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Fun Fact Friday

…also known as It’s National DONUT Day!

donuts1

Today, I walked into the office to the oh-so-sweet and tantalizing aroma of donuts. The scrumptious, mouth-watering scent tickled my nose, a long feather carried by a tempting devil. Not so hot for someone who’s perpetually on a diet…but everyone deserves a treat once and awhile…and it IS a National holiday, so who would I be NOT to indulge…unpatriotic, not-a-team-player, a Debbie-Downer? Thus, naturally I had to partake as should you.

Both the King of Donuts – Dunkin’ and Krispy Kreme are giving out one free donut to honor this day, so get out there and embrace this holiday with the same fervor as you celebrate Columbus Day, Thanksgiving, and National Belly Laugh Day (January 24th)!

Be one with the donut. Seize the donut. Mmmmm the donut.

simpsons_donuts-l

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Nike has a new ad campaign that’s pretty kick a**.  I caught them posted on FB and thought they were pretty cool. Actually I think anything that tells me it’s okay to have “thunder thighs” is awesome…a “muffin top” is a different story though. Since it’s kind of hard to read the phrases, I typed them out…my favorite, “those who might scorn it are invited to kiss it.” 

Thunder Thighs

nike thighs

I have Thunder Thighs and that’s a compliment because they are strong and toned and muscular and though they are unwelcome in the petite section, they are cheered on in marathons. Fifty years from now I’ll bounce a grandchild on my thunder thighs and then I’ll go out for a run.

Chicken Legs

nike legs

My legs were once two hairy sticks that weren’t very good at jump rope but by the time I reached the age of algebra, they had come into their own and now in spin class, they are revered, envied for their strength, honored for their beauty, hairless for the most part, except that place the razor misses just behind the ankles.

Scabby Knees

nike knees

My knees are tomboys. They get bruised and cut every time I play soccer. I’m proud of them and wear my dresses short. My mother worries I will never marry with knees like that. But I know there’s someone out there who will say to me “I love you and I love your knees.” I want the four of us to grow old together.

Hips Don’t Lie

nike hips 

My hips return to puberty when I’m in dance class. Music affects them like hormones making them crazy and spontaneous and optimistic and prone to drama and I don’t understand them and sometimes they don’t understand themselves. When the music stops they’re still charged. Don’t touch me. Sparks will fly.

 I Like Big Butts

 nike butt

My butt is big and round like the letter C and ten thousand lunges have made it rounder but not smaller and that’s just fine. It’s a space heater for my side of the bed. It’s my ambassador to those who walk behind me. It’s a border collie that herds skinny women away from the best deals at clothing sales. My butt is big and that’s just fine and those who might scorn it are invited to kiss it.

SWOOSH. Well done Nike.

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Weighing the odds has never been my strong suit. When I try to rationalize, naturally I’m biased toward what I want the outcome to be whether or not I openly admit it. I find this attitude trickling down into all aspects of my life. Sometimes it’s a big deal like moving from NYC to DC while others, it’s something small and often ridiculous. This post covers the latter.

Technology occasionally drives me nuts. I hate being utterly accessible to all people at all times.  I want to shout, “What did you do before there were cell phones…you realize sometimes people would go DAYS even WEEKS without talking and that this was normal?”

Now, don’t get me wrong…while I feel this way in sporadic bursts, I remain unlikely to smash my phone into the side of a building. That said, I am often amazed that people can reach me through many different avenues, and thus get mad at me if I don’t reply in due time (aka 45 seconds).  While you all know how I feel about “He’s Just Not That Into You” (see here), I do think that the writers got a few things right.

Drew Barrymore plays the “techie romantic” in the movie (no I cannot believe I’m referencing this film again, but bear with me) and she says one line that clicks things into place perfectly for me, “I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.”

It is exhausting Drew. And as I sat with my DC girls on Sunday morning, re-hashing the events of Saturday night, I felt that familiar weight of technology’s force and the events didn’t even happen to me. The night wasn’t spectacularly different from any other Saturday. We went out, had a good time, came home, passed out and of course Sunday brunch brought out eggs, smoothies, and a detailed account of everyone’s opinion of the previous evening’s events, no matter how small-seeming or trivial.

