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:

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

Completely unrelated cookie picture.

I have this very vivid childhood memory that I think sums up my entire being.

(Are you ready for this?)

We were at Farm & Fleet. Anyone who grew up in the Midwest understands this to be the kind of store that sells tractors and overalls and coon traps and tacky little knick knacks to distract the ladies while their husbands shop for deer-gutting knives. You could also probably find a sweatshirt with a “Hang in there” dangling kitten screen printed on the front if you looked hard enough. There is usually a hotdog stand out front on Saturdays. In the months leading up to Christmas they section off a significant chunk of the store with mysterious hanging tarps. Every kid in town knows that behind the hanging tarps is the most magical place on Earth (to hell with Disney World), the Alpha and the Omega, the Holiest of Holies… Behind the hanging tarps lies Toyland. Row after row of toys, glorious toys. Toys on the floor. Toys on shelves up to the ceiling. Toys as far as a three-foot eye can see.

Wouldn’t you know it, I didn’t care so much about toys, oh no. For along with Toyland came the Christmas decor display. A veritable fake tree forest sprouting up in the middle of the store, each plastic bough bending under the weight of hundreds and hundreds of ornaments. An awkward kid’s dream land.

Now. What you need to understand here is that I had this very peculiar childhood habit of attaching human emotions to inanimate objects. I’m not just talking dolls and stuffed animals and things that normal kids bring to life. I’m talking pillows and napkins and, like, wood chips. To me, everything had a story and everything had feelings and I was not about to go hurting anything’s feelings. I had to make sure that pillows didn’t fall off the bed at night, lest they feel rejected. That dirty used napkins be balled up with other dirty used napkins before reaching the trash, lest they end up in the dump scared and alone. Are you following this?

So anyway, we’re at Farm & Fleet at Christmastime. My brother and sister are in Toyland like normal children and I’m in the tree display like a lunatic. I circle the displays in search of the perfect ornament. Not perfect like the prettiest or the biggest or the coolest. Perfect like the weirdest, the straggler, the loner. The one that needed a home.

I set my sights on a simple wooden reindeer. No glitter or sequins or lights or anything. Just this one little wooden reindeer. The only little wooden reindeer, it appeared. I wanted the little wooden reindeer because the little wooden reindeer needed me.

I walked around with the damn reindeer for what felt like hours fretting over whether or not it would be mine come checkout time. I paced up and down the aisles. Set the reindeer down. Walked away like I didn’t want it anymore. Picked it back up. Put it back down, didn’t need it. Sidled back over, hid it behind other ornaments. Scooped it back up. Slipped it under tree skirts. Eventually put it back in its place and walked out with my family with not a word spoken of its existence.

That night I lay sobbing (I’m not kidding you, sobbing) in my bed. I cannot even imagine what my mom must’ve thought when she came to tuck me in and found me in such a state. Eventually, with much coaxing, through streaming tears and snotty sniffles, I managed to speak English. “I… w-w-w-wanted… the… reindeer… REINDEER ORNAMENTWAAAAAAHHHH.”

Oh, to have a photo of my mom’s face at that very moment. There was no possible way for her to have any idea what I was talking about. I envision shock, confusion, amusement and mild irritation.

“Tater. What ornament? What reindeer ornament?”

“THE REINDEER ORNAMENT AT FARM & FLEET THAT I FOUND AND I CARRIED AND I WANTED ITWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH.”

“Well we’ll go get it tomorrow.”

“BUT IT WILL BE GONE OHHHHH GODDDDDD.”

“Well Tater, we didn’t know you wanted the ornament,” said Mom in that tone moms use when they know their child is being ridiculous but they know they’d also strangle a lion with their bare hands to protect that ridiculous child. “There was no way for us to know that. Why didn’t you just tell someone what you wanted?”

[Silence.] “I thought you’d say no.”

I never did get the little wooden reindeer ornament. I imagine I had forgotten about it the next day when some other helpless inanimate object needing my love and affection came along. Golf balls aren’t gonna tend to themselves, you know.

The point of this story is that I still do this. I always do this. I’m 26 years old and I’m still crying over little wooden reindeer. Only now things have gotten a little bigger and a lot less tangible than something so simple and innocent as a little wooden reindeer. But the story is still the same. I see something I want. I attach myself immediately. I fret over it. I hide it and disguise it and sneak it and convince myself I don’t want it or need it or deserve it. I keep it a secret because sharing it–because asking for it–opens the door for someone to tell me no.

And that, my friends, is the root of all my problems ever in existence. The end.

Two hours in, she refuels.

OK.

I’ve been up cleaning my house for four-and-a-half hours. It is 9:30am. You do the math.

Yes it is my day off and yes I would like to do one billion other things, but sometimes a girl just needs a clean house, you know? So this is happening…

AH!

My house is actually never really dirty or disorganized (that’s not true… CAT HAIR) but every once in a while I feel like it is so I go completely batshit crazy and start moving things to different drawers and throwing things away and convincing myself I will lead a far more productive life as a result. It’s a little bit OCD, little bit PMS. In the end, it pretty much just looks exactly the same as it did when I started, except that I can’t find some of the things I moved.

In my morning adventure, I found a roasted chestnut under my dresser, a chaptstick I knew the cats stole months ago and a pearl necklace covered in melted chocolate. Do not even ask. It is currently soaking in a bowl of hot water.

I also assembled a bathroom shelf for our million bottles of shampoo and vowed to never again purchase a piece of furniture that requires assembly. Hold me to that.

What have you been up to today? Feeling comparatively unproductive? Don’t. I’m about to go get a pedicure and shop and spend, like, five hours at the yoga studio. I just happened to get a jump start on the day.

Duh.

Vegetables.

Last night I decided to leave my brother’s house at midnight to trek back home so I wouldn’t have to fight rush hour traffic on my way to work this morning. I considered this an excellent idea until I hit standstill traffic not two exits from his house. I still have no idea what happened but I sat there in park for a good bit plotting out how I could maneuver myself into the fetal position in the driver’s seat when suddenly everything just started moving again.

This is one of countless irrational things I’ve done in the last 72 hours. Watching the news this morning, I was reminded of some of my irrational fears, as well…

• Outer space - I just don’t like that it exists. Black holes and astronaut movies and other planets freak me the fuck out.
• Oceans – Along the same lines as outer space, I just don’t like knowing that I don’t know what’s going on down there. Too big. Too undiscovered. Standing next to the ocean at night is like my perfect nightmare.
• Catnapping – When I question whether or not I remembered to lock my front door, I worry that someone will steal my cats, not that someone will steal my TV or computer or other expensive things.
• Botulism – I heat all of my canned goods even if they don’t need to be heated. And on the off chance that I don’t, I spend the entire day claiming my neck is tightening up, a sure sign I am about to die of botulism.
• Death by earring – When I was little and got my ears pierced, I was convinced the post would puncture my skull if I slept on my side.

AH!

The list goes on and on.

I’m off to work. Take pity on my pant-folding soul this holiday season. Do the retail employees of the world a huge favor and be nice to us. While you’re giving us attitude and destroying our perfectly folded piles and shopping for your families, we wish we could be with ours.

Smoothie bowl w/PB, oats and soymilk creamer

I forgot to make cookies yesterday.

This is a lie. I consciously chose not to make cookies yesterday because I wanted to go out with my friends instead.

Right?

So. School ended. I have “free” time, but really I’m working and freelancing writing and pretty much haven’t really had a day off yet. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to get into the following shenanigans I’ve been since Wednesday:

Dream It, Do It bar crawl

All mine.

Dogsitting

80s cover band at Amos' South End

Mitch defended her thesis on Wednesday (rockstar) so that night we went on a bar crawl to celebrate. I made us matching DREAM IT DO IT tshirts because every day during our semester from hell we’d be running around in a frenzy in the morning and she’d yell on her way out the door, “Katie, if you can dream it, you can do it.” We did it.

That night I also turned in my second piece for Charlotte Magazine and on Thursday I filmed my second segment for A Healthier Charlotte. Dream it, done.

Coming to a food channel near you hopefully one day maybe.

Now I’m late for work again because I am blogging. The Internet will be just fine without me, but I love it so much.

(Speaking of… Do you have the new Facebook timeline yet? It’s awesome.)

Hers and hers coffee and green smoothies

Mitch and I are officially in a committed relationship. Since we live together, work together and enjoy each other’s company when drunk (and drink frequently), we spend an outrageous amount of time together. We decided to go ahead and legitimize it with a Facebook relationship status. It had to happen.

I mean, this is how the weekend has gone…

Friday 9pm: Mitch returns from Florida. We immediately go to the bar to celebrate the Beards BeCAUSE finale… I won MVG (Most Valuable Grower).

And I didn't even grow a beard.

Friday 1am: Swear up and down that we are going to yoga at 7:30 in the morning.

Saturday 8:30am: I stumble into Mitch’s room to announce we’ve missed our class. “Let’s walk to Starbucks!” she exclaims with far too much enthusiasm. Braless but bundled, we wander over to our friendly neighborhood Starbucks.

