Let's Get Physical

Is anyone else's Facebook newsfeed completely overrun by gym rats and/or marathoners?  It feels like every time I log in there are about twelve status updates from weirdos friends who just finished running the entire Appalachain trail as their warm-up or something. What's the deali-o?

Now, let me just clarify: I am borderline Crazy Soccer Mom proud of all these people.  My friends are accomplishing amazing feats and taking care of themselves at the same time, which is AWESOME!


Por ejemplo, my boyfriend Usain Bolt Chris finishing a 10k. Yayyy!

It's just... at times it can be really hard to handle the constant inundation of these posts without feeling like a total waste of space.... especially if your own "rigorous cardio regime" consists mainly of rushing to get ready in the morning or having a minor heart attack after receiving a scary email from the boss. You get the idea.

FACT: You burn 27 calories for every 30 minutes sleeping.
Soooo by my calculations, I should weigh approximately... 45 pounds? Ish?

Well friends, that's about where things are right now. I'd love to be healthy and active again, but bridging the gap between where one is and where one wants to be can seem pretty daunting at times. It's frustrating because my body & brain are awesome at making excuses, yet the former athlete in me won't stop yelling at the rest of me to just MOVE IT already.

Just like Jillian Michaels... Intimidation is a powerful motivator.

The question is... how? Changing habits and/or achieving new goals can be really tough. This is especially true for people like me who tend to tackle huge tasks all at once instead of taking small, logical steps to accomplish something.

My motto in college was "rough drafts are for sissies."
Because they are.
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I know, I know... I can already tell what you're going to say:

"Baby steps."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"The first step is the hardest."

"You have the physique of a Greek goddess and don't need to work out, ever."

oh... not that last one? Whoops. So sorry, carry on.
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Well, I'm going to take your advice and get moving. First up: changing my goal-setting style-- with a positive spin, of course!

My new, positive goal is to work out for at least 10 minutes every day. Ten minutes? That's basically three Glee songs... totally doable. Granted, this pace won't get me on a Wheaties box any time soon, but it seems way less scary than setting a bigger goal with a doomsday countdown like: "100 DAYS UNTIL YOU RUN A 5K OR ELSE."

Sooo feel free to join me on this journey to self-improvement. Even if you're one of those physically fit people, this positive goal-setting approach is probably applicable to just about any aspect of life you may want to change or improve (relationships, organization, interpretive dance, whathaveyou). 

Ok people, let's hear it. What's your goal going to be? Best one gets to write a guest blogger post. :)

London Calling

'ello mates! I'm in a British kind of mood today. Not sure if this is due to the gross/rainy weather outside, learning that my long-standing crush Prince "Pretty Cute for a Ginger" Harry is dating someone named Mollie, or the fact that I have entirely too much time on my hands (or all of the above).

Although I don't condone the British devil-may-care attitude regarding important issues such as democracy, orthodontia, or pronounciation of the word 'schedule,' I do enjoy their dry sense of humor, excellent television programs, and ability to drive on the wrong left side of the road. Even their names are entertaining.


"Yes, that's Ulrike Lemmin-Woolfrey. Spelled the usual way, of course."
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Plus you have to admit that with those accents they can pretty much say whatever the heck they want and still sound cooler than most Americans, amiright?

Unless I was a Traveller on "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding." Definite dealbreaker.
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Cool-sounding though it may be, British English is full of some pretty quirky slang that can make listening to their conversations kind of confusing for us Yanks. I used to be practically fluent in British thanks to homebound schooling, Harry Potter books, and the BBC America channel... but am pretty rusty these days.

Seeing as the Olympics in London are quickly approaching (100 days, people!), I decided it is high time to start brushing up on some "Britishisms" and encourage you all to do the same.  Hopefully with a little practice we'll be able to understand what the heck the Beckhams commentators are saying and enjoy those cheeky Brits this summer (as we cheer for the USA of course).

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Remediation began today with reading British news websites-- and even though I was reading the headlines in a British accent (as one does), not a whole lot of it made sense. And by that I mean almost none of it. Don't believe me? See for yourself. Below are a handful of my favourite headlines... let me know if you have a translation/explanation...

 This would probably be more impressive if we understood any of these units.
How much is a Pound (money) in dollars? How much is a kg in pounds (weight)?
Ugh, brain freeze.
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Jeez, their SexEd programs are seriously progressive over there...
what's that? Ah. Apparently 'rubber' means 'eraser.' Duly noted.
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I say old chap, I do hate when that happens. As does my dustman.
(Ed. note: wtf is a dustman?)
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Something something Cute Soccer Player Ronaldo something something
(I got the most important part right at least)
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Dwarves and chastity belt party?
Must be a little-known term for "high tea" or something.