Enter: Cowbell* (she’ll probably hate me for this nickname, but I gave her fair warning…it’s not my fault she was too hungover to give me possible alternatives). I probably will not do justice to her story, but I’m going to try my best in her no-nonsense style.

Cowbell met a guy in a bar a few weeks ago. They went on a date and had a really good time and suddenly she found herself sucked into a cellphone’s keypad. She had to learn to master…textual relations.

When we’re single women, the early beginnings of a relationship are often the biggest hurdle. We (if this is just me, I’m going to be slightly embarrassed) over-analyze EVERYTHING. We try to out-play, out-think, out-smart the opposite sex. We crave the upper hand in communication, and think that to get it, we have to forfeit initial contact in favor of waiting…and waiting…and waiting…No matter what the self-assured feminist says about “old-school courting practices,” I believe that they still get the second-guess jitters when it comes to who makes the first move.

Do/Should I becomes a powerful mantra. Our friends say no when he hasn’t texted us or if he has, we have to wait at least 15 minutes before responding so he doesn’t think we’re too eager. Is 15 minutes the new cut-off point between over-zealous and aloof? These ponderings become our textualizations (pardon the play-on-words).

But there is a soft spot for many girls…a weakness, one point where all of our over-thinking can be erased, when we can no longer resist those urges to text on pure principle.

It begins with a vodkacran.

What earlier in the night was no I will not text him tonight suddenly seems far too harsh. It gradually fades into well maybe I’ll just see what he’s up to…no big deal.…so it goes.

Cowbell* had her Grad Program Formal on Saturday night. She may not have made the declarative statement to not text 3B (yes a double negative…do the math), but she is a pretty typical girl. And after a few drinks she found her phone in her hands and her thumbs tapping,

“SO I’m OUT.” (insert Long Island Mental-accent). She shared with us on Sunday that this was what she came up with after several failed attempts…all of which ended up in her drafts folder. I’m not really sure why she thought she would lead with this phrase.

“Cowbell, you realize that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. What’d you expect him to say? Congrats?” I asked.

She just shrugged sheepishly, “OH it gets better.”

Here flows the highlights of the typesation as I heard Cowbell tell it with her Sunday morning reactions inter-spliced as (*):

3B: haha yeah? Where?

Draft: Homn VA

CB (actual text): Yeah..i’m in YA. zip you were her.

3B:  ? zip

*Cowbell took this to mean zip code. As she told us Sunday, “How am I supposed to know the zip code for Arlington, Virginia? I live in DC.” And apparently she didn’t respond fast enough.

3B: Dónde Está? E va?

*JuniorMint interrupted, “Dude, did he actually text you in Spanish? He knows you don’t speak it, right?”

Cowbell answered, “Well yeah, I think it was a mix of both, but he knows I speak Italian…maybe that’s what he was going for?”

And I chimed in, “Yo, he probably thought it’d be funny for you to try to figure out what he was saying.”

“Yes, real funny KT,” Cowbell said.

CB: I’m in Clarendon.

*Sunday Morning CB declares, “I have no idea how I managed to get that out and spell it correctly at that.”

3B: I’m out too…in Baltimore.

…and so it went…ending suddenly a few texts later. No goodbye, good night, good riddance.

I concluded, “You know…since the texts ended so abruptly, for all he knows you could be dead in some alley in Y-A. You should text him….SO I made it back in one piece to the DC zip code.”

JuniorMint announced, “No…you should say Bitch, you know I don’t speak Spanish.”

Cowbell’s saving grace as she sees it is that he has to know she was extremely intoxicated and it was only casual texts. Thankfully, she didn’t declare her unwavering love for all things 3Be. She didn’t beg, plead, or profoundly utter that he had changed her life (none of these are actually the case by the way)

She hadn’t heard from him when we talked Sunday morning.

