, I was no longer entitled to call myself a writer. Stripped.

When the Redbook article ran last month - which was something I pitched back in November - I thought for sure, by now, I'd have a brand to promote, a reason to want people to visit this blog. As it is, I've blogged less than ever and some of the least inspiring stuff since I first started. I was thankful for no noticeable spike in traffic, no feeling that anyone was going to be disappointed by what they found. No opportunities, lost.

It has been four years since I've been at my job, lived in my apartment, and lived in LA. And other than some new gray hairs and smile lines to accompany some small newfound knowledge, everything about me and my life is exactly. the. same. as it was four years ago.

A few weeks ago, I was on a date when the guy started talking about how he couldn't go to his 20 year reunion because he was going to be the only one not married with kids. "Don't be ridiculous" I laughed. "Your 20-year reunion is four years away!"

And later, after I stopped laughing, I suddenly second-guessed the entire relationship, wondering if he really didn't see himself married in four years. That was like, forever from now! Not only would I be married, but hopefully I would have kids. How could he not picture himself in family mode in what seemed like ages down the line? And then, once I got off my imaginary high horse, I remembered that, four years ago, I in no way thought I would be single at 32, and certainly not as single, if not more, than I was at 28. At least at 28 I had a favorable decade on my side. Now I am gray hair, laugh lines, biological clock, and why-on-earth-are-you-still-single-stigma attached to a less fun and less confident girl than I was four years ago. I may be smarter and more sane now, but dammit, part of me feels like I had more to offer back then.

Let's talk about my apartment for a second. About a month before my lease ran out, I started negotiations with my landlord. We all know it's a renter's/buyer's market, so I actually managed to get them to build me an entire new kitchen with more modern fixtures and - the cherry on top - a washer/dryer. If nothing else, that one contraption will change my life significantly once it is installed sometime within the next few weeks. And I am excited - BELIEVE ME. So excited that I don't think I will ever be able to move until I can afford another place with the same equipment, which will be like, never. Because, also, as part of my negotiations, they did not raise my rent. (!!!) Which leaves me feeling like I will be in this apartment forever, or at least as long as I am single, which will be forever because if I don't get some change in my routine soon, it will be five years, six years, ten years of the same story, and part of me is just wishing I'd picked up and moved to Santa Monica even if it meant a smaller apartment and going to a more ghetto laundromat down there. I just need some change. And that was maybe one thing I could have controlled.

I went on a date with a midget on Monday. Technically, he wasn't a midget, but he was a small 5'6 who was a lot balder than his pictures and it did nothing but make me feel worse about myself. I used to think I was a pretty girl. LA has humbled me, that is for sure.

And there are a ton of other reasons I am feeling bad about myself and that I am not a worthy, contributing member of society right now, but I will spare you. It has just been a tough couple of months and really, a tough year, and I think I am just intensely feeling the pressures of having yet another birthday a month from tomorrow.

Also, to clarify from the first paragraph, I'm not stopping blogging. I don't think I'll ever stop blogging. I just so often feel like there is nothing left to say.