Learning to cook...

Yesterday I had a lovely second date with a nuclear engineer for the navy. After hearing that he loved to cook, I wrangled him in to giving me a cooking lesson at my place while I was roped into giving him a lesson in wine. What ended up happening is that I sipped on an amazing petite syrah while drizzling olive oil on asparagus, and he "got used to the wine" while preparing parmesan risotto and seasoned pork chops. Neither of us really learned what we set out to learn during our date, but the combination of fabulous wine and a great meal made at least me a happy camper!

I did realize, however, that my food experiences could be a lot more exciting. I've got books sitting around that focus on healthy eating, simple recipes, and staying organic, and yet none of them have really been opened... and I think it's time. I mean, a girl can only eat Amy's organic dinners so many times before she goes a little cuckoo... no matter how yummy and perfectly portioned they may be.

There are a few barriers to this cooking-thing that I'm planning, though. First of all, I'm prone to wander off the beaten path when it comes to recipes, and not in a good way. (Using hot chocolate mix to make chocolate mousse... Why not??) Second, our kitchen in the condo is horribly equipped... It took me and Jason a good 10 minutes of rummaging before we found a baking sheet. Third, I don't have a car... so making the frequent trips necessary for ingredients means biking around Charleston. Fourth, and really most importantly, I'm lazy as all hell.

Anyone have any suggestions for me? There's got to be some way that I can start cooking something... right?

Love,
Katie

P.S. My Dad leaves for California today. When I asked when he'd be back, he said Sunday. When I asked if he'd be cabbing it to the airport, he said no. He was then incredibly surprised when I said, so... you're leaving me in Charleston for 5 days without a car? When I got back from yoga, and was a little less pissed... I found a car key sitting on the kitchen counter. Translation: I have to take a taxi to the airport to pick up his car... and pay for the taxi and parking with my $0.00 account balance... All so that I won't be stranded... AWESOME.

Success!! (and Pole Dancing)

Thank goodness!!! Today I finally had a successful non-yoga workout. I've been severely off my game the past few weeks, so it was nice to actually get in a productive chunk of cardio. I'm definitely going to move to classes from now on though, because I had to switch machines 3 times in order to keep myself from getting bored. (Arc trainer, bike, treadmill... none are very riveting.) Wednesday is currently set to be Tae Bo, and Friday will be Hip-Hop. If only I could get someone to tape me in hip hop... because I feel like that would be my funniest blog post by far.

Anyway, what I really want to talk about today is pole dancing. I need to find myself a pole dancing class, and here's why: Saturday night was Charleston's yearly night of debauchery aptly named "Skinful Halloween." If you'd like to see my outfit... my friend Joy has already attached photos. (I suggest you look at the whole album if you can, my outfit was not nearly the most scandalous.) Anyway, I spent my night dancing on the dance floor, in a cage, and up on stage with the band. Even though my narcissism was taking up a large portion of my thoughts, and rightfully so because I was looking HOT, I couldn't help but notice the pole dancers.

These ladies were unbelievable! They were spinning, kicking, twisting, climbing, and doing the splits in ways I hadn't yet imagined. Not to mention that every single one of them looked kick ass in their panties and bustiers... both in cuts that I have tried on in front of a mirror before, only to be disheartened and once again return to my polk-a-dot briefs and skin colored bra.

So, of course, today when I sat down at my desk for work... the first thing I looked up online was pole dancing classes in Charleston. Seeing as this morning, while walking home from the gym, I saw a painting of all of the past republican presidents playing poker up in the front window of a "fine art" gallery... you can imagine that I was skeptical about finding anything as risque as pole dancing classes, but apparently I have underestimated my southern belles!! Strip classes (pole classes are group-based and super expensive) are available 3 blocks away from me every week. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to go... it sounds like a hoot, but there really is something lacking when you don't have a pole to jump on. (That's what she said.)

Also, I don't know why, but the idea of strip tease classes makes me uncomfortable. (This is where you're all shocked... because I just said that I danced in a cage in front of hundreds of people.) But can you picture it? There's an instructor, not teaching you tricks, but telling you how to disrobe yourself. And then what... you pretend to take of your clothes? I mean, there's no way they'd actually have you take of your clothes, right? So you're stroking your arms and shimmying your invisible skirt off... in front of a mirror and a room full of women (only women?). I think that's too awkward even for me, and that's saying something. I guess I'll have to stick to more traditional dance forms... or find a pole...