As such, we have no clue if she will…but we still sat around a dining room table reenacting the entire line of textual communication because that’s what WE do.  When we measure whether it’s a good or bad idea, when we agonize over to send, what we sent, how we sent it, we think we’re being rational because we took the time to weigh through all of the outcomes. We’re not. Sometimes we just need to let go and loosen up like good ol’ Cowbell. Her declarative, “So I’m OUT” put her out there and she’s totally okay with that. Meanwhile, the rest of us like Drew are exhausted. But all in all, my bet is he will text her again…maybe not until a few days from now, but he will. And at some point after that, there may even be some time for make-up texts.

sign-cowbell130124930_std

*A best friend from college who hails from CT via her Long-Island accent. She’s blunt, loyal and dedicated. And one time she learned the proper way to punch. She’s never forgotten it.

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jason vs. flavorflav_m_tr_11064695_600

Lunch time yesterday I spent my hour in a reserved close-door meeting room with two co-workers. We scheduled this time to discuss the events of the 3 hour Bachelor Finale that aired on Monday night. We are part of the “closet watchers,” who don’t openly admit that they would willingly cancel plans on any night to watch The Bachelor.

I stared at the TV the entire 3 hours alone; my sister refuses to be sucked into the “will you accept this” trap. But I decided to wait to post about it until Tuesday’s 4th hour finale follow-up. And yes, as I watched the first ¾ by myself, I ranted, raved, texted Slim, Neever, my mom as Jason Mooseneck spouted about his “change of heart.” My fingers deliberately tapped each angry “ARGH” as he professed his torment in front of an awkward host, Chris.

And I must say, I felt a little betrayed by Jason. Here he is this great single father, burned first by his ex-wife (I’m STILL trying to find dirt on her…anyone else have any luck?) and then by fickle Deanna and all he wants is to find “the one.” Then, he comes on the finale and cries almost every scene as he soapboxes every single thought in his head. His stream-of-consciousness ultimately leads him to “the position” where he is “in love with two women.” Because that can happen, and we wouldn’t understand as we aren’t in the same position he is.

So to recap…In his “real life” journey to find “the love of his life” with whom he “could share the rest of his life,” he “takes down his walls” and discovers rather “shockingly” that it is possible “to be in love with two women at the same time.” Vom Jason, vom.

But still, as disgusted as I was with Monday night, I dove for the remote at 10 pm last night to tune into the final installment of the Rose Saga. And for what?

The first 15 minutes recapped the 3 hour finale. The next 5 were spent with Jason Muppetnick, then 2 with Molly where Jason talked over her, 3 re-capping their burgeoning love story, 1.5 on Melissa and her “high-road” response, 3.5 on Jillian being the next Bachelorette (the HIGHLIGHT of the evening), and 30 on commercials in between. It’s during times like these I would kill for DVR.

The only thing good that came out of this whole “real life experience” was Jason’s interview with Jimmy Kimmel (see here).

So instead of continuing with my REAL and TRUE feelings about the finale and spouting phrases I never want to hear uttered again (aka. “a life with no regrets,” “those eyes, ” “I never thought I would fall in love with two people at the same time”),  I have instead produced a Top 10 List of favorite quotes from the Jimmy/Jason interview, “It’s Like The Bachelor Meets Punked”:

*All quotes are from Jimmy unless otherwise specified.

1. “Earlier tonight our next guest proposed on National television to the love of his life and then an hour later dumped her to go out with the other love of his life.”

2. “He’s a fickle pickle if ever there was one”

3. “Is your arm sore from giving and taking back roses?”

4. Jason was on the show in January and he and Melissa were still together. Jimmy asks, “Did I do anything? Was it me?”

5. “Do you have the numbers of the other contestants in case you change your mind? The staff list? It is real life after all.”

6. “Look at Flavor Flav. He’s heart-broken every year and then he goes and puts on the crown. Have you talked to him? Maybe he can guide you through it. That would be a great twist…if Melissa hooked up with Flavor Flav. That’s ratings gold.”

7.      Jimmy: “If there is ever is a wedding will Melissa be invited to it?”

Jason: “If she wants to come…I think at some point her and I will be friends.”

Jimmy: “Oh no you will not. You and Melissa and Israel and Iraq.”

8.  “You’re going to get slapped a lot probably.”

9.  “Is there any chance you will dump him [Ty] for a blond child?”

