If I had to model the relationship that I have with my body on a celebrity relationship, we'd totes be Whitney and Bobby.

[Too soon?]

It has taken me a long time to write this post, although I've hinted at it a bit with the assorted Weight Watchers attempts, the "THIS WILL BE THE TIME!" screeds. I guess the thing is, I struggle with disordered eating habits. And I think a lot of us do. And it is starting to worry me, selfishly, because I have a 13 year old daughter. And hell if I want for this to be her life.

I feel like I have two me's. There's the Me Who Is Being Healthy (I won't use the word "diet" but that's understood). This me is thin. She has been a size 4, a 6. She has a bikini and she loves it. She packs her own lunch and she is meticulous about her Points and she downloads healthy recipes off the internet, and golly gosh, some of them are pretty damn good. She buys $6 peanut butter.

She is also the Me who OBSESSES over everything that goes in her mouth. She is the Me who feels enormous guilt over an extra nibble of cheese eaten quickly and furtively, praying that no one sees. She is the Me who feels ugly and wrong--her hair is not the right color, the skin on her feet is too rough, her eyebrows are never ok. She hates her clothes--she constantly needs more. She is bored, listless, unhappy.

Then There is the Me Who Eats Everything in Sight. She has been a size 14, a 16, a fat bride in a plus size wedding gown. She seems to hover, mostly, around a size 10 or so. She loves chocolate, eats it daily. And we're not talking the French Women Don't Get Fat approved bites of dark chocolate, slowly savored over the course of an hour, no teeth allowed. She likes Hershey's milk chocolate, eaten greedily in the car on the drive home with a Diet Coke to wash down all the crazy sweetness. She knows the people at Wendy's and makes small talk with them while they hand her her food. Her stomach jiggles when she runs (slowly) and her legs itch and she is miserable and promises to not do it again, but knows that tomorrow, her stomach will growl and it will be lunch time and she will need a french fry and it will taste so salty, salty good and she will be momentarily happy and at peace.

She is also the girl who feels pretty, oddly enough. She likes her hair, her new shade of lip gloss, her clothes. She found a dress on the Target clearance rack, loved it, and was so happy that she didn't even think about clothes or other "goodies" the whole week and ended up with extra money in her wallet. She can put on a pencil skirt and heels and feel so nice. Sure, she feels shame at the muffin top, but there is Spanx for that, right? EASY PEASY. And when she feels horrible about the wrappers in the floor of the car, the discarded frappuccino cup in her waste paper bin, well, she can just eat something else, and it is ok again.

But the size 10 Me knows that it is fleeting. That it can't go on forever. She remembers her grandmother, lying sad and immobile in the expensive oversized hospital bed, no longer able to walk, being treated for bed sores and wounds that wept and did not heal. She remembers her father throwing up at Busch Gardens, months after gastric bypass surgery but still unable to live life with any sense of normalcy. And on the other hand, she thinks of her mother and her high cholesterol, training to compete in cancer runs and measuring her life out in Truvia. She must pick a future for herself, and she knows that must not include the wrappers or the oversized bed.

So she eats one more meal, and she promises that next week it will go back to counting, to plotting, to pure, unadulterated obsession. A banana is an ok breakfast, right? That fake cream cheese stuff tastes almost like the real thing! She can only have two tacos.

And we're back at the Healthy Me. Until, that is, life throws me a curveball and I find myself in that line, saying the words "Java Chip Frappuccino."

**

I went for a pap smear the other week, and I felt good about it. I'm not the best at keeping up with health stuff that well, and some people will look at this and say, "Oh, it's because you're a mom," and I counter with, "No, it's because I'm me." I'm horrible at life. I just can't really be bothered for most things of any consequence, but I can tell you a shit load about videos on North Korea that I like to watch in my spare time. Anyway, I'm there, and I'm talking to the gyno who is super nice and helpful and I mention that I'm on Weight Watchers. And she is immediately praising me about what a wonderful diet it is, and how it is oh so healthy and how I have about 25 pounds to lose and it is totally doable with WW. And I'm like yeah, I know, but part of me wants to say, "Nope. Not the way I do it." Because the way I do it is nothing like that. The way I do it is obsessive and weird. I shoot to end the day with 5-10 unused points. If I meet my points allowance for the day, I sulk. I make myself go to bed at 9:00 to avoid eating. If I can go my entire breakfast/lunch and not eat more than 5 points, I'm happy.

See, for me, there is a middle ground. But it is constantly shifting under my feet and I can't stay on it for very long. I'm either on a non-stop BINGE or I'm OBSESSED. PICK ONE. And I see these people on WW who aren't like that and are doing it the correct way, and I have to admit, I feel some sort of sick "I'm better than you" kind of thing. Like, "When I do Weight Watchers, I don't do it that way. I can LOSE HELLA WEIGHT. I just choose not to right now." So weird.

And to make myself feel even more superior, I investigate purchasing The Ritual Cleanse and have another fry, because that shit won't be here until next week even if I order today.

**

I have to admit that it is a little embarrassing to write all this down here. At the very least, I am outing myself as the kind of girl who sits in the corner and eats paste. The perpetual weird kid. At the worst, I am telling you about my myriad psychological issues which run on unchecked and unmedicated putting you all at some danger of having to deal with unhinged me and my gross love handles.

But there is a reason. I know there's like 3.67 people who read this, and perhaps no one does. And that's fine. I'm not Dooce--this isn't my livelihood, and I basically do it because it gives me something to do on days when my boss is sitting in his office watching YouTube videos and planning on chartering a yacht (true story). And hell, I'm on the internet anyway--it's not a secret that I love the fucking internet.

And that's the thing. I love the internet. I am looking at it constantly. And I've seen that not many people are out there, owning up to their eating weirdnesses. There are pro-ana blogs (ICK) and fat acceptance blogs. There are diet blogs and vehement anti-diet blogs. But there isn't much out there that says "Hey. I like to eat. And sometimes I fuck myself up with it. But other than that, I'm a normal feminist girl." And maybe there's a reason--maybe I'm the only adult human female who pulls this shit over and over again. But maybe I'm not. I'm betting I'm not. And maybe someone else reads this at some point and thinks, "Man, am I one screwed up pup. But here's someone else who is too, bless her heart."

So that's that. Tomorrow I promise to write something about a lip gloss and which baseball player I want to seduce with a mixture of homemade fried chicken and dirty talk involving the letters ERA.

And if you'll excuse me, I need to go to Wendy's and purchase one small chili and one half spicy chicken caesar salad. I hope my favorite drive through attendee is there so I can ask her about her kid. He was sick on Monday.

Sin and Vice

I am not Catholic, and I'll just be honest: I didn't really understand the concept of Lent until I was in college. I don't even think I'd heard of it. People, the crazy Christians in my homeland think Catholics are all sinning sinners who sin because they worship idols. I once attended a church service where a missionary came and talked about his trips to Spain trying to Christianize that bunch of Mary-loving sinners. Nope, I'm not kidding. Honestly, I only attended because there was a cute boy there. And thankfully, we're married now and neither one of us have been around that particular brand of crazy in years.

So my first year of college, I was astounded by the number of people asking me what I was giving up for Lent. Um, well, I don't know. I explained that I wasn't Catholic. I think at the time I was a Buddhist. Because when you're 18 and have a religion professor who looks like Morrissey, yeah, you're Buddhist. You're just waiting for some new hot guy to swoop in and explain "secular humanism." ANYWAY, I was informed that it wasn't really just a Catholic thing and that I had to give up something. So I gave up Cokes. At the time, I drank a lot of the real, sugared Cokes (and, actually, did until I went on WW when I lived in CA--my husband found a picture of me drinking one on an old memory card the other night and yelled out, "It's like seeing Big Foot!"). I think I lasted about two days before I was filling up my glass at the dining hall, saying something about sleep deprivation and FUCK IT, I'M A BUDDHIST NOW. Again, 18. And life. However, the girls on my freshman hall were not similarly deterred. There was a lot of discussion of ceasing to eat after a certain hour, or locking up chocolate or whatever.

So basically, it was a diet disguised by religion. TWO OF MY FAVORITEST THINGS, YOU GUYS. But again, we were all 18. So I won't be hatin.

Fast forward 10 years or so and immediately after the New Orleans lovefest of Mardi Gras had ended (we didn't even have time to sprinkle that sawdust stuff on the barf, ya'll!), my Facebook feed BLOWS UP with what everyone is giving up for Lent. It's chocolate, it's fast food, it's Facebook (meta, that one), it's online shopping, it's all this stuff. All stuff that no one really needs, but that make our lives better in one way or another. And the comments that people are saying about the stuff that they want to give up--it's internet self flagellation. It's "I feel horrible that I eat so much" or "McDonald's is so gross so I'm giving it up." Everyone is explaining why they have to give up something in this sick, sad tone, with this idea that they have to give this one thing up, just to try to be a little bit more perfect. Just to further fit into this narrow, constrictive role that we force ourselves into.

(It should be noted that I have never heard of a man giving up various foodstuffs for Lent. Or for any other reason, for that matter.)

Guys, it is totally ok to like things that aren't good for you. We don't have to feel guilty about it. I'm not knocking Lent if you do it for very real, religious purposes. But it's not a diet. It is not going to cure you of loving sweets. And really, you shouldn't want for it to.

