sweettater

The Cracks Begin to Show

In Life on February 28, 2012 at 10:22 pm

Burned omelette (just the way I like it) and kale

So you’re driving along minding your own business like the law-abiding citizen that you are. You’re not going the speed limit; you’re 5mph under. That driving record of yours? Clear like crystal. Music at an enjoyable but in no way distracting level. Hands at 10 and 2. When suddenly the sight of red and blue lights in your rearview mirror sends your stomach straight to your butt and you start down a path of crazy, irrational thoughts from which there is no escape.

Am I speeding?

When did they change interstate speed limits to 35mph?

I’ll just slow to 20…

How expired are my tags?

At this crawling pace he can clearly see my expired tags. FASTER.

Wait… Did I steal this car?

Am I even me? Did I black out?

Is this a police chase?

Am I in a movie?

Oh god… Is there cocaine in my trunk??

I bet someone put cocaine in my trunk…

Cocaine… and a body. I bet someone killed a drug dealer and put him and his cocaine in my trunk and now I’m driving the car and no one will believe my story. Guilty until proven innocent. Oh godddd.

My life is over. I will be arrested. My bike will be repossessed. That cats will be sent to foster care.

Oh balls oh balls oh balls oh… Ohhhh he’s after that guy in front of me.

…

… all the single ladies (all the single ladies). Now put your hands UP.

Surely I am not the only person who assumes the absolute worst in every situation especially when it involves potential punishment for myself even when I know for a fact I have done nothing wrong.

Yesterday I got an email from one of my professors indicating there had been a problem with some plagiarism on several assignments in the class. It was sent to the entire class so no one was called out. This is perhaps even worse than just emailing the offending party directly. This was, essentially, red and blue lights in my rearview mirror.

Now, I’m no model student this year (not by a long shot) and I’ve been incredibly lazy with my studies, yes, but plagiarism is not a game I play. No, sir. I’m slack, yes. Unethical, no.

Still, this didn’t stop me from working myself into such a panic overnight that I was up at 5am, skipping yoga and at my professor’s office door promptly at 8am to make sure mine was not the paper in question. Turns out he’s not in the office until 4pm. So I sat around all day thinking about how I would explain to my parents and friends and coworkers that I got kicked out of grad school in my last semester. That I put my life on hold for three years, destroyed my relationship and obliterated my savings account all to get expelled eight weeks from the finish line.

I was sick. Stomach in butt, I tell you.

Of course you’ve probably deduced that I was not the one in trouble. That I panicked for no reason at all. That I created so elaborate a story that I was actually ready to step down from all my leadership positions and assume a life as a dietetics school dropout.

Good god, Katie. I mean seriously.

So this leads me to question how many other times I’ve done this. How much time I’ve spent worrying about things that haven’t even happened, won’t ever happen and probably never existed outside my imagination.

It was interesting to watch the whole thing unfold. Because, yes, I buy into that yoga philosophy that you are not your thoughts. That you can actually stand apart from them and watch them float right on by. So I watched all of this today and (even though I still freaked out a little bit) managed to remain relatively collected. “You are making this up. You are making this up. You are making this up.” I kept telling myself.

Still, despite hearing my saner self speaking the truth, my initial reaction was to bail. To assume the worst and run away. To quit. And I’m noticing–at work, in relationships, basically on the regular–that this is my reaction to most things when they start to get tough. Avoidance, after all, is my coping/defense mechanism of choice.

Ah, and the cracks begin to show…

Because this old way of approaching things doesn’t work anymore. Because there’s a better way to live. Because I’m learning so damn much about myself and how I function (and don’t). Because I am slowly chipping away at layer upon layer of misguided thinking and misdirected energy and, well, mistakes. Because somewhere under all of that is something so good.

And as the cracks begin to show, I shine through. That’s kind of how I feel right now. I feel like all these silly little things I used to torture myself with are slowly falling away. It’s good.

Also. This is all I can think of every time I think I’m about to get pulled over:

Cuz I'm young and I'm black and my hat's real low?

I love Jay Z with all my heart and soul. Truth.

Saturyaaaaaay

In Charlotte, Life on February 27, 2012 at 8:40 pm

Straight Jacket Soy from Common Market

Where do I even begin?

I know it’s time for a blog update when my mom texts to see if I am alive. So…

I went to bed at 7:30pm Sunday night. And that’s because my weekend went something like this:

Yoga

Beer

Thrifting

$100 worth of marga-freaking-ritas.

I cannot even tell you the joy that consumed me body and soul not having to go to work on a Saturday. Is this how the other half lives? If so, count me in. But do me a favor and freeze my bank account because after three margaritas I appear to think I’m a billionaire.

What ha-happened was…

Friday night I went out for beers at OMB with my fellow teacher trainees.

Yoga teachers drink beer.

Weeeeee

Somehow all of the snacks ended up in front of me.

I do not know.

Mitch and I continued the night at Kennedy’s where, completely unbeknownst to me, we crashed an engagement party. Don’t worry, I made it out with a cupcake on my way to Intermezzo for a late dinner.

By some miracle of god, I flew out of bed at 6:50 Caturday morning ready to kick some superflow in the face. So that’s what I did. Let me tell you something. When it comes to hangovers, if 90 minutes in a hundred-degree room won’t cure what ails you, I don’t know what will. It’s actually very, very rare that I will get a hangover, and I think it has something to do with the fact that I’m usually at yoga early enough the next morning to still blow above the legal limit. I’m not saying I recommend this. Just that it works.

After that I was off for some top secret underground shopping with a yoga friend of mine who has an in with an incredible stylist here in town who recently opened THE most brilliant thrift boutique concept I’ve ever seen. Cigi Guzman is a delightfully fierce, fun-loving, future mogul (mark my words) and the brains behind V.VILL, a speakeasy boutique.

Awe.some.

There’s no website or advertising or, hell, even a sign. Nope. In fact, I hesitate to even tell you how to get there because then everyone will go buy all the stuff I want. But here’s how it goes…

Go to this obscure thrift store on Central Ave.

You heard me.

Go inside. Yes. Inside.

Maybe stop at the panaderia next store first for a dulce if you must…

Walk all the way to the back to a bright blue door by the purses.

Knock. I'm serious.

Inside is an adorable, eclectic, totally unexpected little fashion grotto. It’s freaking brilliant.

Tah dah.

GAH.

Shopping V.VILL is like shopping your slightly older, way cooler best friend’s closet. Cigi’s got music and wine and a vision for everything you pick up. “Style it with camo,” she’ll say. “Trust me.” Or… “Add a snakeskin belt… Non-prescription glasses.” She takes what would be lost, forgotten pieces and gives them life. It’s so refreshing.

Visits are by appointment only so once you’re in, the whole place is yours. I literally just started ripping my clothes off and trying on everything in sight. And is this not the ideal way to shop? After all, dressing rooms are so very 2000 (but there is one if you are ever so slightly more modest than I).

I ended up with an adorable little striped tank that I’m using to conjure up summer weather and a gorgeous gold charm bracelet with one lone deranged bunny rabbit charm. I love it.

Should've gotten the sunglasses.

After this entirely too exciting afternoon, I ran by Common Market for a tofu sandwich to go. Have I mentioned lately that I love Charlotte?

I then proceeded to sleep for two straight hours (who does this?) waking just in time to hop on the evening party train. And by party train I mean minivan courtesy of Diamond Cab.

"Wanna take emo pictures?" "DUH"

Mitch and I joined her friend Kat for the birthday celebration to end all birthday celebrations. First of all, we started the night in a cab. When you don’t even bother taking your own car, you know shit’s going down…

Second, we exchanged cell numbers with our delightful cabbie Muhammed Ali so we could bypass the Diamond Cab call center and he could just cart us around all night.

Third, we had racked up a $100 bar tab at La Paz by 8pm. Good god. The original plan was innocent enough: split fajitas because we’re frugal and oh so very responsible.

WHOOPS.

This promptly turned into: let’s slam skinny margaritas like they’re water.

From here, Muhammed took us uptown to dance the night away at Black Finn. On the way in we met the dad from Little People, Big World.

CELEBRITY SIGHTING.

I worked all day Sunday, practiced yoga and promptly passed out at 7:30pm. And that, my friends, is how you have the very best weekend ever.