Love,
Katie

P.S. At skinful I made out with a guy dressed as a ballerina (ballerino??) with a giant penis. He had taken tubing and wrapped it around his leg. (In my defense, he was also a friend of a friend, and happens to be a veterinarian when he's not wearing tights and a sweatband.) While we were sitting together on a cooler, my friend Joy kept saying: "Katie, he saves puppies!" How could I not make out with him?? The man saves puppies!!!

Oh Noga!!

My legs were feeling funny all day yesterday after yoga, but I figured they were just sore. I mean... you bend your legs that many times, the muscles are bound to get sore eventually. So, I considered it to be no big thing... until my kickball game.

The ball was gently rolled towards me... I kicked... I started to run... and both of my thighs seized. Luckily, the ball was caught in the air and I was out (okay... weird logic, I know), so I only had to make it about half way to the base before getting to turn into our "dugout." Something was messed up. Badly. So, as I waited to be put in as pitcher, or for another attempt at running in the next inning, I tried to figure out what the heck I did.

And then I realized... I was an idiot. In yoga yesterday morning, we worked our way up to Dancer's pose for the entire hour. (Natarajasana) When we got there, we started by using a strap to deepen our stretch, and this is where I think I went wrong. See... I had just spent 45 minutes loosening up my legs, and so when I pulled my foot up behind my head... I actually pulled it up to my head. I have NEVER been able to do this before... NEVER... And there's no prior evidence that could have possibly convinced me that I should be able to! Of course, I was limber and high on yoga breathing, so it didn't hurt at the time, and I immediately did the exact same thing to the other side.

My metaphorical hypothesis is this: Muscles are like hair ties, and yesterday I wrapped my hair tie too tight around my ponytail, so that now it's slackened out and won't shrink back to it's original size. Luckily for me, muscles repair themselves - unlike hair ties, which constantly need to be replaced. (Can we all take a minute to think about how freakin' annoying it is that hairties are rendered useless after a week or so? If we can fit a terabyte of information onto a microchip, I believe we should able to create a longer-lasting rubber band wrapped in thread. Can I get an Amen?!)

Good news is: I found the excuse I needed to work from home today!!! I figured it was worth a try after my Dad had to lift me up off of the floor last night, because I had squatted and couldn't get up. Hooray!

Love,
Katie

P.S. My kickball team is undefeated!! Last night we won our 3rd game 17-2. Woohoo!! I also happen to be in love with my teammate who looks like a well-fed Jesus and sings/plays piano/is rhythm guitarist in a band. Tonight he's playing unplugged at a local bar, so I'm going to be there for support (and to once again steal his tambourine).

Flu Shots!!!

I love flu shot day at the office!! This morning I walked in to find a little woman in a hideous outfit sitting in our conference room, and then I realized: she's a nurse! (I wasn't the only one confused by her presence. I'm serious.) Now I'm not a big fan of vaccinations against the flu... I mean, just buck up people. Also, I'm pretty sure that I've got a crazy good immune system after riding horses for 8 1/2 and never washing my hands before lunch at the barn.

Why do I love flu shot day, then?? The nurse brought lollipops!!! After waiting until everyone had gotten their shots, I looked into the conference room to find a bowl full of little candies. I decided on the apple charms blow pop... due to nostalgia for elementary school. Mmmmm... the gum is so tasty for like 5 seconds, before it loses all flavor... yummmmm...

I think that today's lollipop luck is a sign of the good decision I made last night. I don't know how many of you I've told, but things have been rough for me for the past couple weeks. I wrecked my Dad's car, had a friend pass away, hurt my toe, and seemed to be attracting chaos at every turn. (Remember the old people? Yesterday I nearly hit a pedestrian while on my bike... that'll scare you shitless.) Meanwhile, I've been stressing myself out about things over which I have no control. Last night, after finally mentioning that I'm a mess to my Dad, we decided that I needed to chill the F*CK out.