Saturday 9:45am: Hyped up on caffeine and a cold-weather walk, we dive straight into a living room workout. Yep. Side by side. In pajamas. Doing Physique 57.

Saturday 10:15am: “Oh shit! We have to be at work in 45 minutes!” Commence mad dash to shower, dress, pack lunches and make smoothies.

Saturday 11am: Stroll into work, matching coffees and green smoothies in hand. Promptly ridiculed by coworkers.

Saturday 11am-5pm: Work. Together.

Saturday 5pm: Impromptu trip to Marshalls where we wasted 30 minutes of our lives trying on clothes that we ended up abandoning on a rack where they don’t belong (for shame, we work in retail…) when we saw how long the line was.

Saturday 7pm: Supposed to be studying. Mitch walks into my room, pours two GIANT glasses of wine, declares “Whoops! More in there than I thought…” And then we practice our mirror dancing. She dances. I mimic. Truth.

Saturday 9pm: Head to a neighbor’s housewarming party. Together.

Sunday: Work. Together.

It’s a little ridiculous, really. Good thing we don’t hate each other.

Pecans from Levans Farm

My granddaddy grew up on a farm in west Georgia. Though he spent most of his adult life away–first overseas in the Air Force and later working for Sears in the Tower in Chicago–he always knew he’d come back and build a house on his family’s land. Over time, a lot of the acres were sold, but the spot he’d staked out as a kid remained in the family’s name. So once he’d retired (and after a few years living down the street from us in Illinois) he and grandmother packed up and headed back down to Georgia to build the house they’d always wanted, where they’d always wanted. They were well into their 70s.

We had this kitchen table. I think it dates back to someone like my great-great-great grandfather. It’s the table my dad grew up eating on. It’s the table I grew up eating on. And now it’s at my brother’s house. Covered in pecans he picked off the ground (you guessed it) at Levans Farm.

When my parents were around my age, they bought a black lab. Cowboy was their first child, and eventually their real children would learn to stand using him as support. We always had black labs. First Cowboy (who we called Bo), then Gunnar (who died young due to cancer) and finally Clancy (who my parents just put down last month). In my 26 years, I think I’ve only had one Christmas without a black lab present.

My brother decided the holiday just wouldn’t be the same so… He bought a puppy.

Nameless puppy. Loves doughnuts.

My first nephew. Yes.

EEEEEEEEE

It’s funny how things go full circle.

I can't stand it.

Smoothie with coconut cake. Yep.

What a day. What a day. My grandmother is in the hospital. She will be just fine, no doubt. I come from a long line of of very tough women. You know my amazing great grandmother (and middle namesake) Granny Ruth once fell and broke her hip and forgot she had her Life Alert necklace on so she dragged herself across the yard and into the house so she could call for help? Yep. That’s where I get it.

I had a very surreal moment when my mom told me the problem and it was exactly what I studied in medical nutrition therapy this semester… cholecystitis. With much authority, I rattled off symptoms and surgeries and diet therapies. I pulled out my reference book and read more. It made me suddenly feel very adult and very with it, like maybe, just maybe, I have learned something in this program I hate so much. It was weird but welcome.

This is how I feel about school.

Yes, I really do have a WTF? stamp. Doesn’t everyone?

It’s finals week and I didn’t have a test today so I spent the day… studying. Duh. I also did two hours of yoga (mmmm), ran a bunch of errands and delivered thank yous…

Coooooookies

[If ever you thought about doing something nice for me, do it. I seriously deliver on thank yous. They usually involve baked goods.]

Now I’m fretting about taking the cats to the groomer tomorrow.

Yep. It’s happening… Ralph and Weaz are both getting lion cuts tomorrow. I’m hyperventilating–partly because it’s going to be so so so so so so so so so so so so so funny to see Weaz’s stupid face balancing atop her naked little body but mostly because transporting them in the car is very traumatizing for me. I’ve never had to move these beasts by myself and I am fuh-reaking out. Seeing them in even the slightest bit of distress sends me into a tailspin of crazy. It’ll be quite a spectacle. If you’re anywhere near my house tomorrow morning, which you shouldn’t be because that is creepy, you should stand in the street and watch it all unfold. Tears will be shed. Human tears.

Charlotte is little.

I wrote this back in July, two days after my breakup. I posted it and quickly pulled it down. Not because it’s out of line or even about my personal life, but because it originated from a source of such raw pain. My motivation in reposting it now is not about what I said (even now it doesn’t make much sense) but how I said it. The roundabout wording and disjointed thought process came from a girl who was lost, confused, afraid and very much alone.

I wish I could tell this girl she is going to be just fine. That it will be hard… so hard. That each day will feel worse than the one before until finally, finally one night she’ll lay down to go to bed and realize she didn’t cry that day. That she’ll make brownies and friends and big plans for the future. That there will be other men and they will be wonderful. That she’ll build a desk and a table and a life by herself and for herself. That in just five short months she will feel what she so meekly asked (who? God?) to become… That she is radiant and rare and precious. And that come hell or high water (or both), she is more capable than she realizes.

7/6/11

Today I am a sad little pile of blah. I’m stronger than this, I know, but even I’m succumbing to emo songs like this one that opened up my yoga class this morning. Good and miserable. That’s how I like to start my day.

Then there’s this one that I don’t even think played today but resonates in my head anyway. Don’t listen to it. It’s straight miserable, I’m telling you.

This one’s not doing me any favors.

What am I talking about?

Right. So…

In my moping, I was thinking about what people do when they’re sad and I think that usually they ask god (or the universe or their parents or whoever they look to for guidance) to make it right.

There’s too much violence here… make me a peaceful world.

There’s too much hurt here… make me a compassionate world.

There’s too much hate here… make me a loving world.

But it seems to me we might get a whole lot further making the same demand in a different way.

Make me peace. Make me compassion. Make me love. Maybe start with ourselves and the world will follow. You know, what Michael said.

What am I talking about? No one knows. More importantly, where’s the food? I appear to have listened to a lot of music today. I’m supposed to be studying for a final.

Anyway, let’s grow ever more tangential…

I didn’t follow that Casey Anthony case. It was too much of a spectacle to me. I think people got caught up in the thrill of it like it was some kind of sporting event and forgot the life lost and lives involved. At any rate, I heard what happened. Everyone in the world did. So people are mad, right?

There’s too much injustice… make me a just world.

We could try to fix the whole world, which seems like a big ol’ job to me. We could complain and condemn and demand justice. Or we could start with ourselves. You’re mad about that verdict? Good. If you have kids, love them more. Take care of them and make them safe and teach them to do the same one day. If you don’t have kids, find some who need you. Give them your time and your energy. Take care of them and make them feel safe and teach them to do the same one day. If violence begets violence then surely love will beget love.

I guess my point is that you (I) can’t control the world or what happens to you (me), only how you (I) react to it. So instead of asking for something to make it right, ask to be something instead.

Right. Make me radiant and rare and precious, a bringer of joy. Make me a rainbow. (Name that song?)

Muesli and coffee.

Ikea is where dreams go to die.

You’ll find them huddled in the corner with a plate of Swedish meatballs hyperventilating under a pile of brilliantly designed but cheaply made imports and mumbling, “Where is the exit? Where is the exit? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE IS THE EXIT?”

I went to Ikea today.

It was a poor life choice.

All I wanted was a slipcover for the little couch my cats have destroyed, but knowing myself better than to assume I could get in and out of that labyrinth with just one item, I recited the following pep talk in the car before entering:

“Don’t be stupid, Katie.”

It (kind of) worked and I decided against buying this broccoli.

Someone buy me this.

Surely someone will buy me that.

I did manage to find what I was looking for in the discount pile. A mere $10 for the slipcover I sought. This is the closest I’ve ever come to being successful in Ikea. Of course, when I got it home I realized it was for a different couch and was also (you guessed it) final sale.

So. If anyone has a Karlstad and would like my $10 slipcover, it’s in the trash outside my house.

At least I also got my car washed today, which felt very productive indeed.

Best.carwash.ever.

Now–GUESS WHAT–both my siblings (count em… one, two) are in town tonight and we’re going out.

Hold on to your butts.

VEGETABLES.

“Do you guys know what a cooter is?”

This is how my medical nutrition therapy professor started class tonight. She went on to say…

“I had this patient who had half of his face shot off trying to eat one.”

Uhhhhhh.

“He was driving along and saw one dead on the road so he took some of the meat and took it home and ate it.”

UHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM.

“He came back later to get more but another man was there and they got into a fight over the cooter meat and he got shot in the face over it.”

I CANNOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP.

As it turns out, this is a cooter in North Carolina:

COOTER.

I’ll have you guys know that I braved a Google image search of “cooter turtle” for that photo. Don’t worry, it’s TSFW (totally safe for work).

According to Wikipedia (where I source all my information, thank you): “Pseudemys is a genus of large, herbivorous, freshwater turtles of the eastern United States. They are often referred to as cooters, which stems from kuta, the word for turtle in the Bambara and Malinké languages, brought to America by African slaves”

This is absolutely the most valuable thing I have learned in the last three years.