In writing this recap, I realize a few things:

I am home.
I have met the most incredible people here.
I have a wonderfully full life.
Charlotte is awesome.

If you also think Charlotte is awesome and want to visit, here’s where I was over the weekend…

Tater’s Tour de Charlotte:

Olde Mecklenbrg Brewery

Caturday 2/25/12

In Cats on February 25, 2012 at 11:17 am

Must be Caturday.

Happy Caturday to all and to all a good morning.

As I’m sure you know, this is a big day in our house but, truly, everyday is Caturday in Ralph’s world. I swear that cat is supine 23 out of 24 hours in a day, rising only to eat… and poop.

Weaz is only slightly more active in her everyday life, making a concerted effort to annoy me as much as possible as frequently as possible.

I put my paw in your water again. Post-litter box.

Make me a sammich, woman.

I wish someone could tell me exactly what is wrong with Weaz. I mean, I think physically she’s perfectly healthy but mentally… something’s loose. I want a refund is what I’m saying.

When the kittens were born and before they could walk, my little sister was living with me at the time and we kept finding Weaz deposited in strange places around the house, mostly in her closet. We theorized that because she was the runt and was clearly not all there, Ralph was either (1) trying to protect her or (2) trying to kill her off.

Doop.

Based on how they interact now, I think the second option was (and still is) Ralph’s aim.

If you were keeping up with my baby squirrel adventure, I’m sad to say Baby Hank died just a few hours after I found him. From what wildlife rescuers have told me, it’s unlikely that he just fell out of the nest and, like Weaz, was probably pushed out because he was small or weak or sick or otherwise not viable. Poor little guy. I feel so guilty and responsible, like I didn’t do what I was supposed to, but I hope he was at least warm and comfortable and safe at the end.

Judging by my reaction to the death of a squirrel I had for less than 12 hours, I am so happy to know that cats are immortal. (You knew cats were immortal, right?) Because the death of these two will surely end me. I’m promise you this.

If you want me to outlive you, this can be arranged...

In much happier news… LOOK WHAT MY FRIEND ISAAC SENT ME.

BOOM

Best.shirt.ever.

Caught-in-the-Rain Run

In Food Diary on February 24, 2012 at 6:24 pm

Toast, avocado, sesame tofu, salad and carrots.

It was one of those caught in the rain runs. One of those moments that just makes you feel alive. As if beating hearts and coursing blood never really counted until the flesh it fuels was struck by water falling from the sky without warning.

Yeah, it was one of those.

Now I don't have to shower!

Beautiful day today in Charlotte. Well, actually… it was 75 degrees and sunny, but we were under a tornado warning all day. Somehow the storm stayed just far enough away for me to convince myself a quick run before a night on the town would be a very good idea.

Oh hey, Charlotte. Looking very Gotham tonight, aren't we?

It totally was. It was just a wetter very good idea than I had intended. Sometimes the unexpected is better than anything we ever could have planned for ourselves. Am I right or am I right? (I am right.)

My morning started bright and early as always with blueberry coffee (best.ever.) and a yogurt glob (Greek yogurt, oats, raisins, cinnamon, honey, peanut butter) before yoga.

Goooood morning, sunshine.

Starting your day at 6a means you get to be done at 2p. I highly recommend it, especially on Fridays.

I ate an apple and an orange and slammed tea at work.

Then I came home, ate a fan-frickin-tastic late lunch and lazed around with iced coffee (x2… control yourself, Katie!) and A Course in Miracles before embarking on my rainy run.

ROY G.

Hey, baby.

My faithful return to coffee on the rocks is a sure sign the seasons they are a-changin’. I’m ok with that.

Now I’m off to drink beer with my fellow teacher trainees. You know how we do.

Today Was an Adventure

In Food Diary on February 23, 2012 at 10:50 pm

Sesame tofu, teriyaki rice w/spinach & chickpeas, beans

Sometimes people want to know exactly what I eat. This is what my blog would look like if I tracked all my food. (BO-RING.)

What a day. What a day.

I’m retraining myself to wake up with new eyes each morning. To come at each day like a kid on Christmas morning. Only instead of “OH MY GOD PRESENTS” it’s “OH MY GOD LIFE.”

It seems to be working because despite going to bed at 1am, I flew out of bed 4.5 short hours later, all:

BOOM

I had planned to go to ashtanga at the studio but opted to enjoy a slow cup of coffee and a private practice at home. It was 75 degrees and sunny in Charlotte today (be still, my heart) so I threw open the window and welcomed the coming dawn with a brisk sun salute.

Weazcheez

At 5:30am I wanted toast with PB, honey, cinnamon and banana so I made it and packed it for the drive to work. But by 8am when I actually left, it was totally smoothie time. So this happened:

Greeeeen smoothie.

This is how I make green smoothies: Green Smoothies 101

And another coffee in the car.

We had three back-to-back-to-back events at work this week, which means free fruit trays.

Always eat free produce.

I slammed an apple on the way to the gym before heading to job numero dos for the afternoon/evening.

This is an apple.

And THEN…

I was all ready to hop in my car and inhale my lunch at stoplights when I made a game time decision to slow the F down and enjoy my meal in the sunshine. I plopped down on a rock and ate this:

BIG SALAD

This is how I make my salads: Anatomy of a Salad

[I had a photoshoot the day I did this video. I realize my makeup looks waaaaaay over the top.]

Salad = romaine, spinach, cashews, brown rice, carrots, peppers, avocado, oil, balsamic.

AND A CHEESE STICK.

On the way to my car, I spotted a little dead naked rodent in the grass and died a little inside. The poor baby had fallen from this monster of a tree:

Oof.

Quite a tumble for something the size of (but far more fragile than) a shot glass.

Upon closer inspection I noticed his little lungs were actually still hard at work trying to keep his tiny body alive. I died a little more and scooped him up into one of my yoga towels. This is an automatic reflex for me. The hoarding of old and/or sickly and/or dying and/or pregnant animals is in my DNA; it comes straight from my mom who got it from hers.

Presenting: Baby Hank

(He’s a squirrel… I think.)

He was clammy and cold and a little bit purply-blue. I kind of thought he’d just die but at least wanted him to be comfortable. (But he didn’t!) Instead, he kept getting better. His breathing calmed and he turned a pale pink and even squirmed around a bit. (Not paralyzed!)

At this point I had to get to work in Charlotte and decided to take him with me. I know some wildlife purists would argue that I should have left him and let nature take its course. I am not one of those people. Deal with it.

He is currently safe and sound in a shoebox in my bathroom (far from the cats, don’t worry).

Not trash.

I have a mason jar in there wrapped in towels that I’ve been refilling with fresh hot water every few hours to keep him warm and bought kitten formula to feed him with a syringe.

I know what everyone is going to say and the answer is yes, I tried calling Wildlife Rescue all afternoon but they wouldn’t answer the phone. I’ll take him tomorrow. Until then, he’s all mine.

Once Baby Hank was situated in his box, I made an iced coffee with almond milk and headed off to job numero dos.

Cheaper at home.

I cannot tell you how stressed I was that my squirrel would be dead when I got home. He wasn’t. So I ate carrots and hummus to celebrate while making dinner: teriyaki rice with chickpeas and spinach, sesame tofu and green beans.

Hummus. Carrots. Yep.

I’m gonna go sketch out plans for my future zoo… And probably eat chocolate-covered almonds with peanut butter.

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Work It

In Life on February 23, 2012 at 7:31 am

Oats, rice milk, Greek yogurt, honey, PB, raisins, cinnamon

It has occurred to me in the last 48 hours or so that this ~~semester~~ year (students speak of time in semesters the way pregnant ladies speak in terms of trimesters) is moving by entirely too quickly. The most glaring example of this being the fact that come June, this little lady needs a big girl job, a fact I have been avoiding for, uh, three years.

I’m actually really, really ready for a little stability, consistency and, you know… money. But I’m also dreading the inevitable return to (cringe) a full-time life of fluorescent lights and filing cabinets and skeezy break room donuts.