So, here's how it goes:
1) I'm now sitting in a position where my computer screen only faces the wall behind me. This means that I can do things like type this blog when I have nothing to do at work, instead of shooting furtive glances around the office while trying to keep myself from dying of boredom.

2)Excuses for going not out with friends are hereby banned. I've got great friends out here... and they're much more fun than watching TV... even if I do have to take a few extra seconds to make myself presentable to the outside world before spending time with them. Not to mention that they're all ridiculous... so nights with them usually include laughing, dancing, singing, and general debauchery... my favorite kinds of stress-relief!!!

3) I'm changing my workouts. Yoga has proven to me that I'll go to the gym if I like what I'm doing. My running has been horrible and/or non-existent, so I'm changing it up. Look forward to hearing stories from Tae Bo, Spinning, and whatever other workout I decide to try on for size. We'll see if this gets me over to Mr. Himnasio more often. (Gym... for those who are reading this after just waking up.)

Anyway, I just got asked to do some research into Trader Joe's. (My boss asked me if I was familiar with them... ummm, excuse me??) This means that I will have to get back into the world of the working. Until next time, bitches!

Love,
Katie

Mmmmm... Fashion!!!

What is today's motivation for my afternoon run?? FASHION. I want to wear it all!! Rachael and Kelley can both tell you all that my purchases can get quite a bit out-of-hand... leading to several days of rice/egg/cheese concoctions and ramen noodles in order to make sure I have money for washing my laundry. Now, disregarding all of the serious self-reflection that needs to happen as to my addictive relationship with all things accessory... Thinking about the fabulous look that I'm going to pull off, or how well I will be able to rock a simple t-shirt and jeans, totally gets me somewhere in my workout.

So, where does the inspiration come from?? Models? Eww... gross. Celebrities? Heck no, anyone can look fantastic if they're only seen photoshopped in 2-D (case-and-point: the Kelly Clarkson's recent retouch scandal). 99% of the fashion stuff we get pushed at us is uninventive, overly strategized, and lacking the personal touches that make fashion so much fun.

So instead, I take a lesson from real people in the street. My current motivational tool is The Sartorialist (The Sartorialist). This blog was started by a man who had a passion for photography and fashion, and decided to take it on the road. His photos are of real people walking the streets of Europe and the U.S., although he once (accidentally?) captured Adrian Grenier. Every one of them is the kind of person who thinks a bit out of the box with their clothes and look fabulous because of it.

Look through the photos (seriously... open up another tab right now) and you'll immediately start thinking about how you could morph your style to incorporate some of their genius. Slouchy pants, mixed textures, hair accessories, and the perfectly placed sneaker - it always looks seamless and easy. Today's chant as I make my way along the river-front? "High waisted pencil skirt... (breathe)... high waisted pencil skirt."

Love,
Katie

P.S. I must have been trying to impress the yogi yesterday, or I must have lost all ability to hold up my own body, because I've got an embarrassing amount of muscle soreness going on.

Oh, yoga...

Dear Male Yoga Instructor,

I thank you for many things this morning. First, I thank you for your beautiful physique. Although I may splat on my stomach every time we do a chattaranga, you stay strong and flexed. I'm almost positive that if I were to poke your butt at this moment... it would be like poking steel. Hot, hot steel. Not to mention that your legs, although covered by pants, are so muscular that I can see your muscle striations through the fabric. Apparently you did 2 hours of continuous flow yoga on Saturday... and I can promise you that the last thing I'm thinking about doing continuously with you for 2 hours is yoga... unless we combine the two.

Second, I thank you for your lack of accent and general absence of sappy talk. You don't tell me to send positive vibes to myself while hugging my knees in the fetal position, when you speak to all of us... it is the elegant "you all," and when you tell us that we are addicted to our senses, I actually find a little truth to it. Not once today did I feel like rolling my eyes at your naïveté,  which usually is one of the largest factors distracting me from my "practice."

Finally, thank you for having the lights so dim that I could only see myself well enough to appreciate the cool shadows I was making. I look fantastic in your lighting scheme. All of the other people in the class today looked much better as well, even the mouth-breather who appears to believe this is a choral ensemble instead of an early morning yoga class. I would suggest, however that either you or I move him to the corner of the room during future sessions.