But seriously... how much IS a Pound?
And why is everyone so pale if they have beaches there?
So. Many. Questionssss.
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And finally:

What the.... whatnow?!  I don't.... I can't even....
This seriously sounds like a drunken Mad Libs game.
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Well folks, I tried.

Judging by these headlines and the fact that comprehension of even the most proper British spoken on Downton Abbey often requires closed captions... I'm not sure we'll ever understand these people.  Looks like we're stuck listening to the same boringly American-accented Olympics coverage from Bob Costas again. Bloody hell.

You Got Me Trippin, Stumblin....

Well, it was a good run folks. Sadly, my streak of 24 years without a trip to the hospital has finally come to an end.  Since I'm the youngest child and my mom never made me a Baby Book, I will have to document this momentous occasion on Le Blog. Enjoy.

It all began two days ago. Like most normal 24 year-olds, I was enjoying a rip-roaring Friday evening at my parents' house.  I realized it was time for "Say Yes To the Dress: Bridesmaids" and set forth to watch it in the basement where there is cable TV.

At the top of the stairs, I decided to conserve energy by turning off the hall light. Unbeknownst to me, an unused plastic trash bag had fallen onto the second step (which I was now unable to see thanks to my hippie father's influence). For some reason, I was also uncharacteristically wearing socks. (Note: the following sequence of events will be cited in the future every time my mother tells me I shouldn't walk around barefoot.)

Let's recap:
Darkness + Socks + Deadly Slippery Trash Bag = Molly falling down a flight of stairs

The stairs from The Exorcist have now been demoted to
"Second-Scariest Staircase in the Greater Washington DC area"

As I was crashing like a herd of rhinoceri falling daintily, I couldn't help but feel indignant that my life wasn't flashing before my eyes. Isn't being scared out of your mind supposed to go hand-in-hand with a comforting, well-soundtracked montage of your life?

Apparently not. All I could think as I was hurtling toward the bottom of the steps was, "Good Lord, when did we get SO MANY friggin stairs?!" 

No montage whatsoever. What a rip-off. I blame Hollywood for perpetuating this myth. What's next, I'm going to find out that God doesn't really look or sound like Morgan Freeman?

Is nothing sacred to you people??
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But I digress. So I landed in a heap, thankfully not crushing my work laptop that I'd been carrying... although tragically losing the piece of carrot cake I'd planned on eating. Dagger!

After interrupting my family's viewing of NCIS: Los Angeles and most likely scaring them half to death, they helped me establish that all of my limbs seemed to be functioning relatively well and I was in fact still breathing. I decided not to go to the Emergency Room that night-- partly because I thought the pain would subside and partly because I figured it would be rather embarrassing to write "tripping" on the Reason for Visit form.

With my luck, I'd have to explain my clumsiness to some hottie doctors like these two.
I'll work through the pain, thankyouverymuch.
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However, the next day I was still seriously hurting. Given my history of back issues, Dr. Mom and I concluded that getting X-rayed at the Walk-In Clinic would be a logical next step...... but I definitely did not anticipate the Walk-In Clinic staff weighing me, listening to my story, and immediately sending me to the ER. Ohhh hey, PANIC MODE.

Thankfully my oldest sister Eileen was with me and kept my mind off the fact that A) we were most likely going to miss our dad's 60th birthday bowling party and B) I was probably already paralyzed (good thing I'm not prone to overreaction or anything).

Calm, Cool, Collected.
(Read: Sweating bullets)

My partner in crime kept me talking and laughing throughout all the waiting, didn't laugh at how nervous I was, carried my purse, and shared her iPhone to keep me entertained... basically she was a great big sister, as always. :-) We actually had a pretty fun time....

....except for the part when the Triage nurse looked at my list of prescriptions and said, "Whoa, this is a LOT of medicine." (Thanks Tracy, I hadn't noticed that I have to take 10+ medications a day. Moving on.)

Or the part when the young ER doctor looked at the scrape on my back and goes, "WHOA! How did you do this?! Were you drinking??" and I had to answer sheepishly, "Um no, I was at my parents' house..." Even better? They had an intern transcribing our conversation, so my lame weekend evenings are recorded and permanently attached to my medical records. Sweet.

To make a very long story short(ish), I will explain the rest of the afternoon in pictures, graciously staged documented by Eileen. (E, perhaps you should consider a second career in photojournalism!)

"Where is the volume on this thing?
Mob Wives is hard enough to understand even when you can hear them..."

The "CALL FOR HELP" & "CHANGE CHANNEL" buttons are uncomfortably close together.
....or so I tried to explain to the nurse who came rushing in to assist me

Being whisked off to X-rays and CAT scans
AKA reenacting the opening sequence of RESCUE 911

Learning that "make patients hurry up and wait"
is a little-known section of the Hippocratic Oath

Hopefully after spending the last 10 minutes reading through my ramblings, you've realized that I am thankfully A-OK, and decidedly not paralyzed. No broken bones, just some soreness/bruises/scrapes.