I suppose that if this is not what I want for myself, then it is not what I will have. But the fact that I haven’t nailed down an elevator pitch to the question “What are you going to do when you graduate?” leads me to believe I’ll be grasping for any offer that comes my way. An elevator pitch, by the way, is business jargon for the 15-second summary of your product/service/company that you could throw at someone in a short elevator ride that has them asking for your card before the door opens at their floor. My response to what I’m going to do with myself is not nearly so succinct or convincing. It’s more of a rambling: “Oh, uhhh… In June? Well. Uhhhhhh… I mean. I could do clinical work but I don’t want to be in a hospital. So then there’s maybe the health department with WIC and SNAP and all that but… I don’t know. Maybe school foodservice? I love kids, you know…”

I already see myself limiting my options to traditional career paths in dietetics but, as we know, my path has been anything but traditional.

SO. My mission after this super busy week at my current office (we’re hosting three events back to back to back) is to:

Figure out what I want out of life.
Get it.

I realize this shift means that I can’t just live my life in black stretchy pants anymore but… I’m ok with that.

Not black stretchy pants.

Since yoga has taught me that I can create my own reality, I’m convinced that I can create a position that moves me. Something that combines writing and food and yoga and service. Should you be in need of such services, contact Weaz for a copy of my resume.

SPREADSHEETS

Here’s This.

In Life on February 21, 2012 at 10:42 pm

Veggie burger, cheese, rice, beans, celery, hummus.

Coupla things…

I think my arms are getting pretty diesed.

Exhibit A.

I’m ok with that.

Sometimes I want to cut all my hair off. I mean all my hair. Like in a very dramatic THIS-IS-A-BAD-IDEA Felicity kind of moment.

Yeah, girl.

But something tells me it’ll come across more like this:

Oh Brit-Brit. I love you anyway.

My desk looks like this in night classes:

This is normal.

I have been laughing so much lately. I don’t know if I even noticed I’d stopped doing that. Everything is funny. Especially the “DO YOUR DOODY. SCOOP YOUR PETS’ POOP” and “LET’S GET NAKED!” billboards I saw on the way to work today. Thanks for that, Charlotte. Gearing up for the DNC, I see… I’ll take pictures the next time traffic is at a standstill, which will probably be tomorrow.

I’ve convinced my office to let me teach them yoga. Twice a week. It’s gonna be awesome.

Not like this.

I have no issue with Rihanna collaborating with Chris Brown and I’ll tell you why… Have you heard the song? Hello. “I’ma make you my bitch.” That song was already aggressive and filthy and empowering and the addition of her abusive ex to the remix just hammers home her message: “I’m in control here. You are my bitch.” Plus, publicity stunt. Steady chasin’ paper. Duh. Babygirl got game. I mean, think about it. When 50 Cent rapped about letting us “lick the lollipop” or when Lil Wayne welcomed us to “lick the rapper” (surely you caught the double entendre there, yes?) and assured us he’d “make it juicy,” women of the world sang along from club to car to cardio class. But when the tables are turned… when it’s about “licking the icing off”… when a woman owns the hell out of sex as an assertion of power, suddenly it’s a sign of weakness. Yeah, I get that he beat the hell out of her and he’s a dirtbag and he was wrong wrong wrong. But, in my opinion, she has his balls in a vice grip with that Cake Remix. Don’t you see that?

Go on, put your name on it.

Ri-Ri, you get it, girl. And it’s not even your birthday.

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Learn to Remember

In Life, Yoga on February 21, 2012 at 7:11 am

Oh hey, blueberry smoothie.

So.

What have I been doing with my life?

Riding my bike.

Eating Starbursts.

Watching Bachelor with Weaz. ("SRSLY COURTNEY??")

Working.

Painting my nails to save cash money.

Going to school. Sort of.

Remember that class I forgot to go to for a month? Well. When I went back I took a test. I got an A on it. I also took a microbiology lab exam last week that I didn’t study for until the morning of. B. I’ll take it.

The point of this is not to brag on my intelligence but instead to highlight my stupidity. Oh, the things I could accomplish if I would only apply myself… The “good enough is good enough” attitude I’ve adopted in the last year as a survival mechanism is simply no longer necessary. My schedule is not as crazy. (Nor is my mind.) I think it’s high time I got my ass back in gear. That I be exactly who I am again.

I had a mild nervous breakdown in teacher training on Sunday. (Naturally.) It’s hard to verbalize but basically what I was feeling was a lot of doubt, a lot of fear, a lot of confusion. This process, for me anyway, has been like one big spotlight on my weaknesses–physical and mental–and it’s a whole lot to take in. It’s not a negative thing at all; it’s just an opportunity to grow. But it’s a lot. So I word vomited some of these emotions to a friend via text and he gave me exactly what I needed to hear.

“Basically this: You are perfect just the way you are. But you are not really just the way you are because you have piled up so much shit around the way you are. So you really have no idea what the way you are actually is. Yoga is an undressing of the spirit.”

It’s so true. And then yesterday, this from A Course in Miracles:

“You are only love, but when you deny this, you make what you are something you must learn to remember. As you teach so will you learn. If that is true, and it is true indeed, do not forget that what you teach is teaching you. And what you project or extend you believe.”

I believe I’ll be dragging my butt to ashtanga this morning because I have lacked the self discipline to practice on my own outside of teacher training. But I’m learning to remember that I am still as strong (willed) as ever. That I cracked under pressure, yes, but that even breaking requires strength. Soft, malleable things bend under force, which is good sometimes. It takes something strong and solid to shatter under force. And this is not really a bad thing because then the pieces can be put back together so long as you learn to remember where they go.

Meatballs and Milkshakes

In Seriously? on February 19, 2012 at 9:51 pm

Meatless meatball sub. Hello.

Listen.

I don’t believe in a life of mutual exclusion.

I believe in practicing yoga and drinking beer.

Clearly.

I believe in working hard all damn day and playing hard all damn night.

I believe in talking to god (or God or G-d… whatever) and cursing that asshole whose turn signal has been on for the last thirty miles.

I believe in vegan baked goods and a very serious string cheese habit.

Simply put, I believe in having my cake–blended into a milkshake–and eating it, too.

All the boys to the yard.

The situation was this…

Adam wouldn’t stop talking about meatballs. (He’s a vegetarian.) I wouldn’t stop talking about milkshakes with cakes blended into them. (I’m a dietitian… sort of.) The only movie we had to watch was Sarah’s Key. Now, maybe I’m the only one who thinks that eating meatball subs and milkshakes while watching a Holocaust movie is a poor choice, but the point is that the stage was set for a really ridiculous, rather incongruent little evening.

I don’t know where this milkshake+cake obsession came from, but it has pretty much consumed my life for the last week.

Last night, dreams came true.

In making my magical concoction it occurred to me that I have perhaps never made a milkshake before. Smoothies, duh. Milkshakes? Not so much. I guess I’d do it more often but I’d worry about all the boys showing up in my yard all the time…

You know.

“Don’t you have a recipe or something?” Adam asked.

How hard could it be? Ice cream… milk… cake. DUH.

Tah dah.

And that, my friends, is how it’s done.

Our meatball subs were equally as straightforward: Trader Joe’s meatless meatballs, baguette, marinara sauce, mozzarella.

Maybe I was sprawled out on the floor crying for Tums 15 minutes later, but you know what? I was also artfully crammed into this beauty eight short hours later…

Supta kurm-fuckthis-asana

Because life, you see, is simply not as black and white as we try to make it. It’s not about defining which foods are good versus which are bad. Or about defining those lifestyles or religions or people that are good versus those that are bad. Maybe sometimes it all just is. It’s all just an experience. Live it.

Think about a seesaw. It’s only fun with people on both ends, right? This is the only way to take it for a ride, with weight at each extreme. Life is like this, too. And it’s ok to live in extremes because this, I think, is also the only way to balance.

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Caturday 2/18/12

In Cats on February 18, 2012 at 7:59 am

I'm on yer shelf... bein a book.

A very happy create-your-own Caturday to you.

Last night as I lay in bed well past midnight more physically exhausted than I’ve been since… ever but still wide-freaking-awake (damn you, coffee!), the cats started to seriously doubt my ability to rise early and post Caturday.

Oh ye of little faith.

BUT guess what we talked about in yoga yesterday, you little jerks? We talked about how intention can reconstruct your reality. How simply thinking something will make it so. So I set an intention to get up at 5:45am and not go back to bed as I usually do. Sure, there was an alarm (and three cups of coffee involved), but it happened, didn’t it? I will use my newfound powers for good only, which means I’m also going to eat a milkshake with a cupcake in it tonight. Intention = set.