Dear yogi, my yogi, I do however have one request. Please, if you're going to turn up the heat in the room... decrease the incense. I felt like I was being embalmed.

Love,
Katie

Woe is my toe...

I might have done some damage to my toe... it's black and blue. What's most amazing about me hurting my toe, however, is when it DIDN'T happen. I didn't hurt my toe during kickball. I didn't hurt my toe while dancing around a bar. I didn't hurt my toe during a night of drunken debauchery hosted chez-moi, and I didn't hurt my toe while doing anything exciting at all. When did I hurt my toe? Walking from my couch to the refrigerator during a commercial break on hulu. I wanted to hustle the 8 steps to the fridge because hulu's got such fabulously short commercial breaks. Let me describe the scene in excessive detail:

It's Sunday, and I've foregone any sort of activity since picking up my father at the airport in my PJ's and going on a junk food run to the grocery store. I have been lying down on my couch watching every possible episode of TV I can find online, including giving in and watching Cougar Town... *shudder* The only reason I'm getting away with this is that my father has taken the car for the rest of the afternoon and is convinced that I am either making jewelry, writing job applications, or working on a project for work. I assure myself that those will all get accomplished by the end of the day, and cover myself in a blanket as I wait for Psych to start. All the sudden I realize that Psych is perfect with junk food... and decide to wait until the next commercial break instead of just hitting pause. The commercial starts... and I'm off!!!!! I "gently" toss my computer towards the other end of the couch, violently punch and kick at my blanket, and hop up off of the couch with quite impressive lift. As I head for the turn around the island in the kitchen... I finally meet my match: chair #2... this chair sits right next to the pathway, and apparently in my reckless abandon, I swung my left leg a little wide and BAM!!!! The equivalent to the ring finger on my foot smashed against the leg of the chair, and I went down in a ball of pain and heavy breathing. (Anyone else get the feeling this was some sort of cosmic punishment?? I'm pretty sure it was, but perhaps will have to spend another day on the couch to test out the theory.)

So, this morning when I put on my tennis shoes to run... because I had done that "starting Monday, I'm totally going to become a fitness junkie and cut out junk food" thing... I realized that any slight pressure against my little toesie resulted in a nice shock up my leg. I refused to call it quits - since I'm pretty positive that my dad has noticed my lack of workout enthusiasm, and my pants are yelling at me every time I put them on - and make my way to the gym for my 6 am workout.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I lost all interest in working out. I ran an awe-inspiring 0.5 miles before deciding that the rare "ouch" moment... or really the threat of said moment... was sufficient to cancel the run altogether. I made my way into another room where no one could see me, especially my dad, and sat there for 25 minutes playing with equipment until my dad's walk was over. Did I tell him I did nothing?? Hell no, I didn't. Nobody needs to know.

Tomorrow I try again... yoga Tuesday! My thought is that as long as I just keep going, I'll wind up getting in good workouts somewhat often just out of sheer probability. That makes sense, right?

Love,
Katie

On a side note: Today on my way to lunch, two old people that I passed on the street tripped each other and landed on our stone sidewalks. Both wound up bloody. I have never had a meal so completely ruined.

The Underpants/Spandex Debate

With the possibility of a spinning class in my near future, I have once again come to the debate of whether or not to wear underwear under my spandex... Let's discuss.

Now, in my early days of spandex, when I was just a wee 14-year-old, it never crossed my mind that spandex might be worn without underwear. Many a minute I spent worrying about panty lines, lumps and bumps, and the horrifying "double butt." (Medically known as Four Cheek Syndrome. FCS for short.) It wasn't until I met the acquaintance of one Miss Julia that I discovered that my liberation was just around the corner... All it took was four (technically five, but one's compounded) words:

"I don't wear underwear."

BRILLIANT!!! Not to mention that it was completely baffling that out of all of the girls on our crew team, this pastry-baking, cardigan wearing, miss manners would be the one going commando. (Love you, Jules.) There was no way I was going to let myself be outdone... the underoos had to go! Oh... and it was FANTASTIC... really it was! Less fuss, less thought, and more clean underwear in my drawer on any given morning. I also had the thrill of feeling almost naked for about a week, until I unfortunately got used to the sensation of running around in the equivalent to long underwear.

