Jitterbug's Beat

Love, Food, Exercise, Football and Clothes. My Holy Cinquefoil.

Oh happy Friday, heading into a long weekend after a serious dry-spell of any time off.  Time off for some, I'm sure, means a break from it all - for me, a break from work is enough.  Any time not spent working I can spend with my great boyfriend doing anything or nothing at all, or at my great gym, taking my great classes, or on my great running trail.  Don't really need to go anywhere new or do anything crazy - just plain ol' not giving up myself to the giant work-machine will do fine.  Here's what's making me especially happy today:

 

Okay I love bagels, but those humongous family-sized dough lumps don't exactly jibe with this one-small-person-with-one-pound-left-to-lose-thing I've got going on, and I am thrilled now to be able to have my bagels AND cream cheese, and yes, you guessed it, eat them too.  The Fro Yo?  Well that just speaks for itself, does it not?

Now since the office closed early today, I got to spend my whole lunch hour in my most favorite step aerobics class with the craziest instructor I've ever loved.  She just got back from a big fitness convention in LA and brought back many new and wonderful fitness toys for us to experience.  Today we did a 20-minute interval set running from one end of the room to the other using mini inflated balls for jump squats, up-downs... I don't know if there are even words to describe some of those techniques, but I think they may have been developed as torture methods at Alcatraz.  You can just call me Kelly Stockholm Sullivan, 'cause I LOVE IT ALL, the pain, the sweat, the high!  And thanks Athleta and Nike for you're ever-wonderful gear, spokeswomen and ad campaigns.  They occupy my refrigerator door.

Next up, Fall = football.  'Nuff said.  Except that's not exactly 'nuff - with the lock out, and NO DAMN NEWS in the lock-out-off-season, I'm pretty durn (not a typo) clueless as to what's going on.  I spent some time today trying to get to know my fantasy team... a few old veterans, and a bunch of whoosy-whatsits I've never heard of.  Oh and thank you, Cedric Benson, for getting yourself thrown in jail... I know, I know,  you play for the NFL, you should be able to punch whomever you want, but life just doesn't work that way.  Apparently you're predicted to do horribly anyway.  Know what else?  Just ot add insult to injury, none of my Seahawk jerseys belong to current team members anymore.  What. Ever.

What else... oh September, beckoning fall wardrobe staples... what am I loving right now?  J Crew and Madwell, of course... what's extra sweet?  How about sizes 4 and xs??  Oh hells yeah. Dangerous, I know, but I didn't even remember how much I loved clothes until getting to a size where so much more is available to me!  Fast approaching, the lovely season of pea coats and scarves and hats and gloves and all things layered.  Pieces in every spectrum of the orange rainbow, from vibrant flame to pumpkin!  And yellow!  RED!  With all the beautiful blacks and grays, charcoals, chocolates and olives.  MMmmmnnnnn.  That's my deliciously-anticipating-fall-clothes sound.  I love the word "bundled."  

 
  

 

 

My new desktop background. Admit it. You want one of your own.

Pea In a Big Crazy Pod.

So going "home" to Texas over Thanksgiving has become a bit of my own personal tradition. My brother and I run, a lot.  He kicks my butt and is 20 years older than me.  I like to think of my running more like training for the eventual zombie apocalypse (where you'll have to be very careful about pacing yourself).  

This year we not only did the 8-mile Thanksgiving day Turkey Trot through the middle of downtown Dallas, but we also did the Pineapple Classic that I mentioned earlier - now THAT was a difficult 5k obstacle course through cow-patty forest country. We scaled giant circular hay bales, way too many plywood walls, net-climbs, hurdles, tires... thank god the army-crawl obstacle wasn't a live-fire exercise, or I'd have gotten my poor excuse for a booty blown to smithereens.   I would have done much better with the really high sawhorse crawl if there hadn't been absolutely the biggest daddy longleg residing on my horse that I've ever seen in my entire life.  Anyway, the finish was a run-and-slide across a giant blue tarp covered in dish soap and really cold hose water... while waiting to start we saw lots of folks finishing, hesitantly crab-clawing their ways across, but I tell you, I was so grateful to see that finish line, I didn't think twice.  I ran and slid head first, got flipped around ass-over-teakettle and almost lost my pants.  It was awesome.  Note to self, next year, bring dry clothes.  