I have a test on primary series today so Viva la Weaz has been quizzing me.

Nononono... it's downward facing CAT.

Weazasana

Ralph is not exactly helpful when it comes to yoga because she condemns it as devil worshipping. You all know Ralph is a conservative Christian, right?

I want you to know you're going to hell.

Thanks, Ralph.

I’m off to yoga my life away.

Good job, Weaz.

I Hate Mushrooms

In Yoga on February 16, 2012 at 9:24 pm

It's an orange, duh.

I was in over my head. I was in Copenhagen on a business trip trying to seal a multi-million dollar deal with one of our biggest clients. You may not know that in my other life, I wore suits and traveled to Europe and made lots of Excel spreadsheets. I fumbled the talk and stumbled the walk. My heart wasn’t in it.

Our office was super laidback. On our home field, I wore jeans and drank beer at my desk in the afternoon. On trips, though, I put on a show. I felt like a little girl playing dress up in her mom’s pumps and pantsuit. Trisha Yearwood lyrics resounded in my head: “She’s tryin’ to make it in her daddy’s world…”

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t trying at all. I hated it.

But this isn’t a story about my failed attempt at climbing the corporate ladder. No, this, shifting gears, is a story about food. And yoga. Bear with me…

When I traveled alone, I traveled the way I travel—haphazardly, authentically, cheaply. I’m all hostels and street food and walking to save cab money. If I was with colleagues, though, I got a little taste of how the other half lives and, on this occasion, eats.

We had a reservation at arguably one of the finest restaurants in the city, and, if you follow and agree with Michelin star ratings, one of the best in the world. Once serving as King Hans’ personal wine cellar, Kong Hans Kaelder is an intimate, elegant space with whitewashed walls and an open kitchen. We were greeted with hard-boiled quail eggs, butter emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo and a team of servers. It’s like nothing I have ever seen.

Cave

Fancypants buttah.

Everything was prix fixe with multiple courses and, naturally, there was nothing on the menu I could eat. Nada. So I (very discreetly) asked for a vegetarian plate, knowing that whatever it was, it would be good.

I wish I remembered everything I ate that night. Alas, I started blogging exactly one month later. One dish in particular, however, stands out. It was a small ramekin filled with some kind of something I’d never seen in my life that I could best describe (visually) as gigantic raisins. They were brown and bumpy with little craters. “I bet it’s some kind of organ meant,” I thought.

I ate it anyway. It was like pure butter. Pure salty butter. Perfectly savory and meaty but not meat. Were I willing and able to use umami as an adjective without making fun of myself, that’s how I’d describe it. “What is this?” I asked, a little too frantically.

Among my American coworker, French colleague and Danish clients, no one could give me the correct English word for these mysterious monster raisins.

It took a chance encounter in Whole Foods a full year later for me to figure it out. But before I tell you what it was that impacted my palate in such an intensely positive way, I should tell you I really, really hate mushrooms.

And this is where the yoga starts.

I do this thing where I make assumptions about everything.

That probably doesn’t taste good because….
That’ll probably make my life better because…
This will probably ruin me because…
She’s probably a bitch because…
They probably think I’m a bitch because…
He’s probably not into me because…

Sometimes it’s little stuff. Like, I don’t like mushrooms so I assume that anything with fungi in or around it will never taste good. Other times it’s kind of enormous. Like, I assume that everyone dislikes me unless they tell me otherwise so I distance myself until given a reason not to.

So I set myself up with these assumptions (“This is probably how something is/was/will be…”) backed by supporting evidence in the form of past experiences or current situations that I attach to them. Up until recently, I never once paused to consider:

(1) That the assumption is a story I created myself and is not real

(2) That the “evidence” I attach to it is just as fake as the assumption itself

(3) Somewhere buried under all of that is reality

In Gregor Maehle’s Ashtanga Yoga, he puts it this way:

“The usual activity of the mind is to download sensory input relating to an object and then to compare it with all the data it has stored in the past. It then produces the most likely interpretation of what it believes the object to be.”

So because no one could tell me that what I was eating was a mushroom, because I couldn’t apply my previous assumptions about mushrooms to the dish, because I experienced it only for what it was, I loved (I mean loved) something I probably would have otherwise refused to even try.

So let’s say someone has heard that yoga is a for weirdo hippies who chant and meditate and don’t eat meat. Maybe they’ve heard that the physical practice is difficult and even dangerous, that it’s not for old people or fat people or inflexible people, that they won’t like it. They get invited to attend a class but immediately start applying these assumptions to the outcome of the invitation and, in the end, choose not to go.

If we could strip away all of these assumptions about what something (or someone) was or should be or will be, we’d be able to experience. Period. Experience something (or someone) for what it really is. For who they really are. And we might find that despite all our preconceived notions about how the experience will be, that it is actually better than anything we ever could have imagined.

“Only then, when we do not look anymore through the distorting glasses of our mind, can an object be directly experienced. This is the true meaning of direct experience.”

The point of sutra III.3 is that samadhi, or utter stillness of the mind, occurs only when we can perceive an object as it is without modifying it. The purified mind, they say, is “a clear crystal that is capable of faithfully reflecting whatever it is placed on.”

So this means it’s a mushroom and that’s it. It’s not a mushroom that probably tastes bad. This means it’s a yoga class and that’s it. It’s not a yoga class that will be too hard or too easy or too weird. This means you’re you and that’s it. You’re not you and your job or you and your spouse or you and your bank account. Just you.

I wish I could look at everything this way. That I could faithfully reflect everything and everyone for what it is and who they are. Why? Because I want to experience everything and everyone for what it is and who they are. And because I want people to experience me this way, too. And you know what’s cool? We can.

Oh, the giant raisins? They were morels. Kingdom: fungi. That’s right.

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Fitness

Use Me Up

In Life on February 16, 2012 at 8:56 am

Wee tiny jar o' dark chocolate almonds.

Yesterday was weird.

I think I have some pent up rage that is not being addressed in my current OMed out yoga state of mind because I spent the morning looking for places I can go simply to punch things. Turns out, there’s not a whole lot of kickboxing in Charlotte. What’s a girl to do?

First, I start weightlifting. Now I want to punch things. Also I RAN yesterday (this is unheard of). And then followed it with yoga. Watch out world…

Eeek.

Nope. Negative. Sorry, girl. I find that absolutely horrifying.

No, I think my current desire to push my body beyond its standard routine (yoga about six times a week) came from this realization that yoga has made me really, really strong and really, really capable. I’m doing things I once thought were impossible. So now I’m kind of like, “Hmmm, what else can I do?” It’s a nice feeling.

People ask a lot of me. I answer to a lot of demands all day every day. At work, in volunteering, at school. I have a lot of bosses. It’s exhausting. I don’t think these things tap into any natural talents or take me anywhere near my mental limit, and they’re certainly not physically demanding. But I’m asked to do things and I do them. I assume this is the same for most people. Just going through the motions.

But every once in a while, I want to feel like I’m working towards my full potential, like I’m really alive. And that has absolutely nothing to do with sitting at a desk, let me tell you what…

Right??

So sometimes I want to use myself for myself. And that’s what all this physical activity is about. I just like the feeling of being completely used up, of doing something I want to do, of doing something challenging. I like asking my body to give me all its got and then taking that for all it’s worth. This body’s not gonna move like this forever, you know? Use it now.

Yeah.

So yes, yesterday I was sitting at the laundromat with 30 minutes to kill on the hot cycle and all of the sudden I was running down the street.

Boooring.

Beauuuutiful.

I think I must’ve done about a 3-mile loop. It was 65 degrees and sunny. It was awesome. I used to run all the time. I’d go out and crush 10-mile runs just for the hell of it. I never trained for an actual race. But I did so compulsively and without proper form, warmups or cool downs. I paid the price in the form of a right knee that now craps out around three miles (I felt fine yesterday). But I’m happy with just three miles now. Plus, that running injury led me to yoga, which has turned out to be a life-altering journey.

The point of this rant, I suppose, is that we’re more capable than we realize. That only we can push ourselves to our limit. That, perhaps, everything does happen for a reason. And that dark chocolate-covered almonds are the jam.