Shout out to my guardian angel for once again coming through in the clutch. :-) 

Chickity China the Chinese Chicken

Annnnd you now have "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies stuck in your head. Boom.

As I was discussing this blog with my new talent manager/financial representative/boyfriend, I told him that sometimes the hardest part is not the writing itself but finding a topic that is equally entertaining to me and to those of you who read it. Do you really care about my disdain for recycled pop song jingles or our home repair calamities?  What if I don’t have any major [read: embarrassing] life events for a while? What material do I draw from then?? Gah, crisis!

He decided to give me a completely random and vague topic to write about just to get the creative juices flowing.  My challenge? Chopsticks.  Yep. That’s all I have to work with here people, one word (depending on your version of Spell Check).

After approximately 1.5 seconds of scornfully thinking what an obnoxious non-topic he’d given me, I realized Chris is actually quite brilliant for coming up with this. Shame on me for doubting him!

I could....

• Write about chopsticks the eating utensil as an economic opportunity and how they are practically an entire kitsch market on their own. Lightsaber chopsticks, say whaaat?

Every well-balanced meal should include a battle between good and evil.
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• Write about the different techniques used when learning to eat with these tricky little buggers (my personal favorite method is having cousins adopted from Asia who, as toddlers, patiently taught their teenage cousins to use them)

Just to be clear, we're *not* supposed to stick them up our nose? Dang.
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• Write about the obnoxious classic song that practically every piano student learns to pound out over and over and over. You know, that song which despite taking 8 years of piano lessons, I have yet to learn because my mother is a piano snob and would’ve had a heart attack if any of her children dared pound anything—let alone a ‘fake’ song—on her prized piano (even though Wikipedia says it's real! *sigh* if only Wiki existed back then). 12 years later and not bitter about that at allllll, don’t worry.

• Write about the various OTHER uses for these contraptions—hair accessory which can either be an homage to the 1990s Asian-goth movement (Buffy, I'm lookin at you), or a potential cache of hidden weapons (I meannnn, who’s going to frisk you hair?! Besides the TSA, that is).

Katy's stylist for the evening was General Tso.
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The possibilities are endless. So thank you, Christopher for helping jump-start this brain of mine back into business.  You’ll be happy to know that as my manager I am offering an extremely generous 10% cut of the blog’s total revenue. Which happens to be nothing, sooo I'll just give you a hearty handshake the next time I see you. Best girlfriend ever?

Also, now I'm hungry. Dagger.

They Fought the Law and the Law Won

So a few weeks ago I got some mail which was a vast improvement over what normally graces my mail slot (student loan bills and requests for money from my alma maters).

Best. Day. Ever.

Most people's reactions to receiving this Summons typically consist of [according to the Orientation video we watched at the Courthouse today]: anger, frustration, annoyance, and/or attempts to quickly plan an international vacation in order to evade having to serve. 

And judging by the eye rolls nods of agreement from my fellow jurors, the basic cable TV actor in the video described their feelings exactly. Needless to say, I was clearly in the minority for looking like this at 8:15 AM as I anxiously awaited my chance to write a best-selling tell-all book carry out justice and fulfill my civic duty:


Bridesmaid dresses fall under the "Courtroom Appropriate Attire" category, right?

So what does serving jury duty consist of, you ask?

1. Sitting in an uncomfortably quiet room with 60 strangers who would rather be somewhere else
2. Watching a cheesy low-budget orientation video narrated by a judge who is roughly 150 years old
3. Reading Anne of Green Gables on your mom's Nook after the lady you try to befriend shushes you (as if they're going to hold you in Contempt of Court for excessive small talk... sheesh).
4. Daydreaming of how you'll spend the big fat check the county will be mailing you in several weeks. $30 bonus, what whaaaat!

Rinse and repeat this cycle for several hours until being told that all of the cases have been settled before going to trial and you're free to go home.

Wait... WHAT??

This is NOT how it happens on Law & Order
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I know. So rude that they did not even give me a chance to put my hundreds of hours of TV watching research to good use. I'd like a refund, Fairfax County.

This being said, courthouses are fantastic places to people watch... just ask the fellow juror who spent 1.5 hours snoring and talking in his sleep, the person walking into the courthouse smoking and smelling distinctly of a non-cigarette smoke (ahem, use your imagination), or the lady loudly complaining that waiting in the cell phone pick-up line was taking longer than the judge had taken to find her guilty.

Yep. Our justice system at its finest. You stay classy, Fairfax County.

Is it bad that I already can't wait to go back?
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