So Thanksgiving, with the whole family along for the ride, the house gets interesting.  I get claustrophobic because I'm usually here in Portland all by my comfortable lazy lonesome, and being thrown into the midst of a busy bubbling family isn't something I'm used to on a day-to-day basis.  Therefore when I'm there, I tend to resort to my role of complaining-selfish-too-told-to-be-pouting-self, whispering to mom when I think things aren't fair. Which is quite often.  Then I have those moments sitting around listening to the whole group and all their own personal crazies - the fights with the neighbors, the drama, the pointer-out of every horrible headline in the paper and online, the overstated opinions, the chatty kids, the angsty teens... the dogs and yes, the ferrets (I don't get ferrets, I'm sorry - why do people keep elongated rats as pets?) Anyway in the middle of sitting there listening to all the crazy, I had a very odd moment of clarity: We're all, in our own special ways, bananas. Our families are all their own brands of bananas. And this year I realized that I am so lucky to be a part of it all.  I am grateful for every single one of those nutjobs, and I fit right in.  It's what family is all about.  

 

I like to move it move it.

Okay now in actuality, I do not like to move it-move it, but with life comes change, with change comes the packing of boxes and hauling of crap.  Moving plus procrastination likely means we'll be renting a U-Haul truck this weekend and making one big well... haul... of it.  I have great friends who have offered to help, and I can't do it - I hate moving and I can't bring myself to make others suffer with me.  Now this move will be especially exciting, and challenging, because I get to learn how to live and play nice with another - another who I love very, very much.  Exciting, no?  I'm ready.  The future is wide open.

Despite having a million and one things to do right now, I have to say, I just found out that the Borders Books downtown is closing.  I'm terribly vexed.  They send out coupons, a lot, and every time they do, off I go to buy a book.  With coupons, without coupons, with a book in mind, with nothing more focused to do on my lunch hour, I go to the book store in search of anything, nothing, whatever.  I heart it there.  And I will miss it terribly.  Sorry Portland, I know you're all about Powells, but quite frankly, I remain unimpressed. Everything I've been looking for there in the last year has only turned up brand new full price copies, and I never have coupons there!  Now the computer-age...  I know it's not personal, and I know the idea of having a new book in an instant is great, but I have to slightly lament the creation of the Kindle... I want to hold my books, smell them, feel their weight, get ink on my thumb for propping it in one place too long when I'm especially engrossed.  Many believe that the publishing of books with pages and covers and spines will vanish in this lifetime.  Well, fellow enthusiasts, not in my house.  I will not go gentle into that good night.

Gotta go.  Boxes beckon.  Mostly boxes full of books.

What's Up.

Oh let's see, what's up.  Well.  This summer I turned 33.  You know what?  It's awesome.  33 is great.  I am feeling more and more like myself lately... yeah I might have eschewed that law school path, and yeah I didn't marry my high school sweetheart and yeah, I'm a divorced person (I hate the word "divorcee" - put any fancy Frenchy e's on it, it still means: been there, failed at that.) but all of those things made the me part me.  Kind of like that old McDonald's burger that kept the hot side hot and the cold side cold.  And boy is the hot part hot 'cause will all this me-me-me stuff going on, I've had lots of time to work out and eat right, and every fiber of my being is thanking me for it. BOOYAH.  I'm more fit than I was in high school!  Way to go 33!  Got some new sexy librarian glasses at long last, after ten years of an old prescription for my legal blind-as-a-bat-ness and I no longer have to pry my dry, tired, overused eyeballs open every morning to apply my lenses.  I can just put on my beautiful smart-cookie glasses.  

My mama was here this summer for just a few precious days in July and it was awesome as usual. We toured Tillamook Cheese Factory.  Cheese is not only fucking fantastic, but its really cool to watch.  All those conveyor belts.  Its quite mesmerizing, I assure you.  Mom went with me to my new tattoo consultation - as it involves a retro sleeve with the big MOM heart complete with banner and swallow, I'm glad she was there to give her two cents.  Mom got me my very first tattoo when I was all of 18.  Mainly because every single year from 12 on, I begged for one for my birthday and every year she'd say, 'when you're 18.'  I was cool with that, so on my 18th birthday she dutifully went with me and stuck it out with me all day, sitting in that shack that smelled like sweat and fear while a "woman" with this Johnny Unitas haircut and really manly biceps kept saying, "You're going to want to stop scooting forward."  Mom watched on with helpful shout-outs like, "Honey?  Do you need some kleenex?  Do you want me to hold your glasses?"  While a naked-from-the-waist-up-90-pound prostitute walked by holding her teddy bear, which she was getting tattooed on her arm.  She was also, later, getting the Tasmanian devil on her butt.  "I think it will help my career."  "Oh?  What do you do?"  (Hey I was 18, I didn't know).  "Oh I'm a stripper."  So although that moment in time paints a pretty damn clear picture for you, I'll go ahead and say what you're all thinking: My mom is a fucking trooper.  She is.  She's awesome.  I'll be memorializing just a fraction of her awesomeness with her name on my arm: MOM.  