Today, since it is rainy and since it is February 29 and, from what I've heard, Say Something Nice Day on the internetz, I am calling out my vices. All things that I apologetically love and that I refuse to be embarrassed by and definitely refuse to give up.

1. Diet Coke. I know it is rotting my brain. But that very first drink of a freshly opened bottle of Diet Coke--there is nothing better. I read this thing in a book by Michael Pollan once about all the gas that is used delivering and manufacturing diet sodas, and Mr. Pollan is quick to point out that this is a foodstuff that has no nutritional value at all. It should have made me feel bad, but really, I just giggled with glee and took a big swig. Sorry Michael.

2. McDonald's cheeseburgers and fries. My mom loves to tell people that as a kid, I hated McDonald's. I remember me making her take me there to purchase the Happy Meal toy and that's it. But, I don't know how or when, but somehow, I developed a taste for a plain McDonald's cheeseburger (just the cheeseburger, not a Big Mac or any of that) and an order of fries. It is the simplest thing, and it tastes so good. I have found that this, combined with a large McDonald's Diet Coke, is a cure-all to most stomach issues I might have. Eating it while hungover is also a real plus.

3. Women's magazines. When I was a freshman in college (and Buddhist!), I took a women's studies class. We only met once a week, and one week we were told to bring in women's magazines. Then we all sat around and looked at them, and talked about what they did to women. I remember saying all this crap about feeling marginalized by them. I wrote a paper about it, ya'll. All the while, I was subscribed to about 5 of them. I wish I had had the lady-balls then to just look my professor square in the eye and say, "PRETTY CLOTHES!! OOOH, SPARKLY THINGS!" Look, I know the kinds of ideas they put in women's head. But, if you look for it, there are always bits of female strength in the fashion mags. And well, sometimes a girl just needs to shut it all off and look at shoes.

4. Velveeta shells and cheese. I have made mac and cheese with gruyere, with Stilton, with artisanal cheddar from a farm I personally visited. And it's been great, I guess, but nothing compares with the taste and pure comfort of Velveeta shells and cheese. Matt agrees, and this is probably the one food thing we do agree on. I maybe only buy it once a year, but when I do, I can eat the whole box. Freaking delicious, and I love to watch the cheese come out of the little packet like the piece of some kid's rubber boot!

5. True crime dramas. I discovered the ID channel once when I was sick and unable to move off of my couch and it was all downhill from there. I love to turn on one of these while I am cleaning up the house because the repeat themselves so much that you can get the jist of some tragic, horrible tale even if you occasionally step out of the room or have to turn the vacuum up over the volume of the tv. They are also fun to watch while under something furry and with a lot of judgement: "YOU TOTALLY DID IT!" or "WHY DID YOU MARRY THAT PIECE OF CRAP?" All acceptable verbal responses. Which brings me to....

6. Lifetime Movies. For real, ya'll. TOO MUCH GOOD STUFF.

7. Intervention and Hoarders. My Monday nights are stacked, ya'll. These are the two shows, I absolutely, positively have to watch live. HAVE TO. I curl up on my couch with a Weight Watchers fudgesicle, and I watch the Hell out of those shows. Are they exploitative? Yup. Do they make a point of showing people with often debilitating mental illness at their worst points? You gotcha. And there I sit. Week after week.

8. Steak. I love a good steak. And I know cows have big eyes. I'm sorry. Those eyes are the windows to their own deliciousness. (And if you ever want to know how to make the best steak you'll ever eat in yo' own kitchen, hit me up. I'll share!)

I invite you to fess up to your own vices, whatever they may be. Perfection is a myth, but having a sweetass time with the things you love is totally not.

Weight Watchers Update

I suck at Weight Watchers. I really do. In total, I have signed up for the program four separate times (including this latest go-round), and every time I have had the best of intentions. But then things start getting in the way--weird work schedules, dinners out, needing to save the monthly fee to put towards trips or car repairs, moving--and nothing turns out the way that I want it to.

I originally signed up for the program (AGAIN) in the middle of January, right after my birthday. I told myself that I would track everything and really dedicate myself to it. I plunked down the fee for three months, so I wouldn't have the excuse of cancelling for that reason. But then I went to Jamaica, and then I came back to an empty refrigerator. And it was as good excuse as any not to do it fully, to kind of half-assedly eat a decent breakfast and lunch then blow everything eating too much bread at dinner. Plus, there is exercise to contend with, and it is so, so hard to motivate myself to do that stuff during the winter. It is a mental block. In the spring, summer and early Fall, I want to exercise. I crave it. I want to be outside running and walking and being active. In the winter, I want to be a garden slug. In a Snuggie.

So I have found myself this week, once again trying to rededicate myself to the program. I have tracked and planned and paid attention. And then yesterday, for the first time since maybe the very first time I started Weight Watchers (way back in '08, I think), I felt it "click." Yesterday, it finally started feeling right. And why? What was the great reason behind this?

Well, I packed my lunch.

My current job is weird in that we don't have an office microwave. We had one, and then it blew up or something and no one replaced it. I don't know why. Up until this point, frozen dinners and a cup of yogurt were my go-to work lunches. They were low in points, easy to prepare and required absolutely no effort in the morning when I am struggling to make the kids' lunches and get everyone out of the door on time. Without a microwave to work with, I just floundered. Sure, there were a couple of days where I made a sandwich for myself. But most days, I just went out to eat fast food or get Subway. And let me tell you--even if my intentions are good in what I get, I always tend to add on something totally unnecessary. Croutons on the salad, cheese on the sandwich, you name it. By the time lunch was over, I had spent a totally disproportionate number of points, and really didn't have much (nutritionally) to show for it. And then of course there were the days where I blew off the points totally and told myself I deserved a big scoop of chicken salad from the restaurant across the road because I unknowingly wore a black bra under a semi-sheer shirt/stubbed my toe/was late/had to make an unsavory phone call.

Yesterday, though, I'm not going to front, I was hungover. Too much wine the night before. And as I was getting ready for work, I thought that nothing sounded good to eat for lunch but a nice peanut butter and banana sandwich (NOT fried, for all of you Elvis fans--and btw, I have the recipe for Elvis's pb&b and yes, it is AMAZING). So I packed it up, along with an apple and some carrots I had bought for the kids. When I was eating, I realized that I enjoyed it much more--plus, I didn't have to venture out in the rain to pick it up. When I put in the points in my tracker, I was amazed at how many points were left for dinner. I even had enough for a snack (which I ended up not even eating because I fell asleep at 9 when I put Allie to bed--glamorous!).

This morning I got up and looked at myself in the mirror, and I liked what I saw. This is all a mind game, I know. But it felt good. Today I have brought a salad and some leftover brie, apples and crackers from V-Day, everything measured out and portioned. I am excited about eating it, and in fact, already would have if one of the muffins I made last night hadn't been a very feeling breakfast (when coupled with an apple and copious coffee).

Does anyone have any dyno-mite lunch ideas that don't require heating? Let me know in the comments or tweet me!

Happy Valentine's Day!

I fucking love Valentine's Day. I'm not even going to front. I think it is rad. I have always loved it, and I persist, despite the fact that it seems to be somewhat trendy to hate it, to decry it, to roll your eyes in its general direction.

Love is an awesome emotion, as countless pop songs have been telling us for years. So why not celebrate it? Celebrate it in its myriad forms--the love you have for your kids, your dog, your favorite shoes. And today, celebrate yourself too: put on your favorite lipstick, listen to your favorite songs, eat something incredible.

And if you are bored, I implore you to comment or email me or tweet me or send a fucking carrier pigeon my way with two bits of information: 1) your favorite shade of red lipstick and 2) best way to prepare kale. And no, these are not related although since I typed that, my mind is exploding with ways to combine the two.

Happy Valentine's Day and may you eat something so chocolatey that it makes you sick, but sick in a good way and not a bad one.

The A to Z of Me

What was a CRAYzy morning has given way to a nice, settled Monday afternoon. I've gotten work done, I've stopped sneezing, and life is generally a bit brighter than it seemed in the harsh light of 9:00 a.m.

So, on that note, I am doing this meme. Why? Well, the office is quiet, and it is one way of putting off actually doing the corrections I worked on last night on my (very depressing, sadsack McGee type) novel. I have located a reader, so that means two things: 1) This thing is getting real, and 2) I'm about to ramp up my procrastinating web usage about 200 fold.

A. Age: 28. And I don't know quite how to feel about that.

B. Bed size: Queen. I have always had a queen bed, even as a toddler. I don't see myself moving into a different size anytime soon.

C. Chore that you hate: Washing dishes. I would rather have my toenails ripped out than spend a day washing dishes. Which sucks because my dishwasher is dying a slow death of something horrible and antiquated like TB or something. Something that I can't cure by cleaning it, whispering lullabies to it or kicking the absolute shit out of it. Because I've tried all those.

D. Dogs: I'll just say that I don't like dogs. Not really. I don't like cats either--I'm allergic. I'm not much of a pet person. My daughter has a miniature schnauzer named Hinkleton (if I were to say it belongs to our family, I would risk her wrath, which is not something I am willing to do), and I like him fine, but as far as actually wanting to spend time in the company of pets, no thanks. I especially do not like big dogs. If you have a big dog at your house and it stays indoors, I will not visit you. Period. I know that sounds mean, but I really don't like them or the smell they bring to a house.

So now that I've pissed off dog lovers everywhere, I'll move on.