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Whatever, Science

In School on February 15, 2012 at 8:40 am

Smoothie? Microbial growth on an agar plate?

I am not a “science person.” I do words, not numbers. In college I was required to take two sciences to graduate. You know what I took? My senior year? Oceanography and avian biology. Yes. The study of the ocean spoke to my childhood dream of being a marine biologist (was this not every single girl’s dream from age six to approximately 15?) and I assumed avian bio would be little more than bird watching.

Turns out oceanography is all weather patterns and currents and erosion and shit and not a single mention of killer whales. Avian biology requires a pigeon dissection. Dear God. I also had to memorize 20 bird calls, which I played incessantly in my dorm, driving my hallmates to the edge of insanity. (I do have to throw in that I did get to capture, hold and release a wild cardinal in an avian bio lab and it was really, really cool.)

It would’ve been convenient if I’d taken, oh I don’t know, microbiology… chemistry… something I’m having to take now because I didn’t take it then. Hindsight is always 20/20, isn’t it? I mean, how was I to know I’d completely change my mind and drag my poor one-sided right brain through the act of “mastering” a science?

Microbiology blows is what I’m saying. The cruelest joke of this whole science thing? Lecture and lab. Gross. Who does that? I do not need five hours of this garbage twice a week. And I certainly don’t need back-to-back tests (one for lecture, one for lab) for which I do not study until an hour before they are to be taken.

Ew.

Anyway. I’m studying for my micro lab exam and my smoothie looks like a bacterial growth. That is all.

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The Valentines You Forgot

In Life, Yoga on February 14, 2012 at 11:23 pm

You love love.

Hello, single people. Feeling sorry for yourself? Drinking wine with your cats? Checking your phone twelve billion times to see if maybe someone wants to do something with your lame ass? Well. While you were busy wallowing in self pity, drowning your sorrows in chocolate and alcohol, and posting sarcastic-but-man-I-so-feel-this-way status updates about the injustice that is “Single Awareness Day” (I abhor this reference), here are a few people you may have forgotten…

Your Parents – Hellooo. These humans made you (or adopted you). Maybe it was an accident, maybe not. But I bet they love you anyway. I bet they love you and your expensive education and your affinity for the F-bomb and your complete inability to pick up the phone and call unless something has gone terribly, terribly wrong (or you need money). They loved you through poop and pee and vomit and all kinds of bodily functions. They loved you through temper tantrums at two (and twenty-two). They loved you through heartbreaks when you were sure no one loved you at all. They love you when you make them proud, of course, and even more when you don’t. And you know what, they love you because of these things, not in spite of them.

Your Pets – I know. I know. Cat lady alert. But seriously. Have you ever seen a human as happy to see you as your pet is when you get home from a long day? Probably not. Because humans have a tendency to love with expectation. Animals, not so much. Animals just love you because you exist. (And maybe because you feed them.)

Your Best Friend – Aside from a “You’re awesome!” card, this is the only Valentine I got today and it’s absolutely one of the best I’ve ever read: Happy Valentine’s Day to My Best Friend. Read it. Do it now.

Hearts You Broke – I get that you’re feeling sorry for yourself today and that, helloooooo, this day is all about you because some jerkface broke your heart but… Don’t you realize someone is thinking the same thing about you? Someone, somewhere probably wants to be with you right now. Maybe it’s someone you broke up with. Maybe it’s someone you politely shot down. Maybe it’s someone completely off your radar at work or your friend-who’s-a-boy-not-a-boyfriend. But rest assured you are not the only one wishing you were with someone right now, which leads me to believe someone is probably obsessing over you, too.

People in Shitty Relationships – I realize Facebook is drowning in washed out images of roses delivered to workplaces and candlelit dinners for two and, yes, engagement rings but… These are just the vocal ones. I promise.

Tonight I went to a beautiful guided meditation which focused on the heart. The teacher walked us through this process of identifying someone in our life who’s hurting, visualizing ourselves (invisible) walking up to them, seeing their hurt (physical, emotional or otherwise) as a tangible thing (this little black dot), actively inhaling it into our bodies and walking away, watching them release into joy as the pain burst into white smoke inside us. Crazy, right? Don’t worry, I totally tripped out a little bit.

But I thought it was brilliant. How refreshing to focus our love on someone we probably would’ve skipped over today while we were busy instead worrying about ourselves.

Give a little love today. And every day. Let your love throw spark. Sooner or later it’ll ignite.

Let My Love Throw Spark

In Life on February 14, 2012 at 10:30 pm

The pants pajamas.

Hello, lovers. I hope you had a beautiful Valentine’s Day. It’s one of my favorites. Who doesn’t love candy and heartfelt cards and, hello, love? I know I do.

My day went a little something like this:

Oversleep. Get dressed in 10 minutes. The standard uniform will do…

Boots. Leggings. Too big clothes.

Shove PB+honey sandwich in face while driving to work. Play filthy rap music for motivation. Work like a MF boss.

Break for the gym. I lift weights now? Eat this salad:

Spinach, rice, refried beans, tempeh, salsa, peppers, celery

More rap music. Take care of biznass.

Yoga forever. Meditation. Ashtanga.

Oh hey.

Wanna see my new weightlifting guns? Ok…

Yeah?

Right? I think so, yes. They are there. Anyway…

Buy gifts for special Valentine lovers.

Yep.

Study microbiology. Study it so hard.

Eat conversation hearts like they’re going out of style…

It was a good day, a really good day.

And that is that.

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I’m a Fast Shopper

In Life on February 13, 2012 at 12:15 am

Toasted. PB, applesauce, jelly, cinnamon.

I got hit on in the grocery store for the first time today. By a man named Herb who, by all stereotypical bitch-tastic assumption, was very very Herb-like.

“You’re a very fast shopper” was his line. This is a line, right? Forgive me if I’m a little slow to roll with the produce aisle pickup lines. Men simply do not talk to me. Anywhere. It’s always a little alarming.

And I am a fast shopper. I’m a fast everything. In and out. (Ok, not everything.) Bada bing, bada boom. Homegirl’s got places to be. Food to eat.

Anyway, poor Herb had to blurt out “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE” for me to stop darting back and forth from chickpeas to peanut butter thinking “Where the hell are the pickles? Pickles pickles pickles. Who has moved my pickles? God DAMN why can’t they leave things in the same plaaaaaaace? Who is this man following me?”

It occurs to me in retrospect that perhaps it’s not so much that men don’t talk to me but… (ack) that maybe I just don’t notice? Oh God. Because if it’s not a grocery list I’m reciting in my head, it’s some kind of life plan to conquer or to-do list to, uh, do or series to memorize that distracts me from noticing that someone’s been standing there the whole.damn.time. Whew. My mom has always said, “It will take an assertive man, a very assertive man to get this one to listen.” An assertive man with kittens, more like it.

Anyway, if you are moved by this encounter, I regret to inform you that Herb and I are not meant to be and that I lost him somewhere around the balsamic vinegar. I’m sure he’s a great guy, but, as he noted, I’m a very fast shopper. You’ve gotta keep pace.

I Made Pretzels.

In Baked Goods on February 12, 2012 at 2:22 pm

SOFT PRETZEL SOFT PRETZEL SOFT PRETZEL

Of all the things I should’ve been doing today–writing microbiology lab reports, studying sanskrit, cleaning up puppy hair, apologizing to the cats–the things I actually did would have fallen somewhere around UNNECESSARY on the “Get it, Girl – Get it Together, Girl” scale, should such a scale exist (and shouldn’t it?).

No, baking cookies and making soft pretzels were not really on the agenda today. But you know what?

WHATEVER.

I consider the successful execution of Alton Brown’s soft pretzels* to be my crowning culinary achievement, an accomplishment that, no matter how escapist/procrastinatory it may have been, is something for which I simply will not apologize. I consider the dipping of said pretzels into melted butter to be a basic human right, not a privilege, and a right that should be exercised. (Oh, and it was. It was.)

RISEN.

A skill I did not know I possessed.

Oh heeeeeey.

This little adventure took me hours… hours. I was sweating. Granted, during that time I also drank two cups of coffee, made three dozen banana cookies and juggled two cats and a puppy but… you know. (I washed my hands a lot.)