And I can't say I'm lamenting the passing of this "summer" that we've had in Portland because I am 100% totally freaking in love with fall clothes.  Pea coats.  Scarves, hats, sweaters - gets me all steamy just thinking about it.  Yeah I've got like 3 bikinis hanging on my refrigerator that didn't get any sun-time this year, but oh well.  At least my fridge will be well-dressed for the winter.  

And babies.  Babies, babies everywhere and none of them are mine, which I'm totally okay with, but there are all sorts of beautiful -- oh hang on... TOUCHDOWN SEAHAWKS!  ... okay what was I saying?  Right!  Beautiful little babies all my friends are being blessed with.  We've got Alice here and Vienne followed, and another one on the way in just a few weeks - my beautiful wonderful friends and their new families just getting started.  I love to see it.  Kristi said it best - that her boyfriend is really lucky she isn't just around babies, because she LOVES babies, it's just the kid-part that brings her down to reality.  You all know - kids can be serious assholes.  They can also be wonderful and precious, but I'll tell ya, I wasn't.  I was an asshole.  My mom should have held my head under the water in the tub 'till the last "bloop" but god love her she didn't, and therefore I had time to grow up to stop being an asshole.  Oh hush, you know what I mean.  

This last year has held a lot of life changing events - both good and bad - and I've never been quite so thankful to be surrounded by friends and family - even if the family is a little further away than I'd like.  I've got my trip home planned for November where my cool-as-hell-grandpa brother and I will run in the Dallas Winter Pineapple Classic 5k run with obstacle course - we'll be the team of Starsky and Hutch.  I am currently seeking out faux sideburns.  Of course we'll do the Turkey Trot again - becoming quite the Texas Thanksgiving tradition, and even though I can think of roughly ten million things I'd rather do than run eight miles, it's got quite a place in my heart.  

All right you beautiful people, that's all for tonight - I have some ice cream in the freezer that really wants me to eat it for diner, and I just don't have the energy left to argue with ice cream tonight. Happy Football Season you glorious bastards, you.

Football Fantasies.

How I picked my fantasy football team.  Mmmmmm, mmm.

Horsin' Around

For those of you who don't already know me, TYPICALLY I can never guess surprises.  Unless you're my clever boyfriend and you've planned something truly fun and epic for our 3-year anniversary... then apparently I can read your face like a book.  Such was the case while we were driving home say a week earlier, he said, "Everything is all set - Saturday at 2:00 so we need to leave around 1:15."  "Okay.  What do I need to wear?"  "Can't tell you or it'll give it away."  "Okay."  Few minutes of silence... "Are we going HORSEBACK RIDING!?!?!"  What?  It was a guess!  He could have lied!  Oh well, it didn't make it any less fantastic.  I grew up with that standard-implanted little-girl-loves-horses crush, and when I was about 14 started working on ranches shoveling out stalls in exchange for riding time.  Loved it.  The family didn't have the means to support any kind of permanent horse arrangement, but I worked my tail off for years to ride, jump, barrel race - I even had a blue cowboy hat.  I also wound up in an emergency room with stitches in the place where most of my big toe had been thanks to a seriously mean-ass horse named Misty, but I digress.  Anyway, we had a blast.  The boy was hopped up on every type of allergy medicine ever invented, and he came through with flying colors.  We rode Elmo and Skip.  Horses people - it wasn't THAT kind of anniversary.  You sickos.  Anyway, check us out! 

And our really silly lookin' helmets.  Safety First!  We practiced a little in the arena while outside the wind howled and the rain came down sideways, and then we stepped out and AHHHHHH, the sun came out, the wind and rain stopped, and you're looking at the beautiful albeit muddy trail we took through beautiful Oregon forest land.  I can't wait to go again.  You should go!  

 

I did, I did, I did The Iditarod Trail.