Tonight I turned in my last big project of the semester.

BAM.

It was a case study for a 29-year-old patient suffering a gunshot wound to the abdomen. He was probably trying to eat cooter.

It was a most glorious occasion that I celebrated by splitting a bottle of wine at my new favorite neighborhood bar. I feel like once you know the name of the bartender, you’re totally in (and an alcoholic). Unfortunately, this particular bartender does not give a shit about my existence unless I am with a certain friend of mine who happens to look just like Zooey Deschanel. It’s a tough life she has. At least I get free drinks when I’m with her.

Because this keeps popping up every month…

Boooooo.

In December??

SEVERAL THINGS.

Did you know you can grow strawberries in the Carolinas in December?

ME NEITHER. A guy from a nearby farm showed up in my office with a whole truckload of these beauties, and you better believe I bought a whole bucket just for me and no one else.

NOPE. All mine.

It’s like a little bite of summer. Except… I’m actually still walking around in a t-shirt most of the time so summer isn’t too sorely missed… yet. It will come. I am a walking sack of miserable depression in the winter. Just you wait.

Ehhhh

Now that I have my hipster camera phone app, I look edgy and mysterious, right? Not like I’m standing in the bathroom at work taking pictures of myself? And don’t you like how the fade totally washes out any imperfections? This is why people use these things, you realize.

Lame ugly picture of pizza?

Yep.

No! It’s my-life-is-so-much-cooler-than-yours pizza.

Duh.

So I’m 1.5 hours into my no Facebook/Twitter deal and, as you can probably tell, it’s going very well… These are the things I would have shared had I been able to:

• VEGETABLES.
• “My favorite thing about nutrition club was learning that chickpeas exist.”
• showering is for losers.
• one brownie is never enough.
• I want to quit everything.
• Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole heart.
• “The deepest level of communication is not communication, but communion.  It is wordless, it is beyond words, and it is beyond speech, and it is beyond concept.  Not that we discover a new unity.  We discover an older unity. …  We are already one.  But we imagine that we are not.  And what we have to recover is our original unity.  What we have to be is what we are” – Thomas Merton (Thanks, Adam)

Right now I’m supposed to be working on a case study for a 29-year-old patient with a gunshot wound to the abdomen, but all I can think is: “WHAT am I doing with my life?”

It’s at moments like this that I threaten to quit everything in my life and go on The Bachelor. Don’t even test me.

I paid for this.

The heart truly knows no joy like walking into your evening vitamin metabolism class and being informed that it’s the last class of the semester. I almost cried tears of pure joy when I saw the professor evaluation sitting on my desk. Instead, I got a little excited and spilled a cup of water I had balanced precariously inside my purse and proclaimed, “Aw shit, my water broke.” Heads snapped in my direction and my only friend who actually caught the joke said, “You carry it well.”

I’m pleased to report (and certainly hope it doesn’t come as a surprise) that I’m not even a little bit pregnant. Do you see how much vodka I drink? I mean, are you kidding me? Not even a little bit pregnant. For this I’d like to thank all the men who will not even go so far as to call me. Thanks for helping me fight the good fight against unplanned, irresponsible pregnancy. Carry on, soldiers.

And that’s the last time I’ll make a broken water joke. Take a deep breath, mom.

Tonight I built a table. This is what happens when I get, like, 15 minutes of free time. Can’t sit still. Can’t do it.

Yikes

I turned in two papers today–count ‘em… one, two–and I feel like the weight of the world (or at least of a good 300 pages of research material) has been lifted off my back. As a result, my appetite made its triumphant return today after about a month of stress-induced sustenance via coffee, vodka and pretzels. I’m pretty sure my body had entered serious survival mode for a while there, but I assure you we are back on track. I’m like a ravenous little badger today.

So I ate a whole lot of food and built a table. Ah, to be free…

Weaz supervised the process, which took me one viewing of Chicago, an episode of The Sing Off and a couple glasses of wine–or about three hours. It was not pretty, but I got it done.

Approved.

Mitch called and told me I had to stop because her man friend was going to come do it for us. To which I responded: “I’m having an “I Don’t Need a Man” moment. I’m building the shit out of this table.”

And I did.

I did notice an awful lot of “extra” pieces–screws and such–by the end so… I don’t know. We’ll see how this goes.

Uhhhh.

Last night I had plans to get drinks with Mitch. We’d both been doing school work all day and had been texting back and forth for hours about getting sufficiently slammed. It was one of those “aw shit, girl, it’s so on” kind of days that you just know will turn into one of those “BEST.NIGHT.EVER.” kind of nights. You know the kind. Heels. Lipstick. Whole shebang.

Thirty minutes before we were supposed to head out, she called. She had a boy-related duty to tend to. Had to meet The Mother. Big step, big deal. I got it and told her it was fine.

I tried to pretend like it really was but really… I was alone on Thanksgiving. It was a little bit nice but mostly miserable. I felt abandoned and like I needed to seriously reevaluate my life. I needed to feel like someone gave a shit about where I was and what I was doing. And just as I was about to start moping, she chimed in…

“NO. I mean, I will go meet her but… I’m hanging out with you tonight. I went into this day with this intention to be deliberate with you. You are important to me. You are going to be in my life for a long time. Like, sitting together in rocking chairs long time… Is that weird?”

No. That’s not weird at all. I need that.

So we went out. We drank champagne until I was sufficiently drunk enough to eat my weight in oatmeal cookies and she went off to meet her boy’s mom. It was a win-win for all parties involved. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends I can depend on. So it was big.

So tonight when I was up to my neck in research for a 10-pager that’s due on Monday and a friend of mine called at 11pm saying she needed some support, I paid it forward and took her to the exact same bar, ordered the exact same drink and told her the exact same thing Mitch told me last night:

You are important to me. I want you to be my friend. I am here for you no matter what.

Pizza and wine in paper cups. Duh.

We drank way too much champagne and wine and sake and ate way too much pizza and stayed out way too late.

My paper isn’t done. I won’t be rested tomorrow. I probably won’t make it to yoga… But whatever. It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

In the last six months I’ve had a lot of moments where I really needed someone. Just needed someone to be there for me. It doesn’t always happen and that’s ok. I mope around on the internet and we all get along just fine.

But maybe the reason no one is ever there for me is because I’m never really there for anyone else. I’m too caught up with my own problems. It’s rare that I get to be that “someone” for someone else because I get so wrapped up in my own issues and needs.

I’ve found, though, in the last two nights, that standing in as support is as meaningful for the supports as it is for the person who needs it. To get to be support for someone else. To forget about yourself for a little while. That is a beautiful thing.

I’ve said before that I don’t like to ask for help. I think I’ve got it all covered. I’m good. I’m Katie (fucking) Levans. I’ve got this. But the reason I don’t tell people I need them is because I don’t ever want to give them that power to be able to say, “No, I can’t be there for you.” Because it hurts. I also rarely say, “I’m here for you” because I don’t want to give anyone else the power to say, “I don’t need you.” Because that hurts, too, in a different but very painful way.

But that’s a lose-lose. It’s time to be a little bit more vulnerable, I think. To lay it all out there. To live just a little bit. With pizza and champagne and late nights turned early mornings. It’s in the Girl Code, y’all.

Article 9, Section 7: You will drop anything and anyone when your friends need you. Period. Champagne and pizza are required.

“You’re a human being, you live once and life is wonderful, so eat the damn red velvet cupcake.”

Snack time.

This morning I was up bright and early to open the store at 6:30am for Black (fucking) Friday.

It wasn’t bad at all, actually. I totally volunteered myself for the early shift. The way I see it, Black Friday crazies have all been up since, like, 3am. Around 4am at the Doorbuster Sales, fueled by coffee and flying high on hit after hit of materialism, their spirits are soaring. But come noontime when the caffeine starts to wear and the spirits start to wane, they start to get a little bit tired. A little bit hungry. A little bit cranky and unreasonable.

I didn’t want to be there to see the shift so I volunteered myself for 6:30 to 12:30. Brilliant.

Of course.

My roommate–who will henceforth be known on the blog by the name I really call her, Mitch–came dressed as a turkey and made me a pilgrim hat out of construction paper. Perfect. You bet we work and live together. Just can’t get enough.

In (dis)honor of the biggest shopping day of the year, I bought absolutely nothing. In fact, I did the complete opposite…

I got my library card.

BAM

It’s official. Charlotte and I are now in a long-term relationship. I hope she likes cats…

I’ve decided I’m going to learn French. I can’t decide if it’s because there are lots of French exchange students on campus and I want to be cool like they are or if I want to know how to actually say French culinary terms or if I just want a reason to go to France but… I’m doing it.

Cwa-sawnt.

Unfortunately, my neighborhood library branch is the smallest and illest equipped of them all, so the only language instruction books they had were for:

• Vietnamese
• German
• Italian
• Spanish
• Japanese
• Hebrew

So I got Italian.