E. Essential start to your day: A shower and then a little rest to enjoy the silence of my house. I usually go and sit on the couch for about 5-10 minutes apres shower. Sometimes I read a magazine, but most times, I just sit there. It is the only time that our house is quiet for any extended period of time.

F. Favorite color: It has always been purple. Really dark, rich purple, though, none of this namby-pamby lavender stuff.

G. Gold or Silver: I wear mostly silver, but lately have been feeling a bit of gold. I think I'll always be a silver girl at heart though.

H. Height: 5’3”

I. Instruments you play: I took piano lessons as a kid. My mom is a pianist--a damn good one--and she really thought I had some natural talent. I don't. I also played clarinet in the band for about 2 years. I did this mostly as a way to meet cute and nerdy boys but they were too busy playing Dungeons and Dragons to notice.

J. Job title: I recently changed jobs, and to be honest, I have no idea. I work for a small firm and we all just pitch in and do whatever needs to be done. If I were to put it on a resume, I'd probably put something like Researcher/Case Assistant. I like to call myself the Legal Beagle, because I spend a lot of time looking at law.

K. Kids: I have three. Gabby is 12 and she has started wearing high top converses that fold down to reveal a plaid lining and big, puffy headphones around her neck like she is one of the Quad City DJ's. I don't know quite what to say about that. Sam is 7 and is the youngest kid in our area on the Magic card game circuit. He is a self-proclaimed nerd (I don't fight him on that). Alice is 2, loves bling and is a ball of fire. That kid will either rule the world or end up in jail. I'm hoping for the first.

L. Live: I live in the fucking boonies where I grew up. Our town has 1,007 residents. Hopefully, this will not be the case for long because I really do.not.know.how.much.more.I.can.take.

M. Mother’s name: My mom's name is Irana. It is said "I-RAIN-A." My grandparents got it off of a soap opera.

N. Nicknames: My mom used to call me Morgie, and I hated it, so she quit. My oldest daughter calls me MoMo.

O. Overnight hospital stays: Just when my kids were born. I hope that is the very last time. If I ever have another kid, I am doin' it at the house!

P. Pet peeves: Number one is being late or people who are late. I think it shows a total disrespect for yourself and everyone else involved. Also: people who wear pajamas in public. People who don't discipline or watch their children in public places. The word "muggy." Body lotions and candles that are very sweet smelling (namely that Warm Vanilla Sugar stuff from Bath and Body Works. If I wanted to smell a cookie, I'd bake one, ya'll.) The grocery store on the first of the month.

Q. Quote from a movie: I wish I had something really intelligent to put here, and I probably should, given the sheer number of film classes I took in college. Ask me about "quote from a book" and I'll give you some obscure Romanian play quote that I read in college that will make you think twice about our friendship. But movie? Anything from Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Growing up, my dad owned and worked on the crew for several stock cars at local tracks. He also watched the race every Sunday. I hate Nascar and will probably never watch another race as long as I live, but I do love me some Ricky Bobby. There's a definite familiarity there. My favorite scene is here. Pick any of those quotes. I also just SQUEE at any mention of the name "Mike Honcho."

R. Right or left handed: LEFT. When I was a kid, my mom would take me to this place in Atlanta's Underground Atlanta shopping complex that sold notebooks for lefties and t-shirts and things like that. It was a real-life Leftorium. I had a shirt that said "Left handers: Only ones in our right minds!"

S. Siblings: I ain't got any. I'm an only child. I used to love it, but I've had my issues with it lately. But then again, if I had a sibling and they were a real jerk, I suppose I'd want to be an only child. Grass is greener and such...

T: Time you wake up: Usually about 5:30 on weekdays. Trouble is, Alice has been getting up around then too, so I end up laying back down with her to get her back to sleep (she will say "Nuggle and nigh nigh, Mommy" and I have to relent to that). That means it is sometimes 6:00 or 6:15 before I get up again which is as grand excuse as any not to exercise. I have to get a handle on this. On weekends, I sleep in until about 7:30 or 8:00.

U. Underwear: My mom got me started on these Gilligan O'Malley bikinis from Target. They are uberthin--I don't know what material they are. They are very comfy, and no VPL. I also like all the underwear from Aerie, although it makes me feel like a dirty old woman to be shopping in there.

V. Vegetable you hate: BEETS. Beets can die in a fire. Matt made borscht once, and just the smell was enough to make me puke. At one of my former jobs, I used to know this woman who ate a pickled beet with her lunch everyday. Just the thought makes me wretch.

W. What makes you run late: I don't like being late (see pet peeves) so I very rarely am. If I am, it is because of some very unforeseen event (like crazy traffic or extreme sickness). Or because Matt or Gabby is involved. You can bet that if that is the case, I am fuming in the background with unmistakable rage on my face.

X. X-Rays you’ve had: I used to get bronchitis as a kid a lot, so my lungs quite a few times. I think I had my ankle x-rayed once when I was a kid and did something weird to my achilles tendon in ballet class. My grandfather and his boy scout troop built the x-ray room at the clinic where I went as a kid, so every time I had to get it done, someone told me about that. That's what I remember--not the actual procedures.

Y. Yummy food that you make: I can bake pretty well. Amongst my dad's family, I am the pie girl. My daughter is always very proud of my cupcakes and her friends ask for those quite a bit. My son is a big fan of my mashed potatoes, and I have to admit, they are pretty bomb diggity. There is a secret ingredient, and I ain't a tellin'.

Z. Zoo animal: I really like hippos. And I like walruses. These are pretty rare things to see at a zoo, believe it or not. Probably because they are so big. I have been to a freaking ton of zoos, and have only seen hippos in San Francisco (and one died while I was living there) and in Memphis. Walruses I have only seen at Six Flags in Vallejo, CA. My kids think that my love of these two animals is amazingly hilarious. They like to buy me hippo and walrus things or send me pictures of them. I have a little plastic walrus I carry around as a good luck talisman. His name is the Walrus of Plenty or WoP. Don't ask.

Top Five Food Items to Bake this Fall

As you can tell, I'm really feeling the Top Five list lately. Why? I love lists. I work best off a list--just ask my boss who keeps them coming all day long (she is out of the office this morning, which gives me ample opportunity to write this). So when planning to enjoy my favorite season, I feel like I have to have one just to get everything done and properly enjoyed. Is that weird? There is something to be said for spontaneity, but I think I may have left that behind at around 23 or 24.

Fall is probably my favorite season. That is a popular feeling these days, as anyone with a Pinterest account can attest. Everywhere you look, people are posting pictures of golden leaves and pumpkins and everything flavored with pumpkin that you can possibly think of. I get it people--as a nation, we like pumpkin. Fall is also a very twee season, I think. Gone is Summer's blaze and the bikini-body-onslaught that defines it and we're not quite to the overall grandeur of the holiday season. Fall is stuck in the middle, being all cutesy and enticing with its sweater layers and homey appeal. There is no pressure in Fall, I don't think. It is a time to enjoy the outdoors but get used to the pleasantness of the indoors again. It is a liminal time, exalting in its being stuck in the middle.

Fall is definitely my favorite time to bake. I love baking year round, and holiday baking definitely has its own attraction, but there is something lovely about being in the kitchen in the fall. The ingredients that abound are amazing tasting with all the freshness of summer but the warmth of a winter fire.

To carve out time to take part in baking (as well as running and very possibly learning to ride a bike--more on this later), I took the step this weekend to start a weekly (or even biweekly) "Cooking Sunday." "Cooking Sunday" is a day for me to assemble meals and put them in the freezer for easy access during the week. This is something I've always thought of doing, but never quite got around to. This past Sunday, I made a huge batch of chili (that we had for dinner, with some of the leftovers stocked in the fridge for lunch this week and the rest frozen), cilantro lime chicken for tacos, carnitas, and chicken kiev. We had the chicken kiev last night, and despite a small hiccup with a (much) longer baking time than expected, it was delicious. And easy. And in fact, I spent a large portion of last night, sitting on my bed, wondering what I could possibly get into with my newly found spare time. Tonight, I plan to use that spare time to make blueberry muffins (which I meant to make on Sunday but didn't because I went to two parties instead!), stir together some homemade salsa, and perhaps, if I'm feeling spry, make some of my truffle cookies for Alice, who keeps looking at me with her huge eyes and saying "Choc-wate....COOKIE!." (I should note that this is a huge step for Alice, verbally, as until very recently, she called chocolate "Fuck cat." As in, when at a restaurant, my grandmother asked if she wanted some ice cream and she yelled, "YES! FUCK CAT!" and I had to say loudly and uneasily, "CHOCOLATE! SHE WANTS CHOCOLATE SUNDAE! HA HA!") Other days I plan to use that spare time to sit around on my couch and do absolutely nothing or to, you know, keep my daughter from becoming some kind of deranged pre-teen outlaw clad in gray jeggings and hair feathers who attacks Tokyo after she doesn't get enough "Likes" on her perfectly crafted Facebook status.

But, without further adieu (or rambling), here is a list of other things that I can't wait to make this fall:

1). Maple Walnut Fudge. I really like fudge, as the good people who staff Kilwin's in Gatlinburg, TN can tell you. Of course, the chocolate variety is my favorite, but I also love my grandmother's peanut butter fudge. And chocolate is kinda "done" too--my mom and I always make a batch to take at Christmas time, using the recipe she got off of the back of a Nestle package when she was my daughter's age. I'm really digging this stuff because it is different and oh so Fall. Plus, my grandmom always finds some great fresh walnuts that she passes on to me during Fall. Here is the recipe I plan to use, although I haven't done any other research to see if I have a different recipe (with pictures--always a plus when making candy!) in a cookbook at home.