Anyway, any recipe involving yeast activation is an automatic NEVER MAKE in my book. I hate yeast. Yeast and I are not friends. Even with a thermometer I can never get the water just the right temperature. It’s either too cold and nothing happens or it’s too hot and I kill all the yeast (and nothing happens). Maddening.

BUT Mitch has been ranting on about soft pretzels for a solid week and with a couple “free” hours on hand, I just had to throw caution (or fear of yeast) to the wind and give it a try. And you know what? MF SUCCESS.

Victory is mine.

I wonder what other things I should tackle today that I’ve been avoiding for fear of failure… Nevermind. Let’s stick to baked goods. For now, just pass the butter.

* I altered Alton’s recipe ever so slightly. Instead of an egg white wash before baking, I simply spritzed with olive oil and sprinkled with salt. Which means… yes, my version is vegan.

Cheap, Effective Birth Control

In What's for Lunch? on February 11, 2012 at 2:31 pm

Bigass salad.

There’s one cat on top of the fridge. Crying. A puppy on the ground. Also crying. Another cat somewhere nearby just hissing for the hell of it. Welcome to my 4×6-foot kitchen. I just want lunch. Please, God. Lunch.

I’m looking at new mothers with a whole new level of respect over here. I bet you love me comparing your baby to a puppy, don’t you? Love me over dramatizing my 72-hour experience with a small animal. Love that I will trivialize the immensity of motherhood by comparing it to one weekend with a black lab. Throw me a bone (dog joke!) it’s all I’ve got to work with.

So yes. With this puppy, I am humbled.

You know the only thing that has shut him up and calmed him down in the last two days? Celery. Correct, celery.

When it rolled off the cutting board, perhaps he confused it for an animal part of some sort. But I assume it was really the novelty of seeing a vegetable for the first time (my brother does not consume produce). Whatever the reason, it kept him pleasantly distracted just long enough for me to craft a towering salad masterpiece and shove it in my face.

Yeah, boy.

You know what I want to do today? I want to bake a billion things. I want to get a pedicure. I want to memorize a whole lot of sanskrit. I want to go to three yoga classes. I want to ride my bike. I want to clean my house. I want to do my laundry. Instead? I am feeling trapped (quite literally caged) in my little apartment.

This is the most effective birth control I have taken in my life and the surest way to remind one as dead set on rushing towards stability as myself that maybe, just maybe a little free-wheeling, spontaneous, irresponsible, selfish time in my mid-twenties is a right fine place to be.

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Caturday 2/11/12

In Cats on February 11, 2012 at 1:03 pm

... is he still here?

Happy Caturday?

I’m not sure. The cats are not very pleased with this whole puppy situation. I can’t say I’m dancing through the day either. This little nugget is too damn much. No one told me puppies are only cute to look at from afar.

I will eat your soul.

On night one, I slept approximately zero hours and took him out into the frosted grass to have explosive diarrhea multiple times. I’m talking, like, projectile fire hose kind of business. Had I been standing three feet down wind of him, I would’ve been hit. You’re welcome for that description.

2 o'clock in the damn morning.

As a result of sleeping zero hours through the night, I eventually must have fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning because I slept through three alarms, a Google calendar reminder and a text from a coworker informing me I was an hour and a half late. VERY GOOD.

My brother asked only one thing of me and this was to not let the dog on the bed. That is going well so far…

SHMEEEEEEEEEEE

Whatever. I caved. On night two I simply could not handle his constant crying so I just put him in my bed. (That’s what she said?) Those five hours of uninterrupted sleep were the only five hours I have liked him so far. What a little angel when he’s not biting me or crying or projectile pooping.

I woke up to find Ralph AND Weaz in a state of total Paranormal Activity just hovering over the bed staring at us.

CUH-REEEEEEE-PYYYYY

The cats have spent the weekend puffed up to three times their normal size making strange guttural noises and ninja swiping Scout any time he walks by the couch.

Needless to say, this house is a royal shitshow. I am grateful for this experience only because it has shown me that I want absolutely nothing to do with a puppy or a baby for a very, very long time.

Of course, as I say this the little nug has finally passed out on my bed like a little angel. I am not fooled. But I will go rub my face on his ears for a little bit.

Baby.

Stop. Puppytime.

In Breakfast, Life on February 9, 2012 at 11:06 am

Toast, PB, blueberries, figs, honey, cinnamon

Thursday mornings are my sacred space. My holiest of holies. It’s the day of the week I don’t have to get up and rush anywhere. The day of the week I get to sit around in my underwear sipping on coffee and doing handstands. The day I don’t have to eat three meals away from home.

Today I slept until 9am because I was up until well after 1am driving around aimlessly. I ended up at the airport. What does that mean? (Everything.) My new three-cups-a-day coffee habit is killing me softly. That and, uh, everything in my brain.

Happy time.

Oh, and this week only… Thursday happens to be the day of the week I get Scout EEEEEEEEEE…

EEEEEE

This is my brother’s puppy and the closest thing my family has to a nephew/grandson at the moment so we like to make a very big deal about him.

We’re going to go to the dog park. And the dog bakery (where they bake dog treats, not dogs). And the dog bar. Actually, he’ll get carded at the dog bar. Puppies have to be a year old to get in. We’ll find him a fake…

And I’m gonna use him as a man magnet. And let him sleep in my bed (the dog, not the men). And ruin all the diligent training my brother has worked into his little peabrain.

[Speaking of peas... DID YOU KNOW that only two amino acids out of 102 differ in the DNA of a pea versus a cow? Cool.]

Mmmmmhmm.

Borrowing other people’s dogs is the best way to have a dog. Same goes for babies. Does anyone have a baby I can borrow? Are there baby bars? No? Nevermind.

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Fact.

In Life on February 9, 2012 at 2:17 am

OBVIOUSLY.

Every well-stocked kitchen contains a freezer filled with frozen balls of cookie dough.

Ordering a double in a short glass gets you twice as drunk in half the time.

You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body. (C.S. Lewis)

He/She has no idea what you’re thinking. Say it loud.

Your employer considers you to be 100% disposable and replaceable. Use this to your advantage.

Sometimes movies are better alone (but with wine).

One, please?

You actually do know exactly what you want. Somewhere beneath the roar of everyone else’s opinions and your own self doubt, it’s there.

Grownups don’t get nap time because we get 3 o’clock coffee.

Your hard drive will crash one day. Don’t act like it won’t.

That breaking news story, adorable baby animal video or ANYTHING from The Oatmeal you’re planning to post all over Facebook and Twitter? We’ve all seen it already.

The answer to “Should I forward this?” is always no.

iPods are, in fact, better than the radio. (I’m about a decade late.)

Welcome to the future?

Cats eat cheese. And love it.

You’re the only one who thinks you can’t.

When you don’t want to go to bed, driving aimlessly is a suitable alternative. Sobbing uncontrollably is optional.

That moment in a wedding when the bride makes her grand entrance? Stop. Turn around. Watch the groom. It’s better.

That kitchen/bathroom/sink o’ dishes is not going to clean itself.

Your parents totally love you.

Your email will still be there tomorrow.

Sleep is overrated.

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Refresh Refresh Refresh

In Life on February 8, 2012 at 9:47 am

Frozen banana, spinach, almond milk, cocoa powder, PB, flax

This week I took Facebook, Twitter and email off of my phone. It is the best damn decision I’ve made since I chose to keep the cats back in… 2008?

I know I’ve tried to abandon these social outlets in the past with little success and that this time may be no different. But I’m serious now. I am addicted to this mess. No joke. I don’t think people hear me when I talk about how desperately I want them out of my life. This is probably because they don’t realize how much they consume me. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. What else is going on? What are people complaining about today? What words do I want to vomit right now? It’s exhausting. Not having access to any of it until I’m sitting down at my computer has made me feel so… free? Yeah, that’s sad. It’s true, though. This, I believe, this lack of refresh-refresh-refresh… is actually refreshing.

I’ve been playing with the idea of giving up all of it (except the blog) for a while just as a little social experiment to see how it affects my life. To see who still makes an effort to communicate with me. To see who I go out of my way to see. There was once a time when we all got along just fine without any of this. A time when we made plans and kept them. Instead of texting, “Hey! I’m too tired/busy/disinterested in you… can’t make it!” we just went. Instead of Facebooking, “Let’s have a coffee date soooooon” we just got coffee. Instead of tweeting condolences, congratulations or constructive criticism, we spoke it. It’s a strange, strange world, y’all.