Italian is easy because I already speak Spanish–Does this make me sound cool? I certainly hope so. That was the idea.–and get this…

CASSETTES.

I’m probably the only person in the world who, when presented with cassettes responds with: “OH MY GOD YES.” But it’s perfect, you see, because the CD player in my car is broken and for some reason no one will ever understand, this vehicle built in 2003 also still has a cassette player. Game, set, match… Volvo.

Because I have time for this.

I also picked up Poser because I love a good yoga book.

Having trouble controlling your spending this holiday season? Repeat after me:

I have everything I need. I have everything I need. I have everything I need.

Now go get your library card.

Who knew?

I feel like if someone had told me Pedialyte was this delicious, I never would’ve gotten this dehydrated in the first place.

Then again, I probably would’ve started using it as a cocktail mixer and that would’ve landed me exactly where I am today… hobbling around on a dried up ligament. Gross.

My leg is doing much better now that I’m a hydrating machine. I kind of hate it though. You know how frequently someone with half a bladder has to pee when consuming enough water to sustain life? A lot. A whole lot. It’s disrupting my usual routine of Facebooking for eight hours straight without ever having to stand up. I could get a catheter or something…

I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself today because I just now realized I want to be home for Thanksgiving and it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? My sister’s going to her boyfriend’s house. My brother’s going to see our grandparents in Atlanta. My parents are in Illinois. I am moping around Charlotte eating pretzels like they’re going out of style.

These pretzels are makin me thirsty.

Last year I made an epic vegan Thanksgiving.

WANT.

But that’s not my life this year. And it crushes my soul a little bit. But it’s ok. It’s ok. Moving on…

I don’t know why no one thought to alert me of the existence of Marcel the Shell sooner, but now that I know… my life is made. Nothing can bring me down from the giddy high this little nugget gives me.

Know what I wear for a hat? A lentil.

Want to see my playlist?

I made it myself.

I have no real music of my own. In fact, almost all of my music is really Stew’s, which is irritating, but… it’s still so good. I’ll give him that. So here we go…

1. The Cave – Mumford and Sons – Every time this song comes on in the store I yell, “THIS IS MY JAM.” and turn it up obnoxiously loud. You’ve never seen a girl fold pants so fast as I do when this song is on.
2. Shake it Out – Florence + The Machine – Every single one of her songs is perfect. I listen to this no fewer than six times a day.
3. Africa Remix – Jaz Z and Toto – Jay Z is the coolest person on the planet. I love everything he has ever done ever. This mashup is badass. BOUNCE.
4. The Gambler – fun. – Vivid lyrical storytelling makes you want to fall in love and grow old with someone.
5. It’s Around You – ANR – This song makes me feel invincible.
6. Cold War – Janelle Monae – Try not to dance around.
7. I Would Die for You – Prince – I could really do without hearing another Prince song ever again in my entire life. But this one I love.
8.  All the Pretty Girls – fun. – More fun. Just can’t get enough.
9. Dancing on my Own – Robyn – Remember Robyn? She’s come a long way since Show Me Love. Every single song on her new album Body Talk (1 and 2) is perfect. Poppy perfection. Call Your Girlfriend and Hang with Me are also perfect.
10. Happy People – R. Kelly – It will make you happy. Try to fight it.
11. Penny & Me – Hanson – Hate on, haters. This song is fantastic. I still remember the first time I heard Hanson. My sister and I were late for the bus stop one morning because MMMBop was on MTV and we couldn’t figure out if the band consisted of boys or girls…
12. Sweet is the Night – Electric Light Orchestra – I don’t know. This is one of those loaded songs I should stop listening to. But I won’t.
13. You Don’t Make it Easy, Babe – Josh Ritter – I just saw this dreamboat live last week and he is brilliant. Brilliant. His lyrics are things I wish I could think, much less put to music… “The heart has no bones, you see, so it won’t break.”
14. Sweet Song – Blur – This fucking song… Do I even share this…? This (no lyrics, just music) was what I was going to walk down the aisle to. If ever I got that far. I didn’t. Yikes. There’s that.
15. Horizon – Genesis – This playlist came to be as a challenge to create an hour-long yoga playlist. So this is your savasana. Namaste.

Pear + cinnamon + sharp cheddar = yes.

“I’m just… exhausted,” I said, voice cracking under the pressure of a dam of tears about to burst. Normally I would never (ever ever ever) cry at work but… I work at lululemon and if there’s one thing we love more than black stretchy pants, it’s a damn good cry.

We had a conference call this morning. I sprawled out on the floor–coconut water on one side, coffee on the other–wondering why I had to come in early for this mess and hoping my new prone position would hide my eye rolls as sunshine and butterflies spewed from the receiver.

Voices from across our region–some I know, most I don’t–started to chime in to share why life was oh so beautiful and perfect on this glorious Thursday morning that, from my vantage point anyway, was rainy and gross. Plain and simple.

I listened to the voices talk about their great morning workouts and the sun shining through their windows and their steaming cups of home brewed coffee, and followed each statement with a silent, “I hate you and your perfect life.”

I was bitter. I wanted to work out and sit in the sun and sip coffee. Instead I was laying on the floor in the mall, unshowered and completely uncooperative, wishing I were still in bed. I haven’t been sleeping. Haven’t been eating. Haven’t been studying. I was in no mood.

I did actually listen to the call because I wanted to make sure I was positive it was a complete waste of my time. And just when I thought I was sure to win my own internal bitter battle, something actually resonated. In fact, it echoed right off my hollow, angry, Grinch-y heart and snapped me back into reality. And it came from my very own boss… right there in the room with me… probably wondering why I was sprawled out on the floor.

She’d just taken her daughters on their first (that they could remember) flight and wanted to repeat a phrase I’ve heard a hundred times over: “You have to put your own oxygen mask on first before you can help anyone else.” But this time I actually heard it.

I laid there on the floor for a few more minutes and then slowly and deliberately sat up, reached for the phone and blurted out to the dozens of strangers something to this effect:

“Hi. This is Katie in Charlotte. I’m really excited today but anyone in the room with me right now wouldn’t know it. I’m sprawled out on the floor. Literally. I’m laying on the floor. But I am excited today because in the last four days I’ve raised $1,000 for this charity I think is really important. But I don’t look excited right now because I’m exhausted and I think that if I would take time to put my own oxygen mask on first… Sometimes I just think about how much greater my capacity to help others would be if I would just take care of myself first… That’s all.”

You’d have to understand our company and our culture to understand that that wasn’t really a strange thing to say on such a call, just that it was strange for grumpy Katie to say it.

Afterwards I sat down with my boss and begrudgingly admitted that I’m breaking down. Again. To which she responded (in so few words): “You have to take care of yourself. You have to ask for help.”

Normally I would protest. Normally I’d say I’m fine, that it’ll pass, that I can handle it. (Just ask my parents. You’d sooner find me face down in a gutter, homeless but full of pride, before I’d willingly ask them for help.) But this time I get it. This time it’s not about me and my limitations and what I can or can’t do. It’s about my potential and my capacity to give and what I can or can’t do for other people if I don’t take care of myself first. And that’s a whole lot more important to me than whether or not I get eight hours of sleep a night or not.

For me, “take care of yourself to take care of yourself” doesn’t resonate. “Take care of yourself so you can take care of others” does.

So, in a small but meaningful first little step towards taking care of myself, tonight I did the following perfectly selfish, unnecessary things:

Skipped class. Whoops.

Took the longest, hottest shower my water heater would allow.

Bought myself some sweatpants and slippers that I’ve been wanting for, oh, three years now. The too-big kind that my mom is always telling me to pull up. $6 at Marshall’s. BAM.

Not lululemon. Blasphemy.

Organized my accessories drawer that has been driving me batshit crazy for six months….

Pretty.

And ate 1000 of these ginger-orange chews.

The peppermint ones are better.

I’m the kind of girl who thinks she doesn’t need anyone or anything. You realize I don’t even own a brush, right? I can get by with very little. But sometimes even a too-proud minimalist like myself needs some help. My desire to do everything on my own all the time is really just a defense mechanism. If I don’t ever have to say to someone: “I need you and I need you now and this is why…” then no one can ever let me down. I’m noticing now that in relationships and potential relationships and friendships and everything that this lack of vulnerability makes me completely unapproachable.

I need to take care of myself, yes, but also need to be willing to let other people take care of me, too.

I hate this, but I get it now.

This is a pear.

Hello, nuggets.

What a day. What a day. The bake sale is in full swing and I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to see all the bids coming in. I’m so thrilled, in fact, that I have spent the better part of my day constantly refreshing the page to watch the numbers change. Very productive…

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has donated, bid and helped to spread the word. The auction will close at 10pm EST and I fully expect to see some last-minute bidding wars erupt. Can’t wait. Scoot your booties on over and find something you simply can’t live without. (Ralph and Weaz are not up for grabs, sorry.) It’s a wonderful cause.