2). Sourdough bread. I have been wanting to get a starter going forever, and this just might be the time. I'm really seeing this made into panini or with a big pot of soup. Planning on using the recipe set forth in The Cheese Board: Collective Works cookbook, from the shop/cafe I so adore in Berkeley.

3). Focaccia. Focaccia is delicious, and though I've made it a few times, I don't think I've ever really gotten the hang of it. I really plan to this time around. I feel like I've seen this in a Barefoot Contessa cookbook that is hanging around in my kitchen, although I could be vastly wrong. If all else fails, I will go with Joy of Cooking on this one--just a good basic to get me started.

4). Pumpkin Roll. Every cook in the South, it seems, has a day set by to just make pumpkin rolls. I am a glorious exception, because I will admit that I have never made one. My mom has made many of them in her day, maybe even sold a couple. I have made a Buche De Noel a few times, so I know the rolling technique, so perhaps I am well prepared for this task. Perhaps not. I would really like to find a kind of off-kilter pumpkin roll, maybe with cinnamon cream cheese in the middle. I really adore cinnamon cream cheese on red velvet cupcakes (just enough to say "HMMMMM...."), and feel like it is a natural here.

5). Classic Apple Pie. I have made many, many apple pies in my day, a lot of them for my Uncle Ricky who hides them and won't allow anyone else to have one. I always use the same recipe for his, from an old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook my mom got as a wedding present in 1973. When I make them for my dad, I like to use Granny Smith apples and a healthy slug of bourbon. My late grandmother preferred her apple filling on the top of a thin cheesecake with a vanilla wafer crust. This year, though, I want to perfect the art, maybe with some local apples. I've even considered perfecting a French tart while I'm at it, with a pate brisee crust. And when I do it, the pie will be all mine. No sharing allowed.

Does Fall bring out the cooking bug in you? If so, please share your recipes and secrets!

I Watched It So You Don't Have To: War of the Amy Fisher's

This past weekend, I was a slug. The two older kids went to stay with some of Matt's cousins for the weekend, so I was left to my own devices with just Matt and Al. We planned picturesque hikes and trips out for our little party of three. However, it rained all weekend. And I found myself pretty tired. And well, Lifetime Movie Network was running a "Tainted Love" weekend movie marathon, so well, you know. The story writes itself.

Alice happened to take her Saturday nap while Casualties of Love: The Long Island Lolita Story was having its run. I have never actually seen any of these Amy Fisher tell all movies (of which there are three, all made in 1993), so I settled into the couch with the August Real Simple, my leopard print Snuggie and some WW-friendly smores that I make in my oven. This, my friends, is what I imagine heaven will be like--just me, a silent house, a magazine and something cheesy on the tube. I really hope all that fornication doesn't keep me from experiencing it.

The movie was truly, truly horrible, which of course, means that I enjoyed the absolute hell out of it. Seriously, if I could watch that movie again, you know I would. With that in mind, I decided to see if I could find the Drew Barrymore version (CoL stars Alyssa Milano). Sure enough, some kind soul had uploaded that on YouTube. You don't have to know me that well to know what I did next. BUT! I did it for science, for posterity, for YOU, my litte sachertorte. Yes, I pitted Alyssa Milano and Drew Barrymore against each other in the ultimate Amy Fisher challenge so that you would know which one is superior and thus, is deserving of your rainy-Saturday afternoon moments. You're welcome in advance.

(And yes, I understand there is a third Amy Fisher movie starring the lesser loved Noelle Parker. But a girl can only take so many tired Long Island accents before she is committed, so I didn't watch that one. Sorry, folks. Maybe another day. And besides, Noelle kind of crashes this awesome Drew/Alyssa thing I have going on in my head, which probably gives me something in common with any dude who was masturbating in the early 90's.)

I have broken the movies into several important facets to make all this simpler. But before we start, here's a quick breakdown on each movie:

Casualties of Love (heretofore known as CoL): The Buttafuocco's version of events (and no, I'm not spelling that correctly. I refuse to google. They will heretofore be known as Mr. and Mrs. Zubaz for reasons that will become apparent later). This movie is so factually incorrect that it is laughable. In this one, Mr. Zubaz is the victim. Not because his wife got shot, mind you, but because he is an upstanding business man/family guy who some slut is fixated on. Basically, Mr. Zubaz gets addicted to the nose candy, goes to rehab, and comes back as Ward Fucking Cleaver in a mesh t-shirt. He loves his wife. You know how I know that? Because they have sex in the shower. In Lifetime world, pure, unadulterated marital love is shown in two ways: 1) children and 2) spontaneous shower sex. Alyssa Milano is the "Aimee" in CoL, so misspelled to avoid lawsuits, I assume.

The Amy Fisher Story (heretofore known as AFS): This one is no one's version of events and is pieced together from accounts from other people, not the actual parties involved. Boo-urns! And it is told in that weird, choppy flashbacky way that you see in a lot of Lifetime movies which usually means that there is some big old fat plotholes lurking around and you best not try to put it together too neatly. The story is the basic girl-gone-wrong diatribe. Amy is a wild, petulant brat whose parents indulge her every whim. I'll tell you this: I wanted to punch her through a good 2/3 of this movie. Like really punch her. She has a lot of sex with Mr. Zubaz, and some of it is pretty kinky (detailed below). There is a reporter running around through most of the movie trying to give the movie some kind of moral center about the villification of a sexualized girl, and really, all her points are valid, but you want to punch her too because she kind of makes the movie drag a bit. I don't want "feminism" and "morality" in my Lifetime movies. FUCK THAT NOISE! Give me another faked orgasm and a mom wringing her hands! That's more like it! Drew Barrymore is the Amy in this version. Slutty 90's Drew. That's a whole other bit of awesomeness right there, amirite?

The Fisher Parents: Both movies deal with Amy's parents in different ways. AFS gives them more of a spotlight in its showing, paying close attention to the mother's total denial that Amy is nothing but a slightly flawed princess. The dad, however, gets major points from me because he wears these huge 80's style glasses for much of the movie. They are truly amazing. Also, one of the better scenes in AFS is a domestic scene with the parents where Amy makes lasagna for them. Mom goes (and yes, I'm paraphrasing), "Amy, how much cheese did you put in this? Your dad has to watch it for his cholestrol." And Amy goes, "Uh, about 2 pounds." 2 POUNDS! That's when I knew she was a vile seductress. 2 POUNDS OF CHEESE. In the inimitable words of Urkel, HAVE MERCY. However, CoL takes this category on the stength of just one well played line. The parents are really played down, but there is a really priceless scene of Amy and her parents. She has just told them that she has herpes. And the dad goes (and this is a direct quote): "Amy, you said Joey gave you THE HERPES." Ladies and gentlemen, not only is that the best quote of this movie, it might be the best quote in a Lifetime movie ever. Advantage: Milano.

Wardrobe: Unfortunately, AFS really falls apart in the wardrobe department. Drew looks pretty staid in a lot of this movie, rocking some knee length skirts and a couple of tunics. WTF? A word to all you costumers out there: this is not how slutty girls in the 90's dressed. I mean, I didn't try to knock off anyone and my Blow Jobs Given to People Wearing Zubaz Pants tally was stationed solidly at 0, and I didn't dress that frumpy. However, just where AFS lacked, CoL really picked up the pace. I present to you, Exhibit One:I'm pretty sure that when Alyssa Milano finished filming this movie, she had one hell of a yeast infection. Her pants were that tight throughout the whole movie. She also wore some dynamite cropped shirts, double belts, some thigh high boots--HELL YES this is how a slutty 90's girl would dress! There was one scene in the autobody shop where she's wearing this skin tight gray cotton leggings and a tied up shirt. Matt, who was playing Civ World on the computer, turned around and said, "God bless Barry Zito," making reference to one of the many baseball players Ms. Milano used to boff. And I had to agree with him. That ass was PADOW, ya'll. I would totally shoot someone in the face for it. Advantage: Milano.

Overall Look: However, we have to remember that Amy Fisher did not look like Alyssa Milano, bless her heart. AFS does a much better job of giving us a more truthful look of Amy. I spent a good portion of the movie wanting to hold Drew down and straighten her hair because she is sporting some serious frizz in this movie. And I have to say, I loved that she had some kind of brown drawn on late 90's J. Lo eyebrows going on. And brown lipliner! HELLS YEAH. AFS kept it real with Joey too, having him spending a good amount of time wearing zubaz pants and skin tight polo's, which I think we all know is how Mr. Zubaz was hanging IRL. CoL really went for more flash on both accounts, with Mr. Zubaz even having to stand up for his flashy look to his dad. There were a lot of gold chains, some ill-advised mesh, the whole kit and kaboodle. What is funny is this is Mr. and Mrs. Zubaz's own account. So you know they were loving all that nasty stuff. Which is pretty icky, just as well, you know, banging someone underage. But for reality's sake, let's say Advantage : Barrymore.