But then something happened... I started taking spinning classes, and I hit a speed bump on my highway of commando love. Let's see if you can figure out where I'm going with this... Most of my spandex experiences up until this point required sitting on a plastic square (rowing) or running around. One only has cheek-to-seat contact, while the other has absolutely no direct body part contact with any surface. Spinning however, brings a whole new player into the game: the bike seat.

Oh, the bike seat!!!! In addition to what it does to my tailbone, and how it butterflies my ass like a steak for all those behind me to see, the bike seat has the oh-so-wonderful feature of getting all up in your junk. While working for a urologist, I learned that too many hours on a bike can lead to temporary sterility in men... in other words... there's some HARD CORE contact going on. You starting to see where I'm going with this??? Thought so...

So, I'm sitting here, reminiscing about the beauty of undergarmentlessness, (I'm making that a word) and all the sudden I start thinking about how pissed I would be if the person on the bike before me were riding in just their underwear. (If you're not getting the full effect, try picturing William Shatner sweating profusely on a bike with just a pair of whitey-tighties... 'nough said. That bike would more than likely be shunned like the bus seat Dana J threw up on when we were in middle school.) I want the largest barrier possible between their goods and my bike seat... complete with antibiotics, antivirals, and anything else anti I can get. Who am I to talk, though?? Sure, I wipe down my bike thoroughly after every class... but all I'm wearing is over-priced, glorified underpants. And so it would appear that I have been, and continue to be, a total ass-hat to my fellow spinners.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I make a promise today. I promise to always wear underwear under my spandex on spinning days. I hope my compatriots of the black-light, stationary bike, fitness phenomenon will join me in this decision.

Love,
Katie

On another note: Today I ate an enormous bowl of coffee ice cream with whipped cream and caramel... it was like a gourmet frappuccino... mmmmmmmmmmm. My abusive relationship with ice cream will definitely have to be the subject of a future post.

Yogervations...

Yoga + Observation = Yogervation... Live it. Love it.

Today I experienced a revelation during yoga... I'm a BITCH. Stick me in a room full of fit people and a mirror and I will just go off! The old lady with incredible balance? She can't hold eagle for more than 30 seconds... EAT THAT OLD LADY!! What about the girl next to me with legs for days? Girl can't figure out her right from her left... GO BACK TO KINDERGARTEN VICTORIA SECRET MODEL!!! Don't even get me started on the college girl that so clearly did her hair for our 6:30 a.m. hour flow class... complete with one man, age 65.

All that's fine and dandy... and wickedly entertaining for someone who can't just focus on their breathing for an hour straight, but I am by far and away the biggest bitch in the room when it comes to myself. Instead of contemplating my navel, I spent 90% of the hour focusing on my "muffin top." (Evidence that God doesn't exist: Forget plumbing next to the playground... what's up with putting your spiritual center just above the fupa and surrounded by the muffin top??) Love handles, fat tire, jelly roll, cushion for the pushin' - I was OBSESSED for about 45 minutes with what was going on there. Warrior 1 and 2 were totally fine... forget downward dog or child's pose, because those two make a huge pooch... has anyone ever looked at the bizarre shape your stomach takes in plank? It's like some sort of fin running down your mid-section... And for goodness sakes, why couldn't my spandex pants keep from folding over and making it worse??!!

And then something finally happened... I told myself, not so politely, to SHUT THE FUCK UP!! Once I got over myself, I was able to notice how funny it was to hear yoga instructions with a southern accent, how great it was to not be in a room full of bonafide yogi's complete with their stupid "zen" faces, and how much I appreciated that the floors were padded so that I didn't hurt my knees... or my ass when I lost balance. In simple words: I had fun.

So, today I encourage you to tell yourself to shut the fuck up. (And yes... the F-bomb is necessary for emphasis.)

Love,
Katie

P.S. This morning, right as I was leaving for work, I realized there was a window cleaner working on the windows to my condo. This realization came after having walked around the condo naked a few times before getting dressed.... AWESOME. Maybe I won't have to pay for the cleaning.