When I wasn’t busy obsessing over the auction, I took a hot minute to venture to the health clinic upstairs to find out why my right leg feels like it’s going to straight up snap in half every time I take a step. They ruled out shin splints, stress fracture and (they think/hope) blood clot, but three doctors and two nurses later, all I walked away with was a prescription for 12 Advil a day (a day??) and instructions to carry on with my life.

This does me no good.

They were all very perplexed by the whole thing and even busted out some reference books (this always makes me feel good when my doctors are essentially paper-Googling my problems) but concluded nothing. I’ll keep you posted because I know you’re all just dying to know what it is. Secretly I hope I’m having a delayed growth spurt so I’ll finally gain that extra inch necessary to qualify for America’s Next Top Model so that I can bitch slap Miss J in real life and not just inside my own head. (I AM NOT SERIOUS.)

Now I’m off to chug a(nother) soy latte and write a paper on the bioavailability of vitamin B12 in novel vegan sources. Partay.

Go buy something awesome.

[Shameless plug.]

These are my items in the auction:

Vegan Tollhouse Cookies

Vegan Banana Cookies

Vegan Brownies

Mile 1 motivation.

So I put a dent in my vitamin B12 paper, threw my cares to the wind and went to the bar with my roommate, some girls from work and a new friend I picked up at Starbucks not two hours prior. I do that.

We drank and talked and ventured into such standard bar topics as boys, religion and food ethics… at which point Ashley declared herself a vegetarian for the remainder of our time living together.

Shook on it and everything.

I told her this meant she had to throw out the turkey she brought into my house (the nerve!). She agreed and asked if her beef bouillon cubes had to go too. Yes, Ashley. Yes they do. [Update: She just texted me to report that she almost ate a pepperoni but realized it wasn't made of vegetables. This is going to be slow going...]

I had a beer and a vodka soda.

And waffle fry nachos (sans chili cuz we're all veg now)

Did you know you can make nachos out of waffle fries? Me neither. But Ashley did. And she was so excited about those vegetables.

VEGETABLES FOR LIFE

After destroying some drunken boys in a game of basketball, we headed home where we decided it’d be a great idea to have drunken craft time. Glitter included.

We made signs for Thunder Road Marathon and vowed to wake up early and watch them run by our house.

OH MY GOD GLITTER

I ate pretzels and cheese while we worked…

Hey, you wanted to know EVERYTHING, right?

We made two signs. One that said: Don’t poop your pants. And another that my mom is going to be so very furious about but that went over well with the runners at mile one…

Good advice

Yep.

This is what happens when you let two girls from Ohio and Illinois drunkenly make signs to be held at a marathon in the conservative south. No matter. Everyone loved it. And… we were right next to a fire eater so we were pretty much the best cheering section those runners saw all day.

At least I don't eat fire, mom.

We were happy to be of service.

This was my first time spectating a marathon and I’m happy to report that it is awesome. Have you ever read “How to Ruin a Marathon“? Do it right this second. It’s so perfect.

“That’s why I like to start off my training day bright and early with a full breakfast of espresso, some diet pills, and a small bag of rock candy. It keeps me edgy and volatile when I’m in the thick of disrupting a tight race.”

L.O.L.

Seriously though, you marathoners are incredible machines. For example, Adam decided he would run Savannah last weekend and then just, ohhhh you know, run a second marathon in seven days with Thunder Road this morning. Alright then. No big deal.

Way to go, you runners. I will never be one of you but while you’re carb loading and sleeping and training and all that, I’ll definitely get drunk and do yoga and make you motivational signs.

Broccoli slaw, masala burger, quinoa, nooch

You know when you have absolutely no idea where you stand with someone and you won’t be getting to the bottom of it any time soon because that would require you having one of those awkward “Heeeey, what’s going on here?” conversations and you simply can’t do that because it would mess up your I’M-SO-LAIDBACK-AND-I-DON’T-CARE-WEEEEEE allure so you just act the complete opposite way you’d act in any other situation? Yeah, me neither…

Anyway… Now that I have no expectations for anything, I feel like I breezed through the day approximately 6,000,000,000,000 ,000,000,000,000 (6E+24) kilograms lighter. Nothing really changed other than my attitude, but it’s amazing what that can do.

I drove fast (but within reasonable legal limits) with the windows down and the music up and my hair did this:

Sorry.

There comes a time in every young blogger’s life when she will take a picture of her hair in the car. Embrace it. I won’t even apologize. I’ve been trying for 26 years to get my hair to swoop as dramatically as Ariel’s and this is the closest it has ever come.

See?

I decided I don’t hate my new windowless, secluded office so much.

Right?

For it was from there I ventured into the promised land that is Pinterest. How… HOW does anyone accomplish anything in the day with that site in existence? I thought Foodgawker was bad but, LAWD, Pinterest is like Foodgawker for ALL THINGS. It is the everything of bagels… the garbage of pizzas… the bisexual of sexualities… the all-you-can-eat of buffets. It’s the: I’ll have one of each, please.

I don’t have one (one what? a pin? a board? WHAT IS THIS THING??) yet, but give it time… give it time. Because just what I need in my life is one more online life trap.

What was I saying?

I busted out my winter coat AND fingerless mitten things.

Fingerless mitten things for CONSTANT PHONE ACCESS TO PINTEREST

And then at some point I attempted to study for tomorrow’s medical nutrition therapy exam…

That page looks awfully blank.

And that, my friends, is the “why” behind this ridiculous post. You guessed it. I probably have a test I’m not studying for. Yahtzee.

Put on your rant pants...

Today I took no fewer than three long walks. I used to do some of my best thinking while running, but then I got hurt and stopped running. So I started doing my best thinking in the shower, but I hate my current shower so I don’t spend a lot of time in there. So THEN I did my best thinking in yoga, but I eventually learned how to not think in yoga (which is kind of the point) and now I have no time to think at all. You see?

So wandering around today was good. And necessary.

What I realized, more or less, whilst wandering aimlessly is that I’m doing just fine. I am fine.

I hold really high expectations for myself and when I’m not able to meet them (which is, uh, an hourly occurrence at present), things get ugly. Suddenly when things don’t go quite as I’d expected, I am not good enough or smart enough or social enough or mature enough or flexible enough or desirable enough or friendly enough or giving enough or responsible enough or funny enough or happy enough. The list goes on and on.

So then I was thinking about how things get pretty ugly any time we hold expectations. And herein lies the root of every problem in my life.

I have these expectations about who I should be, where I should be, how much money I should be making (and spending and saving), how people should treat me, when I should achieve certain milestones, how many more cats I should get… and so on and so on. The problem with expectations is that they’re just stories. They are complete fabrications of the mind. Whether they actually happen or not is irrelevant. I spend all this time and energy trying to will them into existence, but the fact of the matter is expectations do not exist.

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t think about the future, set goals and dream big. But the difference between creating expectations and setting goals is that expectations are these non-existent, futuristic, intangible things that detach me from the real world; goals are planned future events rooted in reality. Expectations leave me so lost in the imaginary world in my head hoping and wishing and fearing that I lose all sight of the present moment; goals set me on fire and send me out into the world to make shit happen.

I think I’ve been so mad at myself lately (and that’s really what all this has been about) because I had these grand expectations for how things would be going in my life right about now and they simply did not (and will not) happen. These things had to do with my career, with my education, with my finances and, of course, with my relationship. And let me tell you, it’s one thing to create expectations for yourself and another beast entirely when you project them onto someone else. Especially a significant other.

I like to think that were I not so blinded by my expectations of where Stew and I were going and when we would get there and who he would be and who I would be, I might have been able to see that we simply weren’t going to work. Or perhaps, without all those expectations in the way, I would’ve seen that what we had right that very second was pretty perfect. Maybe, upon realizing it wasn’t working, I could’ve directed my energy towards making it work. Or, on the other hand, maybe I could’ve cut my losses sooner and moved the hell on with my real life instead of trying to force us into the imaginary life I’d created in my head. Who knows? The point is, having expectations didn’t get me anywhere in the end.

When I get lost in my expectations of who I should be and what my life should look like, I experience a complete loss of power and control. I feel helpless and hopeless. Now that I’ve realized this, can’t nothing stop me now, y’all.

You see, I have these goals and I know what I have to do to get to them and those steps lie in the present moment. Every day I’m getting closer. It’s already happening right now. I am the one I’ve been waiting for. I am living the dream.

So those are the things I realized today. I have no regrets. I have no expectations. I choose this. I choose this. I choose this.

Now. Don’t we all miss the happy-go-lucky, light-hearted, completely ridiculous Katie from two years ago? I know I do. I’m back, bitches.

I realize this is odd.

All adults should be required to eat string cheese on a daily basis if for no other reason than that you can’t possibly take yourself seriously while eating it.

I know I confuse people when I bake strictly vegan and then turn around and eat string cheese. I cannot explain it. Transcend labels, my friends. Transcend labels.

I’ve been on this rice cake + hummus + pickles + cheese kick for a while now and neglected sharing it 1) because people will accuse me of having an eating disorder if I willingly eat rice cakes and 2) I realize it’s a little odd. Nevertheless, it is awesome so here it is.