Sexy Times: This is kind of a moot category, because CoL does not contain any Amy on Joey sex because in this alternate view of reality, Mr. Zubaz did not have sex with that woman! (Despite the fact that he would end up confessing to it.) There is that shower scene between Mr. and Mrs. Zubaz but ick. No. I refuse to comment. AFS, however, picks up the slack like mad. In fact, I read that this scene was labeled "too hot for tv"--it was in my YouTube version, but apparently edited out of the original. And it is easy to see why: there is full on boob suckage and you can see Ms. Barrymore's ass at one time. The fact that it is happening in Amy's bedroom with full on ballerina posters and shit like that hanging around is kind of a lady boner killer though. But, you know, if you are thinking of this in the more academic type way, I guess that the sex scene is good because it shows the complete and total wrongness of the whole Amy/Mr. Zubaz thing. Not me though. I'm there for the pornishness. And I have to give credit where credit is due--Ms. Barrymore does a pretty dynamic job in the scene directly before this one; her flirtations are pretty spot on, and she acts the hell out of it, playing the teenage nympho role to a tee. And well, this gets major points because I'm pretty sure it is the only sex scene ever committed to celluloid that features one of the participants having to take off his zubaz pants. Let's hope it is anyway. Advantage: Barrymore.

Overall (Tiebreaker): This is a toughie to explain because it really gets at the core of why anyone would watch a Lifetime movie. ASF is definitely the better movie--it features a more double sided view of the events, and is more factually based. There is that moral sense about the whole thing, a kind of commentary on women's sexuality and the hungry public's clamoring for it. HOWEVER. It is boring. I clicked around while I was watching it. Reading Facebook comments about soccer games suddenly became a lot more interesting, even though I hate soccer and about 85% of the time, Facebook. CoL, on the other hand, is the Disney Land version of the Amy Fisher story. It is so out of left field and just so Lifetime-y (Crazy sexual tart in fatal attraction with married man! Beautiful wife assaulted! Excuse me while I clutch my pearls!) that it is much more entertaining. Yes, it is truly a horrible movie. But, you know me. Advantage: Milano.

I can only hope that someday, there are three Casey Anthony movies out there for me to watch and pontificate about. Because you know, somewhere, Jennifer Love Hewitt is wearing a pink tuxedo shirt, practicing her dead eyed glare and just waiting on her phone to ring.

Summer Survival Guide, Part I

I live in VA. Summers in VA suck. That is all there is to it. They are hot and humid and you frequently find yourself oscillating wildly between a hot and burning exterior and an over air conditioned, artic interior. My office building is a prime example of this. Some days, it is stuffy in here and the air has an icky feel. Other days, I could swear it is February. I have a fan in my office, as well as my wool J. Crew grandpa sweater that I frequently wear on days that I have to unearth my car from a layer of ice. There have been a couple of days where I have used both at different points. Such is the perk of working in the dead center of a giant building with no windows or other forms of natural aeration.

Therefore, you have to have a few tricks up your sleeve in order to make it through comfortably and not looking like you are "hot as a Trojan" (I don't know where this saying comes from and if it relates to ancient Greeks or condoms. My grandmother said it a lot growing up, and from her, it could be either). Here are a few things I have found that are helpful.

Goody Spin Pins: I have long hair, and come summer, my number one activity is finding a cute way to keep it off of my neck. Ponytails are ok, but I really don't want to rock a pony all day, every day. Health magazine ran an article about summer hair a month ago (June's edition, I think) and there was a cute bun in there that I wore a bit and liked. Real Simple had some ideas as well, notably one for a side pony that I have worn with my fedora to great acclaim from the husband. However, bobby pins are never really that fun. They fall out, you lose them, they bring back horrific memories of dance recitals in years past. They are a general pain in the ass. This is where the "spin pin" comes in. Basically, this are tornado-esque pins that you put through a little chignon and they hold it in place. Two pins and you're solid. And you know, I really like them. In fact, I am wearing them right now as I type this. They are fast and simple (I am pretty much all thumbs with a wide array of hair styling, but I got the hang of this pretty quickly), they hold the hair securely, and the look is cute and a little better than a pony. Plus, you don't even have to use a hair elastic. Really all you need are the two pins.

I will say that you should give yourself time to get the hang of it. It is quick to learn, but it can be frustrating (like really, HULKSMASH style frustrating) when you are in a hurry and trying to get your hair up and it just won't work. The real trick is to try to put them in straight up and down--not on an angle. Also, you are a bit limited on what you can do with them. The Goody box specifies three styles--the classic chignon, a side chignon and a double chignon. A quick Google search tells me there are other options on You Tube. But, for the money, this is a great product and a real helper in the summer time.

Goody Headwraps It is somewhat fitting that the first two things on my list would be dealing with hair, because I think hair is the biggest issue in a hot humid summer. At least it is for me. These are your standard head wraps, designed to pull the hair back from your face like a headband without the headache. If I remember correctly, I rocked some very wide cotton ones in strange colors during the early 90's. I originally bought these for running to smooth the sides of my head from the bits of hair that pop out from my ponytail. However, you can do a lot more with them. If you buy the ones in the color of your hair (brunette for me), they blend in and can really smooth those little fly aways on the sides that humidity pulls out of me. I have in one right now with my Spin Pin chignon. It is just there to keep things smooth. I have used these things forever, but I recently saw in the June Health where frequent contributor, Bobbi Brown (of make-up fame, not of Hell to the No fame) uses them as well, even for formal events, and I can definitely see how you would do that. Like I said, it is just another weapon for you in your battle against humidity. And by the way--don't order them from Amazon via that link. $17.59 is crazy. I just bought a new pack a couple of days ago to share with Gabby, and I think they were $4-$5.

Jersey dresses: I don't really feel like this is new information or that I'm blowing the lid off of anything here. Jersey dresses are super comfortable and are a summer staple. The racks are filled with them--I see classy ones, slutty ones, ones that are made of that weird stuff that is often flower printed and looks like it is wrinkled (anyone know what this stuff is called? IT IS THE DEVIL). But I also see a lot of women walking around in places where a jersey dress would be perfection, looking hot, tired, and uncomfortable in ill-fitting shorts and dresses made out of stiff, non-breathable materials. Stop the insanity people! Every year, I purchase a new one of these dresses from J. Crew. I might get a few others in various places, but I always, ALWAYS get a J. Crew one. Why? Because they are flattering, and I have found them to be of consistent quality. Just for an example, I wore one of them throughout my pregnancy with Alice--I think I wore it the day before she was born! This year's dress is this one. I have found it to be unique in that has a little bit of interest--the elastic belt, the almost Grecian look at the strap--that set it apart and make it ok for a not-so-fancy evening out or with a cardigan to work (especially around here where the lack of students is making us all a bit more casual than during the school year). Plus, it is super, super comfortable, and miracle of all miracles, was not too long on me when I purchased it! Super, duper score.

Neutrogena Wet Skin Sunscreen Ladies, sunscreen is not optional. I am uber, UBER pale and I would love, DREAM OF IN FACT getting a nice bronzing while laying at the beach, reading Motley Crue's The Dirt. BUT. Skin cancer is a very, very real thing. You probably remember this if you read regularly, but I recently watched my grandmother die of skin cancer. Besides the obvious sadness because this was my grandmother, this was probably the saddest, most horrible death I can imagine. I won't go into details out of respect for her, but believe me when I say that this is not something that you even want to tempt into having. I have always been a bit of the sunscreen queen while on vacation with my kids and that kind of thing (and really, what mom is not?), but this year I have definitely stepped it up a notch. I am glad I found this product. It is perfect for applying at the pool--you can apply it right after exiting on to wet skin, and it will adhere just perfectly. Plus, even if you're not chilling pool side that much, it is perfect for sweaty bodies. My husband and I used it yesterday after riding in a hot car (read: bit sweaty) and then going running and it stuck to us and worked great. Great for touch ups too. I will tell you that I don't wholly trust the super high SPF's that I see, so I think I have 30 or 50, but it goes up to like 85 if you are into that kind of thing. There is also a kids formula, but my kids are fine with this version.

Guys, I don't really care if you buy this sunscreen. I don't buy it exclusively--I use a lot of different brands depending on where I am, what I need and what is on sale. But please consider wearing it this summer. We put it on our kids, we'll make sure they are covered with rash guards and hats and such, but so many times, we as women forget about ourselves. And that's not ok. Layer it on so that you can enjoy many, many more summers with them and love that sun and that trashy novel as much as you can!

Things that Suck: You Belong to Me

On Thursday, Matt and I took the kids to the Knoxville Zoo and to Pigeon Forge, TN for a little trip. We decided to only stay a couple of days so that we didn't have to worry about kenneling the dog (we had family members stop in to feed and take him out) and so we could enjoy a little time at home before trooping back to the salt mines today. And that was a good idea. Because any time we do any kind of trip, we do it HARDCORE. Like EXTREME vacationing. No laying back to relax! We do as much as possible for as long as possible, which means that we all end up bone-tired when we return. But it is a happy tired, an accomplished, holy-shit-that-was-fun tired.

This is why Saturday evening found me laying on my bed, watching Lifetime. We had just returned, and of course, I unloaded all of our outlet shopping purchases, and then, fell in a big heap with Alice. I was pretty happy with just watching whatever came on. And at first, I was just glad that it wasn't that crappy Army Wives shit or that Drop Dead Diva show which offends me to my core that they can't just make a show about a confident, happy plus-sized brunette chick. NO! She has to have been a blonde knockout in another life, thus making her fun and awesome! Everyone knows chubby brunette chicks are just miserable and wear only muumuus and cry tears that taste like vanilla bean frappuccinos! VOMIT.