10.  “I hope it all works out for you and the girls and the production staff.”

Let me just say if Jimmy Kimmel were to go on the Bachelor, I would audition. And Jason you may want to focus next on your grammar. It’s not “her and I.”

Thankfully The Thorn is gone and come May, I’ll have brushed off my currently strong feelings towards Jason in time for the season premiere of The Bachelorette with Jillian. So…there is a silver-lining to this “experience.”

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Somedays, I have Workout A.D.D. I’ll go to the gym and spend ten minutes on the treadmill before my eyes go crossed with boredom, ten on the elliptical, 15 on the bike, 15 on stairs…and I’ll leave the gym feeling like I didn’t even work out.  

So I like to mix it up a little by participating in the classes offered. In NYC, I spinned 3 days a week at 6:45 a.m which meant I was up at 5. I’m still not sure how I did that because down here I am absolutely unable to lift my head from the pillow before 6. My eyelids flutter open in mild surprise if the alarm beeps at 5:45 before flapping down like window blinds in an adamant refusal that it’s time to wake up. With the stagnant gym circuit and the inability to get moving in the morning, I knew I needed a shakedown.

Slim suggested I try zumba. She’d been going for awhile with a few friends and said it was a great workout that didn’t actually seem like one….my kind of exercise!

zumba

 Zumba (for those of you who don’t know) is a fusion of Latin and International music that incorporates dance moves with a fast-paced cardio workout. Now…I’ll be the first to admit while I love to dance, I know I’m not the most coordinated person on the dance floor. You’re unlikely to see me bust a move in the middle of the circle; I’m more likely to lead the clapping for whatever brave soul jumps in with their version of the lawnmower.  So, clearly I was skeptical when Slim told me it was a “get low” type of class, but I gave it a try.

Lili is the instructor; she’s a spirited chica who bounces all around the room to her Latin mix of songs. I stood next to Slim in the back while the Latin Mafia* filed into their positions in the front row. They’re all Latin divas who are 40, but look 30 and wear only Zumba tanks and wind-pants. As the music started, we salsa-ed through a warm-up and I quickly realized I was out of my element. These women were shaking parts of their bodies that I didn’t know could move independent of other parts.

A mirror ran the length of the front wall and I watched my awkward “white girl” body struggle to catch the groove and rhythm of the beat. Lili yelled, “Alright ladies, squat down and SHAKE IT,” the “it” being your butt. I tried, really I did…but Slim looked over at me and busted out laughing.

“KT, you’re supposed to shake your ass, not your head.”

Apparently in trying to wiggle my rump, I’d also been bobbing my head and jiggling my arms, but my butt was going nowhere. So I got lower and really concentrated on bouncing it.

But I ended up feeling more  like Homer Simpson in Homer’s Triple Bypass when Dr. Hibbert says,

“Now I’m going to do a fat analysis test.  I’ll start your jiggling and measure how long it takes to stop.

[starts it jiggling]

[jiggles for five seconds]

Homer: Woo hoo!  Look at that blubber fly!

Dr. Hibbert: Yes.  [to intercom] Nurse, cancel my 1:00.

 

than a vogue dancer from some movie like Step Up (yes I saw it and yes I liked it enough to reference it here).

“I don’t get it,” I frowned.

“You just shake….move it around…that’s it.”

Well, that was easy for her to say…she’d been doing the class for awhile. We sashayed across the room….meringue-d and cross-stepped through a few more songs. Then a song came on that caused everyone to groan…I looked around apprehensively.

Groaning is never a good sign.

Lili laughed, looking only slightly sadistic, as she hollered “Trabájelo!”

I recognized the song as Apple Bottom Jeans” only here, instead of bopping my head to the song like I typically do, anytime she hit the floor came on we had to swing down to the floor and do push-ups, pop back to stand then, crunch our abs up eight times. I have come to negatively associate that song with pain 

By the end of the hour, I was drenched, but it was fast, furious, and fun. Slim and I’ve been going to Lili’s for a few months now. She did a Turkey Burn around Thanksgiving and a Holiday Boot Camp at Christmas; both were an hour and a half of high-intensity zumba.