Other things that are awesome right this second:

Charlotte

This is still exactly where I want to be. I can’t explain it. I’ve never been somewhere and not been plotting to go somewhere else. It’s a great feeling.

Fall

This is my absolute favorite time of the year, and the city is on fire with the colors of changing leaves. I love it.

Zara coat + boots

I bought this coat while I was in Spain after getting trapped in another one and literally having to be cut out of it. Seriously. It took three Zara employees with scissors to cut me free. I still blame a faulty zipper but at the time felt guilty enough to buy another one anyway. When I wear it with boots I feel like I’m still in Madrid. (Those are car keys in my pocket; I am not happy to see you, no.)

Mochi

My neighbor just informed me that this cat I’ve been feeding belongs to one of our other neighbors. Thank God. I do not need another cat. I will still refer to it as Mochi and feed it the food that Ralph and Weaz have deemed unsatisfactory. Little dictators.

Beyonce.

Everything Beyonce does is flawless at all times so this could really end with: Beyonce, period. But specifically, what is awesome about Beyonce right this second is her new song Countdown. It is perfect. If it plays during yoga (HINT, TANNER), I will die of pure joy. She’s straight up pregnant in this video, PS. EXCUSE ME.

Griiiind up on it, girl. Show him how you ride it.

Homemade Nutella ice cream and brownies

I still haven’t taken my trash out (I’ve taken it out of my house but the big can outside is covered in spiders) and have no plans to do so. I finally changed my air filter and it only took me three months. I will take four right turns before trying to turn left without a stoplight and I see nothing wrong with this. I “mop” my kitchen floor with paper towels tied to my shoes and know my mom will probably call in about 15 minutes to tell me to buy a Swiffer. I have an ipod that hasn’t had music added to it since 2004, which is when I got it, and I don’t even care. I’ve been “borrowing” Internet from my neighbor for three months and have no plans to get my own.

It’s just that, now that we’re rounding out a solid 2+ years of blogger/reader relationship, y’all need to know the dirt so we can decide if this will carry on long term, ya heard?

Anyway, remember that time I wanted to go to Nicaragua but I didn’t have enough money and you guys totally rallied and threw together, oh you know, A THOUSAND DOLLARS in a day? And that the fundraiser brought in exactly $4 more than I needed? Which was exactly enough to buy a cheap bottle of champagne to celebrate? No big deal. (Read all about Nicaragua here.)

BIG GIANT DEAL

That was one of the single most amazing moments of my life, adding up the totals on Stew’s iphone, and I have not forgotten it. Thank you for that. I don’t know why I’ve been dwelling on it lately (other than the fact that it is an incredible act of human kindness), but I think it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been really taken by all of the good in my life. And I don’t mean the good house or the good car or the good clothes or the good (read: not empty) bank account because you guys know I don’t have any of those things. I mean the good people in my life.

I feel like for the last few months I have had daily moments of: “Thank god for you” in which “you” is not the same person each time. Nope. I somehow have a surplus of “yous” for whom I am so unbelievably grateful. It’s like I’m drowning in good people. My life runneth over with good people. Good people at work. Good people at school. Good people in yoga, online and just out and about. I love it.

I think part of it is that there are lots of good people everywhere all the time. But I also know that a lot of it is because (what I thought was) my entire world collapsed over the summer. I was alone and exposed and vulnerable for the first time in a long time and I think it broke down a lot of walls that I kept up to keep myself safe. And so now it’s like I’m walking into this whole new world (cue Aladdin music) with my heart open like it’s never been and I’m just so… happy.

In yoga (you knew that’s where this would go, right?), they’re always telling us to push into our mats, to push off the ground rather than collapse into it. And (as is so often the case) I think it’s the same in life. You can use rock bottom as a crash pad and collapse into the hard times or you can put on your big girl pants and use it as a launching pad to push yourself out of the hole.

So today was a good day. I went to bed at a decent hour last night. I practiced yoga at 6am to the soundtrack of an early-morning thunderstorm rolling in. I ate the most amazing homemade Nutella ice cream with brownies to celebrate a coworker’s birthday and then also got to celebrate Jessie’s birthday (who, yes, is one of those good people I was ranting on about) with macaroons and gossip.

Jessiiiiiiiie

It was a good, good day. Thank you for you.

The Standard.

Ah, what better way to kick off the workday than with a room full of babies doing yoga…

This morning we hosted a “Mommy & Me” yoga class that I had forgotten about until I busted up in the store 15 minutes late and cursing the rain only to find a bunch of little nuggets waddling around the black stretchy pants. “Yessssssss,” I thought. “Babies that are not mine… the very best kind of babies.”

For a fleeting moment of insanity I thought to myself: “GIVE ME ONE NOW COMMENCE PREGNANCY I WANT A MILLION BABIES IMMEDIATELY.”

But then… THEN the little nuggets started running all over the place, which meant that the moms started running all over the place. These women were doing warrior II with a baby on their hip (but only when they weren’t chasing said baby around the store) and they did not appear to be bothered at all by the fact that there was a tiny human standing under them during downward dog. Good for them. Seriously. But just as I was thinking, “Jesus, do they do that all the time?” I realized, nah, no babies for Katie… MORE CATS.

On loan...

I did get to spend some quality time with Christie and her little nugget so that should hopefully hold me over for a while. But if you ever need a babysitter (NOT a baby momma), you know who to call.

Sometimes when I think about how my mom was pregnant with my brother at my current age, I kind of have a panic attack. And then I kind of love my parents even more. Because they opened their lives up to us in the peak of their glory years and never looked back. I’m just not selfless enough for that yet.

My dad likes to tell me this story about how once when I was dancing in high school someone leaned over and said, “Look at Katie. She’s going to be a movie star.” To which my dad replied, “No. She’s going to be a mom.”

And I will. But I’ve also got some other pretty major things to tend to first. Don’t get me wrong. I want kids. A lot. But I’m pretty sure there are still some vodka mini bottles in my purse from Saturday night. You see what I’m saying? I’m just not there.

Study, Katie.

Back to the books…

Lunch in an empty fountain

Yesterday was definitely a wear-yoga-pants-all-day-and-can’t-nobody-stop-me kind of day.

Ya heard?

I was up all night studying for a test I would fail no matter what and was in no mood to bother with such nuisances as buttoning my pants. I’m sure you understand.

Despite wearing yoga pants constantly, yoga and I have actually been on a little break lately. Did I forget to mention that? OK, so maybe it’s only been, like, four days. But it’s been four miserable days. My back has been on the fritz–like, spasming and going numb–since I started doing drop backs so I figured it’d be best to take it easy… Right. If you know anything about me you know that is a complete lie and that I would have totally been going anyway if I could just stop sleeping three hours later than planned. That’s the real problem.

Anyway, I’m sure yoga has been cheating on me with other girls while I’ve been away, but he says a break is a break and he can do what he wants. (Yoga is my boyfriend in this analogy, obviously. Do try to keep up.)

Whatever, Ross.

Tonight I finally got back in the proverbial saddle and returned to the mat. It was a creaky, unbalanced but beautiful practice followed by the heaviest savasana of my life. I was passed.the.fuck.out. The focus of the class was on contentment, and I’m happy to report that’s how I’ve been feeling as of late. In fact, I’m quite happy where I am at the moment.

Were I not on my way to dinner at my friend Rachael’s house afterwards, I would’ve laid there all night. But no, grilled pizza was calling my name. And we all know how I’ve felt about pizza these past couple weeks. If all goes as planned, I’ll be drunkenly inhaling these leftovers at 3am sometime in the next couple of days…

Griiiiiilled pizzaaaaa

Pizza was one draw but I was really there for…

EEEEEEEEEEE

I’ll be babysitting Rachael’s little nuggets this weekend. They have clothes. DOGS IN CLOTHES CAN YOU BELIEVE IT. Get ready for the Caturday to end all Caturdays…

In other news, I’m going to Charlotte Fashion Week this weekend and I need to look awesome because we’re sitting in the front row and all I know about fashion shows I learned from The Hills.

SO… I’m wearing one of the following that I already own:

#1

#2

And I desperately want these shoes, which are currently on hold for Katie at the Off Broadway Shoes on South should anyone care to purchase them for me, MOM.

WANT

I prefer #2 for several reasons.

1. I will inevitably spill something on myself if I wear white.
2. Supposedly I’m not supposed to be wearing white after Labor Day anyway.
3. The back of #2, which you can’t see, is awesome.
4. It would bring me great joy to sit in the front row of a fashion show wearing a dress that cost me $8.99 and shoes that cost (my mom, hopefully) $100.

Nevertheless, I can’t decide if #2 paired with those hotass shoes will make me look like a total slutpuppy. Discuss.

Soooooy latte

Wow wow wow. If someone had told me that days off were this great, I’d probably stop working seven days a week…

My Saturday went from professional to perfectly relaxed to properly smashed, and I feel like this recap will not do justice to how incredibly flawless these 24 hours were.