But then I watched You Belong to Me, which just may be the absolute worst Lifetime Movie ever made (disregarding, of course, that schlocky shit they show at Christmas that I do not have the intestinal fortitude to even attempt watching). It stars Shannon Elizabeth (yup) and is a Lifetime "horror" "movie".

And that's not even the worst part. Basically, I think this movie was made because some dude somewhere had a horrible experience with an ex-girlfriend who was an English major. And since I was an English major, this offends me. And it made my head hurt.

Here's a synopsis of the movie: Basically, girl meets boy at work. Boy becomes obsessed with girl. Boy is a generally creepy English major. Boy stalks girl. Boy falls off of cliff. Girl's house becomes haunted. A vase is thrown by a ghostly scepter with horrible, horrible aim and girl realizes that boy wants her to join him in the afterlife. Girl finds boy's grandmother and finds out that she is a dead-ringer (har har) for boy's dead mother. PAGING DR. FREUD! WE'VE GOT OEDIPUS ON LINE ONE! Girl fights boy's ghost for her soul and that of her son. The end.

Sounds horrible, huh? Now imagine it with Shannon Elizabeth doing the "acting". Are you vomiting yet? No offense to Ms. Elizabeth, but holy crap. If there is any justice in the world, she and her majestic rack are working in a nondescript office job right now, somewhere where she can't hurt us any longer.

So the English major thing: yes, the creepy guy/antagonist (BIG ENGLISH MAJOR WORD, YA'LL) admits to being an English major. And I'm like, "Well, ok, yeah, we have some creepers among our ilk." People who like to spend their time writing and reading obscure things are generally not the most sane people you know, amirite? So I'm willing to cop to that. But this guy...whew. He spends about 9/10 of the movie trying to quote various Brownings. I kind of expect him to jump out of a closet and yell, "I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR GODDAMMIT. AND SINCE THE ECONOMY SUCKS SO HARD, I AM LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO QUOTE THE ONE GODDAMN POEM I KNOW AT LEAST FOUR TIMES A DAY. BECAUSE I MAJORED IN ENGLISH. AND I DID IT SO FUCKING HARD." In fact, it would have helped the movie along if he had done that and probably shaved about 15 minutes we have of mindless Browning-rambling. And here's my picky English major point that pissed me off more than anything--he kind of skips around between Robert and Elizabeth Barret Browning. LIKE THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON. My lord, Lifetime. If you're going to feature someone being a complete English major douche, at least do it right! A real English major would point out the differences between the two, and would probably give you some really quippy point that would make you secretly hate that person a little and ultimately, remove them from your Christmas card list.

As if all that isn't bad enough, this movie had another major detractor. And that is some of the most horrible, cringe-inducing Lifetime movie sex I've ever seen. Now I'll tell you, no Lifetime sex is good sex. And if I had a quarter for every orgasm I'd seen faked in a Lifetime movie, I'd have enough money to be able to watch my trashy movies on a brand new 3-D tv. But this stuff is so cringe inducing that it made me squirm a bit. Ms. Elizabeth does have some gorgeous breasts--I'll give her that. And they looked lovely in her lacy little bra she wore in BOTH of the sexy instances. But the rest of it was just BLECH. The first time was especially wretched. Basically, Girl is talking to her lawyer boyfriend (we'll call him Boy II), who is completely non-threatening in a Lifetime movie man kind of way. And he's talking about how much he loves kids. And then they just start making out. Ok, ick. Maybe it is just me, but I don't find talking about my children to be an aphrodisiac. Usually, I am the most erm, excited, when I have not even thought of my kids in a good while. But I guess Lifetime feels that the only way ladies can get in the mood is if they are a) trying to have a baby or b) have found a man who just loves talking about the kiddos. Part of that pisses me off, and the other part just squicks me out. Blech.

So, in the whole scheme of things, with one being Christmas Lifetime schlock, and five being The Two Mr. Kissels, this movie rates about a 1.5. And it only gets the .5 because of this awesome line of dialogue (and note that I'm approximating here--I watched this on Saturday):

Boy II: If this ghost is so powerful, and he really wants to kill you, why hasn't he?
Girl: I DON'T HAVE TIME TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU!

What's funny here? Well, I feel like with this line, the good folks at Lifetime are acknowledging they've made a really shitty movie with a big old fat plot hole. And you know what they're saying? They're saying, "Well fuck you too! We don't have to explain anything to you. We'll make you EMBRACE that plot hole, you randy housewife!"

So, bad as it may be, this movie has some balls. Albeit tiny, sad little balls, but balls none the less. Watch if you dare.

My Kingdom for an Effective Strapless Bra

I had a very, very full weekend, one that found me out a lot and wearing a strapless bra every day (and interestingly, an airy, floaty dress that probably looked wretched on me). It was then that I realized how much I freaking abhor strapless bras, even this one that I bought duo's of last summer and that I thought would still work this year. Yeah, it kinda works, but it is not comfortable to wear for, say, three days of activity. And when I got up this morning and got out my Liberty of London halter-y (it is not actually a halter, just has a high neck and no shoulders...so it is a? I don't know. It is cute though, I'll tell you that) and realized I just couldn't do it with a regular bra, even though I am covering up with a cardi in office, I gave myself a momentary pity party. One more day of boob squishing. One more day of hiking this thing up every little bit. I resigned myself to it though, because it is hot, and the LoL top was the only thing I could think of putting myself into to any success. Then, I'm putting the bra on, thinking that I will set the convertible strap to halter (or to stun!), and the whole thing just breaks in my hands. Thanks, Victoria's Secret. Awesome. My $50 bra that I bought at the end of last year, EXPRESSLY for the purpose of having a convertible bra at the ready for early summer awesomeness was now in incapable of becoming a halter or anything else convertible. And the strapless-ness is not too great either because the little hook that broke has a remaining piece of metal that is stuck in its holder and keeps stabbing me. I ended up securing it with fashion tape and ignoring the pain. Wanting to be bra-strap free will make you do things like that.

So here's my question for you guys: what kind of strapless do you recommend? I would like to order one online because really, who knows when I'll actually make it to a mall to purchase one and be able to give this the time and care that such a delicate situation calls for. Plus, my options for bras are severely limited by living in the middle of nowhere (thus the fact that this other one came from VS which I really, really do not like). Any ideas? I really want something that is durable because this bra is going to take a licking from me, even if I buy a couple. And let's remember that I have humongo knockers to contend with.

Thank you in advance!

Lifetime Movieness: A Crime of Passion

Menstrual cycles are not something that I talk about a whole lot. Well, ok, none. Ladies at my work--well, that's a different story. They will tell you just about anything that you could ever even conceive of asking about their monthly friends, no matter how gross or strange or odd. And of course, I just stand in the corner of the office bathroom, like the kid at camp whose boobs haven't come in yet, and hope that they do not notice that I'm not contributing to the conversation at all.

However, I will tell you that every month or so, I become the biggest stereotypical girly girl that has ever been spawned. Not that I'm some big genderless blob the rest of the time (I think you know that since I spend a good deal of time being all OMG LIPGLOSS!), but during this short time period (usually 1-2 days), I'm a big oozing well of estrogen. Got a romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl you've been dying to see? LET'S GO. I will not make one snarky comment, and we can do an over/under on whether I will cry or not. Want to eat an entire Vermonster and talk about how fat we are? AWESOME. I've got my lucky spoon! Want to sit on the couch and watch an entire season of Grey's Anatomy/Sex and the City? SURE. Yeah, I've watched about two of each of those shows in my life, and yes, my eyes hurt from all the rolling, but on that day, I will do it, and once again, I'll probably cry. Or hulk smash something. But that's just the estrogen talking!

This happened to me last night. I found myself footloose and fancy free at 8:00, as Alice had passed out because she didn't take a nap earlier in the day, Sam and Matt were playing a rather animated game of Risk, and Gabby was in her room plotting sixth grade domination. And I'm sitting on the couch, thinking about how much I would enjoy a plate of brownies topped with a full pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and wearing a leopard print snuggie and a pair of cropped yoga pants from Old Navy. I'm getting ready to turn on the Cardinals/Giants game when I think, "You know, I would much rather watch this Lifetime movie on LMN called 'A Crime of Passion' starring none other than Tracey Gold." And so that's what I did.

Now, I may have seen bits and pieces of A Crime of Passion before, or it could be because A Crime of Passion is a big ole stereotype of a Lifetime movie in itself. Basically, here's the plot: Widowed doctor meets stripper with a heart of gold (heretofore known as SWAHOG). Widowed doctor's daughter, a failing pre-med student (Tracey Gold) does not approve. Widowed doctor marries SWAHOG in Vegas. Widowed doctor realizes strippers do not automatically turn into Lil' Suzy Housewife the moment someone puts a ring on their (dirty) fingers. Widowed doctor asks for a divorce. Widowed doctor is murdered whilst clutching his coin collection. Daughter (Tracey Gold) is suspected of his murder. BUT YOU KNOW IT WAS THE STRIPPER! My lord in heaven, ya'll! SHE WAS A STRIPPER! Being a stripper at any time in one's life means that your hobbies will always be having abortions, getting your nails done, and KILLING DOCTORS. No matter what element your heart is made of.