For those of you non-familiars out there reading my blog, you may not know I'm from Alaska --  the great state where, according to Homer Simpson, you can never be too fat OR too drunk.  I quote that with the utmost respect - really - not only do I love Homer on oh so many fronts, but seriously - you need extra layers to protect yourself from the cold, and alcohol... well it also helps keep you warm.  

Two weekends ago marked the beginning of the Iditarod sled dog race - as I was reminded by my friend's photos on her blog.  I loved that time of year in Alaska - the increasing sunlight and warmth and all the activity downtown.  I miss the place that was my home.  If you're unfamiliar with the Iditarod, I suggest you get on that link and check it out.  It's a big part of Alaskan history - and if you think an Iron Man marathon is hard...  well it is.  This isn't really like that.  But the cojones it takes to mush 12 to 16 dogs over 1150 miles in 10 to 17 days... well, I can tell you one thing - I haven't got those kind of cojones.  A good handful or so of men, and some freaking awesome women, do.

Sadly, she has since passed away, but 4-time Iditarod champion Susan Butcher once came to speak to my elementary school to talk about what life was like mushing dogs.  All the little girls in my class, including me, just wanted to be her.  She had "Susan Butcher braids" we coveted - two plaits down either side of her head; thick, sensible and pretty.  One of my boyfriend's acquaintances has those same braids.  When I was introduced to him and said, "Love your Susan Butcher braids," not being from Alaska, he only stared at me like I was some sort of crazy person.  As I've told you all before - I'm not crazy.  I just have too much time on my hands.  

Sexy cake.

 

Funny, you know, I plugged in that title and thought HOLY SHIT I can't even imagine the hits my blog will get thanks to this snazzy title.  Anyhoo, ITS COMING.  That's right, the next book in the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon, and I'm in one of those almost-doing-the-potty-dance-I'm-so-excited-I-can-barely-stand-it phases. 

My BFF Kristi recently started reading the Outlander series and I'm THRILLED to share these amazing stories with her - it just makes it all the better.  Sorry, it's not football, it's not the new Rock Star, and people who don't read just won't get it (or this blog entry either - it will probably just look like random squiggles on a page, so if you can't read, what the hell are you doing looking at a blog?  This isn't porn!) and with Kristi's permission I get to print her first email to me about our amazing Scottish hero, Jamie:

K: "By the way, you were right about Jamie... SWOON."

Me: "I know, right!?! If I ever find myself single again, I'm moving to Scotland."

K: "The problem is that of course we love men who are written by women.  Women create the perfect men, gruff and manly when necessary, gallant and brave and protective but also kind, thoughtful, caring, sweet and funny.  Real men are missing about half of those qualities because they are missing some essential aspect of what makes women... well, women.  Because let's face it, the parts we truly fall for in these guys (Jamie, Edward the Vampire) are the sweet aspects.  The manly, sexy stuff is the icing on the cake.  The very sexy cake."

Because sometimes, you just have to punch a turkey leg.

So JW and I are addicted to Man vs. Food.  Ever watch that show?  Between the Travel Channel and the Food Network, I get to experience everything I can't [afford to] do: (a) jet off to Europe on a whim (b) eat all the gourmet food I want to and never gain weight (thank YOU Giada) and (c) work for Charm City Cakes.  On M vs. F Adam travels all around the U.S., eats food at all sorts of places and engages in eating contests. Every guy I know is thinking, why don't I have this job?  It's right up there with the guys who test Madden Football for a living.  Recently we watched Adam attempt to take down 15 milkshakes in a half-hour.  Just as I was asking JW, "What happens if he actually get si--"  and all of a sudden the screen read "CENSORED" and when it came back on, he was cradling a bucket.  Oh Adam.  15 shakes is too many.

Recently we watched the Portland and Seattle episodes  of the show - did you know you can get married at Voodoo Donuts?  That's right ladies, step on in, they pull one of those homeless fellows off the street and BLAM, you're married.  There also seem to be a lot of pirates that dine out in Portland.  In Seattle, Adam went to Red Mill Burgers.  World-famous onion rings.  Burgers so good they look like they're dripping burgery goodness right out of your TV screen.   That's bu-R-gery goodness you sickos.   So in JW's travels for work, he was lucky enough to stop at the Red Mill for lunch!  Check it out.  I missed out on this one.  And is that a SHAKE?  Oh I was so jealous!  Aren't you?!