I still have trouble bending and shaking in some of the ways she asks us too, but I’ve managed to at least learn the routines pretty well.  Slim and her other friends in the class joke about taking their moves to the bars. But I think I’ll wait a little longer til I show you what I’m workin’ with…

 

*10 of Lili’s “original” dancers who’ve perfected the booty-jiggle lifestyle with zumba and margaritas on the weekends.

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pastries

So today is FAT (yes all caps) Tuesday….

Personally I love the donut any day, but it’s on days like these where I feel it’s especially important to do my part and eat at least 2, possibly 3, and if it’s a stressful day…4. It’s perfectly normal to eat 4 donuts.

On any other day, I would be judged as I’d sit in the dark-windowless confines of my office and munch away, guiltily shoving the powdered delights into my mouth. But today, oh glorious Fastnacht Day, I can do what I want and proudly display the confectionery remnants in the corners of my mouth.

Today is the day before Lent starts. I’ve never been a big follower of fasting during this time. When I was younger, I used to negotiate my way through the fast…and would forgo only things I either knew I could do without or didn’t really like in the first place (often it would be something from the vegetable family or some obscure fruit like kiwi). I think one time I managed to give up soda. And another coffee, but at 15 I didn’t drink it anyway. One year, I tried to give up sugar and made my mom by only sugar free cookies and crackers (this was before the whole “healthy lifestyle fad” so that section in the supermarket was about ½ an aisle long). But I’m pretty sure I didn’t last all 40 days.

Yesterday my friend, Slim* called me from her office (same company, 1 floor down) and announced she was giving up meat for Lent; that she was making her grocery list that second and that her lunches would from now on either be egg salad or avocado based. Then she realized that she’d be having dinner at her parents this weekend and apparently her mom makes a killer roast. So that idea went out the window.

We continued chatting about what she could give up with minimal withdraws. And she finally suggested chocolate only to come to the conclusion she couldn’t possibly do that because she and her boyfriend might be going to the Melting Pot on Friday and the chocolate fondue is clearly the only reason she’d go.  At this point in our conversation, I interjected (as piously as possible),

“Slim, Lent is typically recognized as a time of sacrifice, i.e. giving something up that you really enjoy.”

She scoffed.

Today, she told me she made reservations at the Melting Pot. I asked, “What are you giving up for Lent then?”

“Chocolate. But this is the one and only exception. The rest of Lent, no chocolate, I promise.”

So I’m not quite sure how all this half-sacrifice translates into Jesus’ story of 40 days of complete fasting. What if he’d negotiated his way to be able to eat a couple bugs or maybe a small animal? Would then our whole perception be altered? Probably. But I’m not writing a philosophical analysis of religion or Lent.

I’m just celebrating that today is the one day a year where it’s socially acceptable to be a glutton.

Take that Weight Watchers!

fat-tuesday1

STACY CURTIS, “Freelance”Indiana

*My MD best friend and co-worker who owns her own motorcycle and shares a love of cheesy Reality TV (Biggest Loser, The Bachelor) and salads with dressing on the side.

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25 Too Many

I’ve watched over the past few weeks as people have “caved” to the 25 Things epidemic on Facebook. Of course, I’ve seen the updates as more people are tagged and succumb to compiling their own laundry list of TMI. I’ve even read a few. They announce their note with headers like “bored,” “embarrassed to admit I did this,” “finally getting around to it,” “because I get sucked into these stupid trends,” and “don’t care if you read it.”  And of the ones I’ve read so far, I’ve already known 85% of the “shock-value things” they had to share…so naturally I lose interest. And as a result I haven’t done it.

A few days ago my friend Neever sent me this now widely-known article from Time.  We chatted about it and she made a valid point, “the thing that annoys me about the author is that he hates the new fad, yet he manages to read all of the notes.” She’s right. And while he hates this latest viral trend, he manages to conform to its confines as he writes 25 Things He Didn’t Want To Know about all of his friends (to be fair, some of those things I wouldn’t have wanted to know either).

So while the Times’ article is a decent criticism of the “age of over-share,” I think this t-shirt at Despair.com does a better job in fewer sentences. Take a look: the guys’ face says it all.

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