Now, the plot is pretty stupid, I'll give you that. But there are a couple of things that make this movie totally fucking awesome. First is this: let's imagine for a bit that you are a 50 year old man. A red-blooded American 50 year old man, not some foppish dandy who spends his time following Kate Middleton's sartorial choices and eating vegetables. You're laying in your big old four poster bed, reading at night. And your new bride, who worked a pole for 10 years, so you know, has some moves, comes out in the black meshy thing and starts gyrating on a bed pole. Something tells me you'd put down the book and enjoy the show for a bit and probably do some things that are illegal in the state of VA. You know? I mean, you're the guy that married the STRIPPER. Might as well reap the benefits of that choice. But not this guy. He sits there and has the AUDACITY to look exasperated. Like, "WTF, YO? You're the woman I married, not someone who I want to have sex with?!?! Now go put in a casserole, darn my socks and make yourself useful."

That's when I knew that when he died, I wouldn't be a bit sad.

And he does. SWAHOG is (rightfully) embarassed by the whole ignoring the sexy dance event, and runs back off to the strip club where she erases her sorrow by making out in the parking lot with her golf instructor. IT'S ALWAYS THE GOLF INSTRUCTOR, AMIRITE? And OF COURSE one of Mr. This-Book-of-Tax-Codes-is-Way-More-Interesting-Than-Blow-Jobs's country club crones just happens to be driving by at that moment (probably because he got lost on the way back from the Stereotypical Old White Man Emporium) and reports her, so SWAHOG is given the boot. Thus the whole shit tornado that eventually ends in murder is birthed.

And all he would have had to do to avoid this is to watch his sexy wife do a striptease. THE HORROR.

The other awesomely awesome thing about this movie is the fashion. Holy high waisted jeans, Batman!!! But more importantly, rather, the way fashion is used to show that whole Madonna/Whore dichotomy that we women, try as we might, can never fully extricate ourselves from. Tracey Gold is a 1st year med student in the movie, and her wardrobe consists of marled sweaters, sensible shoes, and these godawful highwaisted, wide leg, stonewashed jeans that I'm pretty sure were marketed only to fathers as the poor man's chastity belt. Holy lord. They were horrible. And Tracey is a perfectly lovely girl--there was no need for that. By the same token, SWAHOG is given a wardrobe, and I'm pretty sure the wardrobe person took one look at it and goes, "Well, she's a stripper, so let's uh...just cut about 2 inches off of every hem! For authenticity!!!" As she continues down her path of destruction, it just gets worse and worse. By the end of the movie, she's basically just wearing a corset with a lacy bra sticking out of the top in every scene. Going to the DMV? I used to be a stripper, ya'll!!! Funeral? BOOBS AHOY. Career day? Did you forget what I used to do for a living? Here's a nipple to remind you.

So on the scale of Lifetime movies, 1 being those horrible inspirational schlock fests they show at Christmas and always feature a sad-eyed child with dirt on its face, and 5 being The Two Mr. Kissels, this is a solid 3.5 or 4. Watch and be amazed the next time your estrogen is soaring.

OOTD: Does this work?

So it is the quiet before the storm in my office. Our big meeting starts at 11:30, but everything has been done--folders stuffed and artfully arranged on the table, lunch reservations made, offices cleaned with every thing filed and ready. I am just sitting here, calmly drinking from my klean kanteen and waiting on the swarm of higher ups to come in and scrutinize the numbers for the past 6 years (which yes, I had nothing to do with, since I started working here last November). Oh well. That's higher education for you...what are you gonna do?

Yesterday, I posted a question to Allie at Wardrobe Oxygen which is where I go to ask all questions both fashion and life related. Why is the sky blue? Does this skirt match these heels? Where do babies come from? All fair game, since Allie basically taught me how to dress when I had just graduated from college and thus MADE MY LIFE. I asked her if she would think I was rushing the season a bit if I went bare legged today. On February 18th. The whole idea seems ludicrous, since it should not be 72 degrees on February 18th. But it is, so I asked.

She said that it was ok, since I am wearing all black everywhere else. And, she didn't say this, but I want to add that if I had tried to put tights on, my legs would have broken out in huge, scaly hives because winter is really grating on me right now, and I want it to be spring because it is acting like spring and if winter sneaks back on us, it is going to be twice as hard as it was before to muster the strength to live.

So, what say you, venerable readers? How do you deal with unseasonable weather? Dress for the temp, no matter the month? Or the month, no matter the temp? It should be noted that I am also rocking my coral trench, which I think, looks amazing with my turquoise-y necklace.

Jersey turtleneck--Merona for Target (such a great purchase this was--great quality, inky color, perfect weight...and $10)
Pencil skirt--J. Crew Factory
Turquoise bib necklace (this is a great piece, but all of the pictures I took of it made me look goofy)--Gap Outlet
Black croco peep toes--BCBG (old!)
Silver hoops--Sam got them for me for Christmas

Another question--does anyone else have this issue where their hair looks one way in their bathroom, and quiet another once they arrive at work? I think the air in here is really dry or something, but my hair was pin straight and silky at home, and then I get here and it is suddenly fluffier, with a bit of a wave. Still feels nice, and is not horrible, but definitely different than at the house. One of my coworkers says that our building is a "sick" building because people get a lot of headaches in here. I have always said it is not the building, but rather the people (har har), but maybe there is something to it....

I hope everyone is having a great Friday and is less stressed than I am! Friday should be fun--parties on the Sunken Gardens, lunches at the Cheese Shop--not BIG MEETING, right? I wish everyone in the world had gone to my college and maybe there would be no Friday meetings ever!

Weight Watchers Wednesday: Pizza, Pizza

Pizza is one food that my whole family can agree on. Now, not the same toppings. Getting any group of people, no matter where the people are from, how much money they make, what political party they identify with or how they feel about Obamacare to decide on pizza toppings is IMPOSSIBLE. My family is no different. Sam is a plain-Jane kinda guy--cheese or maybe some pepperoni (with no burnt edges!), whereas Gabby and I are definitely in the "more toppings, better pizza" camp. Matt and Alice are somewhere in the middle. But despite this, I know that if I make a pizza crust and throw some stuff on it (or better yet, let the kids throw their own things on it) I can get a meal on the table that everyone will eat.

And you would think that this would be counterintuitive to the whole Weight Watchers thing. However, since I restarted the program, I have found myself going to pizza more and more as a meal choice. For reals, you say? Yes, pizza. The truth is using a bit less cheese and a whole lot more veggies can turn the ultimate no-no into something you can feel really good about. And something that calms those cravings.

First off, let's start with the crust. Crust is really overlooked, I think, in the making of the American pizza. In many cases, it is an afterthought, merely a vehicle for lots and lots of gooey cheese. And while that kind of pizza has its place (when you are throwing back a few beers at the ballpark, for instance), I feel that if you are making something that will tame your cravings and give you some nutrition, every part has to be at its best. I have found the following crust recipe to be easy to churn out at a moment's notice and delicious:

Morgan's Pizza Crust
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tbsp. of yeast dissolved in 1/4 cup warm water (I put this in a 1 cup liquid measure)
1 cup cold water & 1 tbsp. olive oil mixed (I wash out the same 1 cup measure to mix this)
1 tbsp. honey

Blend this all together either in a stand mixer with a dough hook or in a bowl with a wooden spoon (you may notice that if you are doing this by hand, you need a bit more water. In that case, a couple of teaspoons of cold water will do the trick). Let rest for 20 min with a kitchen towel over the top. Knead and roll out and let rest for another 10 minutes. Place dough on a pan or pizza stone sprinkled with cornmeal. Spread with your toppings. Bake at 425 for 25 min.

Once you've made the crust, the world is your oyster. Be creative with your toppings. And although cheese is delicious, think about other things you can add. I have found the following toppings to be delicious:
--caramelized onions, a bit of mozzarella, goat cheese and a good drizzle honey
--dried figs, caramelized onions, and Stilton
--pesto, roasted vegetables (a mix of zucchini, yellow squash, mushrooms, peppers, onions and asparagus), a bit of mozzarella
--mashed black beans, fire-roasted salsa, spinach, cilantro and a mix of monterey jack and reduced-fat sharp cheddar
--chopped pears, arugula, and blue cheese with a good glug of balsamic vinegar on top
--and the old reliable--roasted tomato sauce that you can make on Sunday and keep in the fridge for a few days, sliced fresh mozzarella, torn basil (especially good with a light Caesar tossed on top--yummo)

And there is always this--the child labor pizza. Buy a bunch of healthy toppings, make the crust and then let the kids make their own individual pizzas. Sometimes I double the recipe for the crust for this so that there is plenty in case someone wants to make an extra. Pineapple always goes fast when we do this. You might be surprised to see what your kids add. Sam shocked the crap out of me last time we did this by adding fresh mozzarella and broccoli to his pizza and then eating the whole thing!

Generally, these pizzas weigh in at about 4-5 Points Plus per slice. Which sounds like a lot. But the crust is hearty and filling and the slices larger than what you would find on a restaurant pizza (I usually follow an old Weight Watchers cookbook of mine and cut the pizza into 6ths rather than 8ths). With a big salad, one slice can be super filling. If you have the extra points to throw around, two slices is definitely a feast. Last night I did have the points, and found myself only able to get through one and a half slices before getting totally satiated. I ended up using my extra points on some Edy's slow churned ice cream. And you can always bring a slice for lunch the next day--mine is waiting on me in the fridge and I'm super excited!

If you have tried this, I'd love to hear your topping ideas in the comments!