I started the day off with my dietetics hat on giving a speech at the Carolina Society of Gastroenterology Nurses Conference.

Celiac disease!

I know what you’re thinking… “Why would you (a student) tell nurses (the professionals) how to do their jobs?” To which I would say: “RIGHT??” I don’t know. Not a lot things I do make sense, but if you’re already questioning my actions this early the recap, we’re gonna have a problem come 3am…

SO… since the presentation had been looming over my head all week and ended up being a smashing success, I headed out afterwards for some celebratory shopping.

Plaza Midwood

RIP cute little jacket

Bask in the glory of that adorable little jacket I bought because I promptly lost it 12 hours later whilst dancing around like a fool. I am devastated.

After that I had a proper brunch (what is this, a Saturday??) at my favorite Flying Biscuit Cafe. I even ventured forth from my tofu and tater salad comfort zone and got… tofu scramble, which I was informed is pretty much the exact same thing minus the salad greens. I’d still call it a success.

Flying Biscuit tofu scramble

And then… THEN it was time for Nicole’s bachelorette party.

Get it, girl.

The theme of the night was HONEY BADGER DON’T CARE, which is a video you need to watch immediately if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Caitlin got us all matching tshirts and we were quite a sight to be seen parading around the streets of Charlotte…

Hostess Kelly

I want this right now. All of it.

Eat your vegetables. Even when drinking vodka.

Everything Kelly made was amazing and as I lay here hungover and hungry and without any food because I drunkenly ate it all last night, I really really wish I had this entire spread sitting next to me in bed.

This was only my second bachelorette party but I knew we were going hard or going home.

YES

Diana got the memo, too, and busted all up in that night with a beer in a paper bag.

Winning.

And this is where things start to get a little hazy for my drunk ass…

I bet I had four of these grapefruit martinis before we even left the apartment…

Oh no...

My “I <3 cats” bag was full of two bottles of wine and a fistful of vodka mini bottles. I was wearing a honey badger on my shirt and honey badgers don’t give a shit. And then I proceeded to consume untold numbers of shots and beers (??) and whatever else was handed to me while I was dancing around on stage like a drunkard (and losing my cute little jacket waaaaah).

Here we go

Caitlin wants to be the bride apparently

When I got up this morning (feeling pretty great, surprisingly), evidence in my kitchen suggested that I ate a pizza when I got home last night. At 3 o’clock in the morning. Again.

Katie.Levans. Calm down.

It was easily one of the very best days of my entire year.

See ya, Sober September. It was not fun while it lasted.

Well... that was weird.

Remember that time I called you guys “kittens”? As in like: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY KITTENS.

I’m still sorry about that. It’s not really ever ok… but I still really wanted to start this post with:

HEEEEEEEEEEYYY KITTENNNNS. Let’s chat.

(Are you still reading? OK!)

I had the day off! HOLY CANOLI, RIGHT?! I’m actually sober right now but this is not coming out that way… Yes! The day… it was off. I had it. My only class was canceled so I asked my dear and wonderful boss for a mental day off and he obliged so here I am basking in the glow of my day of freedom. What did I do?

I got my oil changed like mf ADULT.

I sat on the sidewalk reading The Prophet (which you should all do) again and was very pleased with my life until I looked down and saw a pile of TOENAIL CLIPPINGS. NOOOO. Who does that?? Gross.

Got my laundry did.

I splurged for the wash-dry-fold service even though I’m broke and it makes me uncomfortable for strange men to fold my underwear. I don’t even fold my own underwear; it’s just mounded in a big pile in a drawer. But here are these strangers folding them into this perfect little stack. Awkward. You know what’s more awkward? When they’re not ready by the time they tell you to come pick up your laundry and are still busy folding your unmentionables when you arrive and you have to sit there and watch. Yeahhh…

Took pictures of myself.

Just strollin’ by with this veggie burger…

I also ate Thai food and rode my bike to the store (where my loving coworkers ridiculed me)…

Helmets are for winners.

And went shopping (look, don’t buy)…

Don't you miss prom?

If someone had told me prom would be the last damn time I’d ever get to wear a fancy dress, I would have taken it much more seriously. Sixteen-year-olds can’t be trusted with that kind of style pressure. Someone give me a reason to buy this, please. Also these Coach ankle boots…

WANT

I kind of look like I might destroy someone with those on. I like.

Obviously I didn’t buy anything. And if I did it would’ve been this, the Cadillac of trash cans…

Swoon.

But no. I’m too broke for that nonsense. I just felt like a day off warranted at least trying things on. And drooling over $80 trash cans. I haven’t done that in a verrry long time. Twas fun. Did I mention all of this was found at Marshall’s? I do all of my shopping exclusively at Marshall’s and Target and other cheap places like that. Y’all who pay full price for anything have lost your damn minds. Come shop with me some time. I’ll show you the light…

POLL TIME: SO… my sources (both male and female) tell me that until a guy tells you that you’re the only one he’s seeing, you’re not the only one he’s seeing. ALSO… that you can see as many people as you want until you decide there is only one person you want to see. WHAT? What is this, The Bachelorette? I have no idea what’s going on. Discuss.

Breakfast!

My mom tells me that one of the things she appreciates about me is that I’m self deprecating in a way that makes me approachable. That I can make fun of myself in an open, honest way that “makes people feel comfortable around a girl who seems to have it all.” Based on the emails and comments I receive, I think this is what you guys appreciate, too. I’m glad to hear my general state of self-aware disarray is entertaining. Thank you; I’ll be here all night forever.

I hope I’m approachable. My entire life I’ve been told that I am “terrifying” and “look like a bitch.” My friends tell me this all the time. Aren’t they sweet?

How could I not make fun of myself? You see the things I do. They are ridiculous. Just look at how many pictures I’ve taken of myself this week. This is perhaps the most self-involved obnoxious thing that bloggers do. And welp, what do you know…

1

2

3

4

HAHAHA WHY KATIE

If Alicia Silverstone taught me anything in Clueless it’s that you should never trust a mirror to tell you how you look. She took Polaroids of herself in different outfits… I take phone pictures. Don’t judge me. You can’t see what you really look like unless you can see what other people see. And that’s true in life as well as in your cute little skinny jeans. Deep, right?

So that’s why every once in a while you need to step back and observe yourself the way others do. It’ll open your eyes to a whole host of stupid things you’re doing. This can be a little overwhelming but it can also be empowering as it gives you a chance not only to correct it but also to call yourself out before anyone else does. That, my friends, gives you some sense of control even when your life is a chaotic joke.

My head and my heart are colliding, chaotic
Pace of the world, I just wish I could stop it
Try to appear like I’ve got it together…
I’m falling apart

My life has been a chaotic joke as of late and while I like to think I’ve done a pretty standup job of keeping a handle on it, I can see that it’s wearing me thin. (Literally, I’m losing weight.) Actually, I see that other people see that it’s wearing me thin. And this makes me pay attention.

This week I came very close to quitting school and running off to be a yoga teacher/baker/cat herder. Instead, I pulled up my big girl pants and made a MF grownup decision. I’m taking an extra year to finish my masters degree so I can do so mindfully and, you know, without completely losing my mind.

As soon as I made that call, I felt like a giant expensive rock had been lifted off of my body. Nothing will change in my immediate life. This semester will remain as ridiculous as it’s always been. But I can crank through it knowing that come Spring I’ll be skipping through life with a more manageable load.

So no, I don’t have it all. I hope you all realize this. I do, however, have all I need and that, I believe, is far more powerful than a life overflowing with fulfilled wants.

I took the day off today. Mental health day, we’ll call it. I slept for 11 hours, sipped tea with my smoothie bowl and will float through this day knowing I have hit rock bottom, regained my footing and am slowly but surely climbing back up where I belong. Just as ridiculous as I’ve ever been.

Hello, little cupcake.

I’m on a bit of a self improvement kick. Don’t worry, you won’t find me rummaging through self help book racks, wearing big sunglasses to disguise my shame while flipping through Help! I’m Becoming a Cat Lady. Not yet, anyway. I’m just really interested in what’s wrong with me. And what’s right with me, too. But that’s not all. I’m interested in how I work, what makes me happy, what doesn’t, who makes me happy, who doesn’t, where I’m going, what I’m doing right to get there and what I’m doing terribly wrong that’s holding me back.

After feeling like I failed love pretty miserably, I’m just really interested in figuring out what I can actually do right, what I can do better and what I perhaps shouldn’t do at all.

Step one has been opening myself up to opinions and feedback and criticism and compliments. So last night I was up until ungodly hours letting a good friend point out some pretty serious character flaws. It was enlightening, to say the least.

We did a very interesting exercise at work recently where we had to ask five people in our life to answer the following questions about us:

1. What do you most appreciate about me?
2. What do you wish i would appreciate more about myself?
3. What do you see that I should continue doing/being that supports what is authentic in me?
4. Do you notice areas of my life where I experience a loss of power?
5. When am I most inspired?
6. What do you find challenging about me?
7. What is the one thing you wish for me in the next three years?
8. What is the one thing you believe i could master in my lifetime?