I’ve been doing a lot of research (seriously, I have a folder dedicated to it) on social media and addiction, the psychology of social media and negative/positive effects of increased social media use around the world (car crashes due to phone use vs. political revolutions). It’s all very interesting.

I think, ultimately, there’s a way to use these outlets in a healthy, productive way that really does leave you feeling closer to more people, but, if used incorrectly, results in more isolation than anything.

“The most strongly felt desires were for sleep and sex. Unexpectedly, cravings for cigarettes and alcohol were reported as weakest. In terms of actual behavior, participants had the hardest time stopping themselves from checking social media when they preferred not to, and from working when that was not what they truly wanted to do, suggesting that these urges actually drove people’s actions more than drugs or sex did.” (Source)

I’m gonna go post this on Facebook and Twitter now…

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PCRM’s Anti-Cheese Billboard Campaign

No One Told Us We Couldn’t

In Life, Yoga on February 7, 2012 at 9:56 pm

I promise I will tell you the recipe soon.

Hello, meatmuffins.

I have become one of those people who looks forward to 3pm because she looks forward to MORE COFFEE. This means I have also become one of those people who takes herself to a 9:30 movie with contraband candy (and wine) on a Tuesday because she is wiiiiiired from her newly acquired afternoon coffee habit.

Since I’m skipping yoga to go to a movie, I’ve been coaxing my buzzing little caffeinated body into some inversions in my room. I just like to be upside down. The problem with this, of course, is that inversions make you feel AWAKE.

You're doing it wrong.

I’m doing it wrong. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it. Today is actually the first time I’ve ever attempted this little one-handed deal. Slowly, slowly…

I know there’s a whole lot of attention on yoga in the media right now since William Broad’s NYT article How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body was published earlier this month. (He also has a book.) Today Broad was on NPR’s Fresh Air discussing the Risks and Rewards of Yoga. (I haven’t gotten to listen to it all yet.) And I’m not going to address any of it until I have, like, four straight hours to write. Until then, I will go in the complete opposite direction and share something my teacher mentioned in training last time…

He was talking about how “advanced” Charlotte is as a yoga community. How, in general, the city is full of practitioners who simply don’t take no for an answer. Now, yoga is, of course, not a competition. It’s not about mastering poses. It’s not really about the poses at all. Still, there’s no denying that people can do some pretty cool shit after practicing for a while. So we were talking about that… In doing so we cited people we know who have been told by someone at some point that they’re too fat to do yoga or too tight to do yoga or too old to do yoga. “I don’t know what it is about Charlotte,” he said, “but here, no one told us we couldn’t. So we just did.”

I love that. I love it so much. Yes, be careful. Yes, get to know your body and listen to it. Listen well. But take risks, too. Try the scary stuff. Odds are the only person telling you you can’t is you. (I’m talking about life, too. Duh.)

NOW. While I’m on a date with myself, I got you guys some reading material to keep you entertained…

Seriously?

Leftover Superbowl Snacks Feed the Hungry

Not in the trash.

Coolest Food Video Ever

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Tough Decisions

In Life, School on February 7, 2012 at 9:04 am

Tofu scramble w/peppers, broccoli, salad

Here’s the situation.

I am over a month into this semester and just realized last week that I am enrolled in one class that I only went to the very first two weeks. (It meets twice a week.) I forgot! Anyway, this translates to approximately six classes I missed. I think. At any rate, when I figured it out last week and decided to finally go, I got there and class was cancelled. When I got in today, we took our first test.

When I tell people this story, they react in pure unbridled horror and tell me this is their nightmare. (I’m glad my reality is the rest of the world’s nightmare. Good feeling.) Me? I’m not so worried about it. Let me put it this way… On one of the days I actually went to class, we watched a video tutorial on how to use Microsoft Word. This is a graduate level course. You see what I’m saying here?

Plus, I picked the desk with THIS on it upon which to take my test today:

Because it's lucky.

In fact, I took not one but two tests atop that rabbitman today and am happy to report that both were just fine.

You’d think, though, that leading up to this little adventure I might have studied a little bit for the test in the class I don’t go to but… no. Nope. In fact, I had 30 minutes right before the test and presented myself with the option of sitting and reading through the lecture notes or hoofing it across campus to get coffee. You know what I decided?

Duh.

Tough decisions, y’all. Tough decisions.

I also had the choice of gym or yoga.

Both.

Cleaning out my itunes or filing my taxes… Sadly, I did my taxes.

It’s such a hard life.

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Steady as the Stars

In Life on February 6, 2012 at 11:29 pm

It must be February...

I said it first. I suppose it stands to reason I’d be the last one hanging on.

I love you. Not like how I love my friends or how I love my family or how I love the cats. I love you like I’ve always loved you. Like I will always love you.

That’s what I’d have said, I guess, if I’d gotten in the car last night and driven to another state just to look at him looking at me knowing what I feel and seeing what he doesn’t.

But I didn’t. And I won’t.

It’s a funny thing, falling out of love. At first it’s all-consuming, paralyzing. Eats you up until you’re but a shell of yourself. After a while it fades, starts to fall away until one day you wake up and realize you haven’t cried. You haven’t cried in a long time. You’re not fine; you’re better. You’re back.

And then suddenly you’re in bed early on a Sunday night right back where you were six months ago. How does that happen?

Hell if I know. I’m making this up as I go along, you realize…

Through it all, people are there cheering you on, telling you to be strong. To move on. Everyone has an opinion.

Fair enough. I’d argue, however, that there is immense strength in holding on, too. It takes a fierce heart to love without expectation, to love unapologetically without being loved back. It’s easy to be loved. But I like to think that the crushing weight of unrequited love works our heart the same way weight on any muscle does. It makes it stronger.

So eventually you’re faced with a choice, right? Be strong and move on or be strong and hold on. To love or be loved. And there’s a very good chance neither choice is right or wrong. Some things just are.

Tonight on my way to yoga I was trying to sort through it all in a very pragmatic way. Why do I feel this way? What triggered it? What am I masking with it? What’s really going on here? Am I in love? Probably not. I’m probably just approaching another milestone and realizing it’s the first time in a long time I’m doing it by myself. Confused? Absolutely. Lonely? Ding ding ding.

Back at yoga, my teacher said something at the end of class that resonated so clearly: “It’s ok if you’re feeling confused. Confusion is the first step to clarity.”

Ain’t that the truth…

This is not a sad post.

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Meat Muffins

In What's for Lunch? on February 6, 2012 at 8:14 am

Meat-free meat muffins (made with tempeh)

I keep seeing these meat muffins all over the food blog world and since I like saying meat muffin so much (and because I had a momentary lapse in sanity and decided maybe I’d start working out and following a ridiculous plan to do so), I decided to make them. Without meat.

To make meat muffins meat-free, you simply follow the recipe exactly but use two packages of tempeh (which you crumble by hand) instead of two pounds of turkey. Badabing.

Badaboom.

I topped them with a Greek yogurt + salsa sauce. Pretty enjoyable.

I think I’ve concluded that, while I am going to start weight training, I simply can’t get behind a rigid food plan. It goes against everything I know/believe/love about food.

And that’s that.

As for the meat muffins, yeah I’ll totally eat them. But I’ll also totally eat falafel and croissants and cupcakes. You know how we do.

Saturday in Summary

In Life on February 5, 2012 at 10:16 am

Ezekial bread, PB, blueberries, honey, cinnamon

Things that happened yesterday:

I went to yoga and felt like a damn machine.
I completed my first observation class for teacher training (we do 5 hours observation, 10 hours assisting).
I did 72 pushups. (Not in succession. 3×12 wide, 3×12 narrow.)
I went to the gym but I forgot my ID and they wouldn’t let me in.
I went to Starbucks instead.
I drank three coffees.
Apparently I am going to start weight training. Whenever someone will let me in a gym.
I made meat muffins but with no meat.
I made sweet potato bars.
I was on puppy duty while my brother was gone for the day.
The puppy pooped in the neighbor’s yard.
I “forgot” to pick it up.
I created an elaborate movie trailer daydream of my graduation in August in which I was the speaker and all my friends and family were there and I cried just thinking about it.
I don’t think I will actually go to the official graduation when the time comes.
I thought trailer was spelled with an O. Oh God.
I also can’t spell license. Ever.
These are my only two character flaws…
I quit (one of) my job(s).
It feels good.
I worked until 10pm.
I rallied like a frigging rockstar and went out with Mitch and her friends.
“Does anyone ever tell you you look like a white Rihanna?” No. But that is awesome.
I ate an omelet at 2am.