On Growing Up

When I was 8, my mom bought me a whoopie cushion for my birthday. She bought me other things too, but the whoopie cushion was the definite draw. My best friend, Melissa, and I spent my entire party taking turns blowing it up and then sitting on it. We would then explode into uproarious laughter. Every.Time. There is actual video of this. I flit around the video screen, wearing a purple flowered dress with a lace collar, my hair in a French braid, my face obscured by gold rimmed glasses and buck teeth. I am sublimely happy.

When I was 11, it snowed on my birthday. Buckets actually. My birthday fell on a Friday that year, and my mom has promised me a slumber party. I was determined to have the party. My mom tried to tell me that none of my friends would be able to come because the roads were bad and they could not make it up the hill to our house. I sulked. Within an hour, my mom had negotiated her way out of our driveway, and we were driving down the road in a four wheel drive, picking up my friends. We had to drive up the huge mountain where my husband's parents live now, a huge mountain that is known far and wide for the amount of its snowfall, to get a friend. My mom did it. She secured us all in the back of her Four Runner and headed back down the mountain. We stayed up all night, at one point having a screaming contest, and at another utilizing every blanket/comforter/sleeping bag in the house to make a tent that encompassed my entire bedroom. My mother just may be a saint.

When I was 19, I celebrated my first birthday away from home. I was a freshman in college. Matt did every thing he could to make it awesome--we went out for lunch and dinner, he bought me books and a new journal, every thing was amazing. However, that night, we realized that he had forgotten the "cake" aspect of the day. I told him it didn't matter--I had had a dessert at dinner--but I could tell he felt bad about it, and to be honest, the whole thing made me miss home a bit. We were sitting in my dorm room, studying and talking about this when someone knocked on the door. I got up to answer it, and there stood three girls from my hall, holding an entire pecan pie with a candle in it. I laughed and thanked them. It turns out they had stolen the pie from the UC dining hall, as well as a fork which they then gave to me to eat the pie with. It was amazing. I felt blessed and amazed, and I didn't miss home a bit after that.

Last night, on the eve of my birthday, I made my own birthday cake. I was going to forego the cake this year, given that I am on Weight Watchers, but the kids were not about to let that happen, and I was not about to have shortening spackled monstrosity from the grocery store sitting on my table. So I found a recipe from Cooking Light (that is still like 9 points, natch) and last night I made it. I have to say before I go any further, the frosting is RIDICULOUSLY good. And this is from a girl who has made a ton of frosting in her day. Anyway, after making the cake batter, I looked around. Alice was sitting in the living room, watching Ni Hao Kai-Lan and not destroying something for the first time of the night, Sam was in my bedroom because he likes my sheets (never mind the fact that he has his own flannel sheets), watching something on Cartoon Network and doing a word find he brought home from school, and Gabby was in her room, doing God knows what, but probably something that has to do with using her Kindle to blind a rival girl in her class. It was quiet for the first time all night. So I pulled down the mixer bowl and sat in the floor and licked it up. I had paid special attention to making sure everything got in the pan to bake because I am bad about licking the bowl, and I didn't have the points to spare after a supper of yummy bean burritos and guacamole. But as I was licking, I thought, "It is a good thing I didn't leave much in here, because I could make myself sick doing this." And as soon as I thought it, literally the second it hit my mind, I thought, "Oh my God. That is something my mother would say." Or my grandmother. At least someone well over 40. And, yes, it sounds like something that if I said it to Gabby, she would roll her eyes at my oldness.

And then I looked up from my glinting silver prize, and I gazed around the kitchen, and I thought, "I really need to wash down these cabinets because there is a lot of stuff on them that I never see. The dishwasher, especially, could stand a scrub down."

And at that moment, I realized that I am old. That I am a grown up now. I sat there and stared at the cabinets and resisted the urge to grab my new sponges that Matt had bought the day before and go at them. The old me would have thought, "God, these things are dirty! Good thing nobody sits in the floor of the kitchen to see them!" But me, the responsible grown up, literally sat on her hands to keep from doing something so that I could enjoy the quietness of the house and not start a big project right before the kids' bedtime.

(And I have to admit, that typing this, birthday or not, makes me want to scrub them the second I get home).

I am one of those people who clings hard to her adolescence, who despite the three kids and the job and the closet full of high heels and business casual still sees herself as a young'n of sorts. And that's not going to change. Just the other night, my husband and I sat on our couch and talked dreamily about our "next adventure," what we might want to get into in five years, where we could go and see next. Our voices were hushed, so as not to wake the sleeping 16 month old in the next room, but had all the dreamy quality that we had when we were in high school and discussed the great expanse of life before us. But sitting there, in that kitchen floor, clutching my bowl of reduced-fat cake batter, I felt grown up. And it wasn't all together a bad feeling.

I am 28 now--have been officially for 4 minutes, as I was born at 12:40 on January 18, 1983. I don't know what my 28th year holds for me, nor do I know what the rest of this life holds for me. I don't know where I will live, what I will end up doing, how many degrees I will have. All I know is that I am starting to feel comfortable in my own skin, and if that is what being grown-up means, I welcome it. I see myself today and I am happy with what I have accomplished and what is still out there. And if there is a better birthday wish than that, I don't know it.

*Although, I should note that it is super nice that my coworkers just took me out for a lovely lunch at my favorite lunch spot (strawberry poppy seed salad FTW!) and I came back to a very spring-y bouquet of flowers from my mom. That was pretty rad.

Weight Watchers Update and Boozy Banana Bread

Today I attended my first Weight Watchers meeting since college. I really wanted to rededicate myself to the program and decided that after the holidays, I would move my online membership to the full Monthly Pass membership where I would have more accountability and a chance to get support on the weight loss journey. I knew that I had gained a bit of weight during the holidays, and I had gotten away from making healthy habits--instead I was creating unhealthy ones to replace the healthy ones that I had made. That, my litttle croquembouches, is not good.

I did not, however, think that I had gained 15 pounds. Yes, folks I have. I tried to tell myself that this is a combination of wearing my shoes and a bulky sweater (I had forgotten to take those things off until I saw a lady stripping beside of me at weigh-in), and the fact that it is almost that time of the month and I woke up this morning feeling bulky. But that is still a lot of weight gain. That is a lot of butter, ya'll. And a lot of sugar. And a lot of cheese. And a tad bit of champagne. The other part of it is that this is after a week of being *relatively* good food-wise (bringing my lunch, preparing recipes from Cooking Light at night). So lord only knows how bad it was before last week.

At first I was very discouraged. I wanted to cry and maybe run out of the building and into the McDonald's across the road where I would down a very large hot chocolate. Those 15 pounds were 15 pounds that I had worked off before, ran off, and was so proud to have removed. And I put them back on because a lack of control. And if there is a trait that I ABHOR in others, it is a lack of self-control and self-awareness. So, in essence, standing there in the cold church gymnasium, I felt like I was becoming someone I hated.

But there was the voice of the meeting helper person, and she was smiling a lot and telling me that it was great that I was there in the first place, and would I like a magazine? and that I should talk to this other girl who was new last week and about my age. And I thought, "Fuck it." It is in the past. I ate too much over the holidays. I made too many treats, and I licked too many spoons and now I'm paying for it. I know this--I know that I have a predisposition to be heavy because of family history and a love for the more creamy, satiny things in life. So I gained some weight? I knew it would happen. I just got what was coming to me. And now I am fixing it. I can't do any thing more than what I am doing right now. So I'm not going to worry. I will lose 5 pounds, and then I will lose 15, and then at some point, I'll hit my goal weight when I lose 25. And it will have been all the better for the slip-ups and the mistakes and the times when I learned just how much is too much.

At any rate, I went to Weight Watchers. I am now toying around with the online stuff, actually tracking my meals for once (yeah, I had been paying the online fee, but only sporadically checking stuff and tracking it), and feeling slightly proud of myself. I would add a picture because I look cute today in my new sparkly cardigan and ruffly shirt, but the building is literally FILLED with oldsters because the College for Older Adults restarted today in the building. The whole place smells like meat loaf, ya'll. I went down to take a picture this morning, and there were about 20 old ladies in the bathroom, talking about what medicines they take and the side effects. One lady goes, "Sometimes I just can't....go." And she said "go" the way you or I might say "genital warts" or "pubic lice." Le sigh.

It has been a while since I shared a recipe, and longer since I shared a healthy one, so I'll show you what I made last night. I swore I would never use a different banana bread recipe after I made this peanut butter one because it was so, so good. Well, rules (and swears) are made to be broken. I made this bananas foster bread last night. Why? Because it has booze in it. And booze is freakin' amazing. I will cop to a couple of changes--1) I used bourbon instead of rum or cognac because I just like bourbon in ANYTHING and because I didn't have any rum handy (not a big rum fan, actually), and 2) I did not make the glaze, which would make it more delightfully boozy because I have kids that I thought might like a slice and I didn't want to liquor them up. The booze in the recipe is cooked on the stovetop first before baking, so you get a lot of the alcohol burned out before you even bake it. So I think it is pretty kid friendly, with changes. If Matt and I let them have ANY. It was truly very good. And for 5 Points Plus and 194 calories, it makes a nice breakfast with yogurt and fruit. Plus it has flax in it. Have you ever known something to have flax in it and be bad for you? Flax makes you smart, ya'll!

I hope you are having a healthy day. Feel free to post healthy recipes or lunch ideas!