I know I’ve already mentioned this, but I’m not sure I mentioned the impact. People’s answers to these questions will rock you right down to your core. Some of what they say will be great and some of it will be terrible. Some of it you’ll totally expect and some of it will come out of left field and smack you in the face.

As I listened to what people had to say about me, I found myself at times shaking my head and thinking, “You don’t know me at all.” But then someone else would say the same thing. And then another person. And that’s when it hit me that I’m not acting in a way that lets people see who I think I am. It’s an interesting conundrum, really.

Another common thread was that people’s favorite thing about me and the thing the find most challenging about me are one in the same. And that’s that I am driven and motivated and will go after anything I want but that I’ll do it at the cost of my sanity, my sleep and my relationships. It’s true.

Maybe I’m scaring people off from doing this exercise, but I hope not because it really is a good thing. It’s not a bad thing to recognize and accept faults in yourself. We’re all human. Nobody’s perfect. You’ve heard it all. It’s actually really empowering to see yourself as others see you. Do it.

So anyway, for me, I suppose, it’s all about balance. I need to find a way to get what I want without sacrificing what (and whom) I love. That’s also what my friend and I kind of figured out in the discussion of my repeated failures in the forever-love department. We determined I want a strong, assertive man who is not a cocky douchebag and who is also sensitive and into yoga and not vehemently opposed to vegetarianism and is also not gay. Good luck with that, Katie. If you have found this man, please send him here.

Balance. Isn’t that always the answer? Ate a cupcake and three banana oat blondies today? Better eat some kale tonight. You know how it goes.

Cupcakes and kale. Yin and yang.

I'll miss you, watermelon.

This summer was pretty monumental for me, to say the least. I ended a three-year relationship, moved to a new city, started a new job and did my best to keep it all together when inside I was falling apart. There were a lot of constants to keep me on track–yoga, cats and family–but the past three months were truly an experiment in change, in stepping outside my comfort zone and in redefining who I am.

In case you missed it I…

Made an entirely raw meal

Joined the Charlotte Food Bloggers

Shared pictures of Baby Weaz as a… baby

Started making my own almond milk

Monetized the blog (click away, y’all! click awaaaaay!)

Got Ralph a lion cut

Moved into my own place

Visited NYC for the first time

Gave you a reason (or five) to do yoga

Did my first professional photo shoot

Ended my relationship with Stew

Turned 26

Ate nothing but Carolina food for a week

Equated breaking up to getting pregnant

Ate my weight in brownies

Waxed on poetically about yoga

Discovered white jeans

Celebrated the blog’s second birthday

Showed a mechanic who’s boss

Drove to Philly

And rediscovered my love of alcohol

In many ways this should have been the worst summer of my life. And maybe it was. But looking back on it like this, I can see that the breakup was just a blip in an otherwise full and fun and beautiful life.

This summer was bittersweet, yes, but it was good. Kind of like chocolate chips, which are actually great.

I hit my lowest lows this summer but I also hit some pretty high highs. I’ve made friends. I’ve made my apartment my own. And, dare I say it, I’ve made a life here–by myself and for myself–that I really love. Not bad for three months.

Sometimes leftovers trump a night out.

Yesterday I had delusions of grandeur about a balls-to-the-wall, rowdy, epic girls night out. By 5pm I’d already called the whole thing off after hitting a brick wall at work and realizing all I wanted in the entire world was to bake cookies, eat leftovers and go to bed by 8pm. No one objected. And this is why girlfriends are the best.

Rule #1: Sometimes leftovers trump a night out.

I knew if I didn’t get some serious Katie time, I’d be plowed into the ground today with another full work day and homework and whatever else I do. Plus, I’d already had an epic night out the night before. How do you think I ended up with the Indian food? Exactly. Oh and, I had to help Ralph and Weaz get their Facebook page set up… duh.

Now, I know there’s already a movie out to this effect starring Sarah Jessica Parker and perhaps you can get all the “How to Barrel Through Life Somewhat Gracefully” tips you need, but since people keep asking, here are a few of the ways I’m getting by this year…

Rule #2: Two Words… Frozen Vegetables

Eat your vegetables

Frozen vegetables have an almost endless shelf life and require little to no prep work making them easier for me to inhale on the fly than fresh produce. I keep frozen spinach, peppers, broccoli, green beans, peas, etc. on hand so I can toss them into soups, stirfrys, on top of pizza or into a smoothie (spinach only) to amp up my vegetable intake for the day even when I don’t have time for elaborate food prep.

Another solution is to wash and cut all your fresh produce the day you buy it so it’s ready to go as soon as you need it. Still, the extended shelf life of frozen produce plus the cheap price tag are appealing to me right now. Not to mention, freezing has been found to maintain the integrity of the nutrients that are lost in fresh produce as it sits in a warehouse then in a delivery truck and then on the shelf.

Rule #3: Dry shampoo. Just do it.

Dry shampoo will change your life

The thing about curly hair is that, other than being awesome, it is also very dry. This means that it can go (and should) several days without shampooing. The answer in the interim, I’ve recently discovered, is dry shampoo. This little $2 can has left me looking polished and put together on countless occasions when I’m really unshowered.

Rule #4: Your home is your castle.

Clutter free

I learned this from my mom who was constantly getting onto us about picking up our toys or shoes or backpacks and especially about doing so before my dad got home from work. Nobody wants to come home to a messy house. I make it a point to clean the whole thing every Friday afternoon while the rest of the world is getting drunk. And I keep it decluttered daily since clutter gives me anxiety. I find that taking time to get this in order makes me a happier, saner person throughout the week.

Rule #5: Do yoga. All the time. Anywhere.

Works anywhere. No mat required.

The other day I was rushing from somewhere to somewhere else to somewhere else and trying to do my laundry at my brother’s house in between each step. I knew I’d never make it to the studio that day so I just plopped myself in the middle of his living room and did a quick 15-minute series myself. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing.

Rule #6: Dress like a MF adult.

Brief cases help

You are a grown ass woman and if you expect to be treated as such you had better play the part. I have an awesome professor who is laidback and cool and totally an ex-hippie who would like to dress as such, but she says doctors don’t take her seriously (she’s an RD) so she wears what she calls her “costumes.” I love that. You can dress yourself into a new role. I’m using clothes this year to make it look like I’ve got it together. It seems to be working since people keep asking, “How do you do it? You seem so together.” Hint: I’m not. You’re just blinded by the pencil skirt.

So that’s that. The name of my game right now is just: do the best you can. I have a lot going on so not everything will be perfect. That’s ok. If I can get creative to get by, I’ll be just fine.

Doooo you have a question for me and my yogurt?

Last night I ate dinner at midnight. If you were to ask me what I was doing between the normal American dining hours of, say, 7 to 9pm, I would say, “Don’t worry about it.” While I won’t always have a good answer (that I’ll share), I have been fielding an awful lot of questions lately. Either I have become significantly more interesting in the last two weeks or my life is such a confusing mess of a joke that people really can’t keep up with. Let’s sort this out…

Wait… where do you work?

Do you want to know where I work or how often? Because both are kind of complicated. I have a full-time job in retail, part-time Graduate Associateship, full-time graduate class load (which is work, yes) and a volunteer gig. When it’s all said and done, I’m “on” in one of these four places seven days a week. Usually at least two per day. All told, it’s about 70 hours of “work” a week. Sometimes I sleep.

But… when do you sleep?

I tend to sleep between the hours of midnight and 6am.

If you’re working this much… shouldn’t you be making more money?

You bet your ass I should be.

Where are the cats when you’re doing all of these things?

Ripping out clumps of their hair and spreading it all over my house. Sleeping, too.

What are you studying again? Cats?

No. Not cats. I’m working on my Masters in Human Nutrition. It’s kind of complicated. I’m also taking a whole lot of undergraduate classes to complete a Didactic Program in Dietetics to become a Registered Dietitian. Pretty much… I’m cramming six years of schooling into about four. And yes, I already have a B.A. in Spanish Language and Lit. It’s a party, let me tell you. (So you want to be an RD? Read this.)

Don’t you speak Spanish? You couldn’t find someone to pay you to do that?

No, I could not. Gracias. Also, viva la Weaz.

Do you do things other than all these other things that consume your life?

Yes I do. I still do yoga and eat frequently and go out and get inappropriately drunk at times.

Are you seeing someone?

I see lots of people every day. You’ll have to be more specific like: Are you seeing one person more frequently than other people?

I still eat, yes.

Even breakfast.

Lots of people also seem to want to know what I’m eating and when and how and all that. I am still eating. I’m not cooking as many awesome things as I’d like. And I don’t have time to bake. But I make it a point to continue eating in a way that makes me feel good physically and mentally. I’ll dedicate a full post to this later. I’ll work on it in my free time.

Got more questions?

I need some fodder for my videos. And since I know my readers are total creepers (y’all know you are silent lurkers; be serious), I’m doing this anonymous question thing. The second it gets remotely creepy and/or mean it will cease. But for now… Ask me anything.