Viva la Weaz.

Weaz bitchslapped Mitch.

The face of a rogue pooper.

That pretty much sums it up.

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Caturday 2/4/12

In Cats on February 4, 2012 at 1:16 pm

Oh, bother.

… and a very happy and productive Caturday to you, too.

Weazcheese is all mopey because it’s raining on her day off. Why… why does life have to be so hard?

I tried to invite her to a movie (she’s been dying to see Beauty and the Beast 3D), tried to let her help me bake (she’s been working on her yeast activating skills) and tried to suggest she just take advantage of the weather by taking a nap. But nothing’s working.

Ralph isn’t helping.

It's raining because God hates you.

But I think I know just the thing to snap her out of it…

Butter. Duh.

I’ve still never actually been to Butter, but I do like to pretend that it is Weaz’s favorite place on earth. She so loves getting slutted up and pretending to be more important than she is.

"Yes," she declared. "I shall rally."

And with that, we’re off to get our hair did.

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Happy? Happy.

In Life on February 4, 2012 at 1:35 am

This is not a croissant.

Listen. I never did get that croissant that I haven’t been able to shut up about. Soon… soon.

I was going to go pick one up at Amelie’s after a lovely little afternoon at Latta Plantation.

Oliverrr

Cool.

I should get a dog. (No.)

I was going to bring it home, cut it in half, toast it and then stack it with avocado and tomato and salt and pepper and rainbows and unicorns and singing angels. I was going to sit by myself on a Friday night and drink white wine and eat my croissant.

Instead, I made a massive salad and studied microbiology. (And drank white wine.) I just kind of felt like the croissant was more of a lunch of meal. Tomorrow!

ANYWAY. I had a good day. Hell, I’ve had a good week. I’m in a good place. Driving home this evening, Charlotte’s skyline all ablaze in pink and orange, I had this very clear moment of: “Holy shit. I’m happy. I’m happy? I’m happy.”

I feel like myself again, which is such a damn good way to feel.

The funny thing is, nothing has really changed. Not for the better, anyway. In fact, I could dive into a woe-is-me rant right this very second about how, really, nothing is going the way I want it to. But I won’t because I actually feel very in control right now. I feel very in control of what’s going on inside of me. And so long as I maintain that control, my little world is whatever I want it to be.

Frozen banana, carob powder, PB - processed smooth

“There must be always remaining in every life some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.” – Howard Thurman

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The “I Hate Eggs” Omelet

In Breakfast on February 2, 2012 at 4:53 pm

I only hate you a little bit.

Omelets are funny little creatures, are they not? They are a favorite among meat-lovers and vegetarians, hungover 20-somethings and holier-than-thou churchgoers, rich people, poor people and everyone in between. They transcend socioeconomic status, taste preference, culture and just about any other divide you can think of. Everyone eats omelets. (Yep, even vegans.)

I feel like there are three situations in which you could find yourself eating an omelet:

You are broke and don’t know how to cook. Omelets are dirt cheap, filling and easy enough for even the least skilled cook to prepare. If you fall into this category, you probably eat omelets, like, three times a day.
You are uppity and/or hungover and enjoy “brunching.” Whether you find yourself eating the first meal of your Sunday at 2pm because you just got out of church or because you just woke up with a penis drawn on your face and a raging headache, odds are you are going to order an omelet. The difference between you and the people in Group #1 is that you are going to pay a billion dollars for your omelet. Enjoy it.
You spent the night in a bed that was not yours. Since the night was completely unplanned (kind of like your impending pregnancy–zing!), there was no time for your “host” to purchase breakfast items. If you are not asked to leave (awwwkwarrrrd), you will be offered an omelet filled with whatever is in the fridge that is not moldy. Graciously accept it.

Up until approximately 24 hours ago, I hated omelets. I simply cannot eat eggs. They make me gag. I have found, however, that if I simply cook the living shit out of them, they are tolerable–nay, enjoyable.

This is how I do it:

Select stuffers. Here: kale, peppers, tempeh.

Saute stuffers in olive oil until tender. Season w/ salt/pepper.

Add eggs. Cook until burned to a crisp. Seriously... BROWN.

Fold. Fold. Serve.

I know this is not how you really make an omelet. This is how someone who hates eggs makes an omelet. Let me live my life and I’ll let you eat runny, mushy eggs.

Like a MF Adult.

In Life on February 2, 2012 at 4:23 pm

Smoothie bowl and instant coffee.

I don’t know what happened this morning. I woke up three hours late (yes, three) and didn’t even miss a beat. Granted, my first alarm goes off at 5am so even three hours doesn’t put me back that far. Nevertheless, I got up, showered, made a smoothie bowl and sipped on instant coffee because we ran out of K-cups and apparently refuse to buy more.

I didn’t plan to get my act together today but something deep inside my subconscious said, “Fix it. Fix it all right now.” So before I even knew what was happening, I was driving to the damn DMV. I stopped at Best Buy to return a thing I don’t need (and receive money I do), deposited checks at the bank, paid my electric bill and finally (finally) got the District of Columbia off my back by forking over the $65 they demand for parking in the wrong place (how was I supposed to know?) and not paying the fine for six months. Whoops. I got all my paperwork in order for filing my taxes and I figured out what to do about my impending end of health insurance coverage.

Basically, I was on my A game. It was all very this.

YEAH.

All of these little to-do’s have been hanging over my head for months and months and months, and the longer I let them go, the heavier they weighed on me. Part of it is the fact that the ignoring of such responsibilities has consequences, but I think more of it was just knowing that I know better and not doing a damn thing about it. Who is that person? I don’t even know…

So I’ve been avoiding these things (because this is what I do with everything that overwhelms me) and in doing so let them become exponentially bigger than they really are. For example, I went to the DMV with $200 cash, certain I’d owe at least that much in late fees, which is why I’d been putting it off for so long anyway. (It was $10.)

Now, with all this out of my way, I feel like I can breathe, focus my energy elsewhere and move the F on to bigger and better things.

Uncharacteristic.

In What's for Lunch? on February 2, 2012 at 12:09 am

WHAT IS THAT AN OMELET?

Weird. Today was weird.

First of all, I woke up in the middle of the night because I was having one of those dreams where you think you have to pee and it turns out you really do have to pee and, if left to carry on subconsciously, your mind will make you wet the bed. I was also dreaming about hot dogs. (I did not wet the bed.)

I don’t know the last time I woke up in the middle of the night. You know why I did?

Because of the second uncharacteristic thing I’ve been doing lately: drinking water.

The worst thing about drinking water is that it makes you have to pee constantly. Physiologically, this is also probably one of the best things about water, among so many others. I’ll deal with it.

Later on in this weird waking-up-water-drinking day, I skipped lunch. This is really unheard of in my life but I was busy at work and then went straight to class and straight to lab and my soup and salad and veggie sticks with hummus were just not portable enough. Plus, I was messin’ around with e. coli in the lab and just don’t like touching food immediately after that.

SO at 4pm I came home and did another strange thing: ate eggs.

I hate eggs. I hate them so much. The only way I can eat them is white-only and burned to a crisp. Even then it’s a little touch and go.

Yep. Still eggs.

I stuffed my omelet with tempeh and tri-color peppers and ate it with roasted broccoli and buttered toast. I’m happy to report I did not hate it.

Also a little unlike me… I started studying today for a test that isn’t until Monday. WHO AM I?

I wish I could say it was also uncharacteristic that I realized today that I’m enrolled in a class that I have forgotten to attend twice a week for the last two weeks. Unfortunately, this is pretty much par for the course these days. I have a test on Monday. It’ll be fine.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention… Sweet Tater is on Facebook now.

TAH DAH.

Yes yes… Ralph and Weaz are on it, too.

Now I’m going to go to bed before midnight on a Wednesday. WHAT IS GOING ON?

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