September 8, 2009
Could be retitled: “Strange and Curious Things that Exist in my Purse”
I got into work today around 7:45 (yay! Beat traffic! Still later than I wanted to though). I reached in to grab my makeup kit from my purse, and found a jar of salsa instead.
Intrigued, I dug further into the abyss. What else could I find in there? Below, a non-exhaustive list of what I found:
1. My GPS (WTF. It’s the size of a small melon. How did I not notice that)
2. Explore: Stories from off the map (a book)
3. What I hope is beef jerky, because I just ate it.
4. 16 Splenda packets
6. 4 types of lip balm, accumulated in my ongoing quest to cure chronically chapped lips
7. 9 post-it notes with work phone-numbers and to-do lists
8. A contact lens
9. A bottle opener
10. Roughly $4.32 in spare change (of course, my wallet is empty)
11. Band-aids, medical tape
12. A bag of climbing calk (???)
13. 2 prescriptions to be filled
14. Keys from an apartment I lived in 3 years ago
This list might not sound that impressive save for the fact that I cleaned my purse out less than a week ago.
:: sigh ::
The mess always wins. On the upside, the salsa is a spicy fire roasted chipotle which will go great on the eggs I brought in for lunch.
July 7, 2009
Blueberries: 2c — 2
Plain yogurt — 4
Roasted chicken breast — 3
Mixed greens: 3c — 0
Reduced fat feta cheese — 2
Cottage cheese: 1c — 5
Salad Dressing: 2T — 1
2% Milk: 1c — 3
1/2 muffin — 5
1 slice pizza — 8
Daily points: 20
Activity points: 6
– 6 mile run
– 30 minutes lifting
– 2 hours rock climbing
Flex points used:7
(28 flex points remaining)
Total — 33
November 23, 2008
Lately, I can’t turn on a movie without seeing the tried and true plot line that’s been used since Jane Austin picked up a pencil: Woman has male best friend (MBF). MBF secretly pines for Woman. Woman dates Loser. MBF picks up the pieces when Loser, in fact, turns out to be a loser. Woman realizes the mistake she’s been making for the last 5 years. Woman and MBF ride off into the sunset together.
What these movies (if you need examples, just Netflix anything with Patrick Dempsey or directed by Kevin Smith) all lack is the 5 year fast forward button, when, surprise surprise, the woman has long realized that the reason she wasn’t with MBF in the first place is that there’s no chemistry. Sure, he’ll bring you the Sunday Times, find your favorite blend of coffee, and listen (or at least tune out to) your heart’s sorrows, but come on Lady – don’t you think that if you two were meant to be, you might have salivated (or at least noticed) the last time he took off his shirt when you guys went to the beach on that “outing that wasn’t a date, just two friends enjoying the nice weather”?
I can’t take it any more. After a long day of work, I can’t even turn on a damned episode of Futurama without Matt Groening whispering into my ears that Leela, Fry, and the entire Planet Express family would be better off if the show’s hapless protagonist and the cyclops would finally just lock lips and knock boots.
Who here hasn’t realized that you don’t shit where you eat? I realize that somewhere along the way, we need a love story to give the “Aliens are About to Take Over and it’s up to Mailmen to Save the Planet” plot line a breather every now and again (where the hell is the army?), but if there’s such a demand for it, bring back Pamela Anderson’s head for a few episodes. It won’t be very good, but at least no one will feel like they’re forced to pull out the ball gag and handcuffs to whip their libido into shape after drinkng the syrupy-sweet Kool-aid of a romantic subplot that Nicholas Sparks has built his retirement out of.
I can only imagine that these stories pander to the male psyche. Too many men, I guess, have found themselves slipping into the dangerous abyss known as the Friend Zone when getting to know a woman, and sorry Charlie, there’s no clawing your way out of it. These movies are the male chick flick – giving friend’ed men everywhere a glimmer of hope.
Don’t bother. Women are insecure enough as is, usually willing date anyone who shows a romantic interest in them. MBFs, don’t you realize that you’re simply on her waitlist? You’re the Acme brand macaroni and cheese that she’s willing to buy when the supermarket runs out of Kraft. If you really want the girl, don’t wait for her to snap out of it. You need to bitch slap her with some testosterone; she’s forgotten that you have balls.
Do women really like this sort of thing? Go ahead, sister, bone your male roommate. We’ve all done it. And that’s why now we’re scrimping to pay both halves of the rent after he moved out.
August 15, 2008
Dear New Apartment,
From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that we were a match made in heaven. I haven’t started my spiffy new job yet, and thusly have no pay stubs to show, showing up at your door with indefatigable hope that only a pauper would have. But you, bastion of charity that you are, welcomed me in saying that loving you would cost only $1175 monthly, and that the warmth I felt in my heart and hands was not an illusion, but the heating and hot water that came included in your cost — finally, I have found a partner who believes in free love.
I was simply biding my time before I met you. I thought that finding a clean, well-maintained dwelling in Arlington near the T would be impossible, but you proved me wrong. Your corner status on the second floor allows light from both the East and the North, bathing me in a veritable pool of sunlight. Your windows, complete with a 8 inch ledge on the inside, perfect for my herbs, and perhaps a napping kitty (New Apartment, would you consider a threesome?), are expansive, inviting, and new, the perfect place for reading. Your kitchen fixtures gleamed in the sunlight, the stove top sparkling, with burners parallel to the floor, unlike all the other apartments I had seen whose ranges seemed off kilter, like their souls, pointing 30 degrees off of their intended axis. And I could feel the spark between us as I fingered not one, not two, but six electrical outlets in the kitchen alone, giving us plenty of possibilities for plugging in.
For the last two days I’ve been in a whirlwind of realty, being courted by studios and brokers alike who tried to swindle me out of my hard earned money and a separate bedroom. But now, with my new lease and a move in date barely a month away, I can’t wait to begin my life with you. New Apartment, all those other apartments I looked at didn’t mean a thing to me; they were simply places that I could live, but you are a place that I WANT to stay.
I can’t wait for us to start our new relationship,
May 29, 2008
I’ll be blogging my food intake for the next three days and putting it in Fitday as well to get an accurate estimate of what nutrients I’m eating. I usually write down the the general concept of what I’m eating (pizza. fruit. cereal.) but little detail, so I’ll be working on that. I’m trying to lose 5 more pounds before the tour and graduation. I’ve actually lost a good deal of weight this school year — about 13 or 14 pounds to date — so I’m hovering right around 135, but I’d like to see that scale read 120-something. I’m not overly concerned with it, since I’m pretty happy with what I look like now, but at the very least I’ll have a better idea of my diet so that I can tweak it to make it healthier.
May 19, 2008
Slowly (oh so very, very slowly) but surely, the tour is coming together.
I’m planning to follow Widespread Panic this summer on their summer tour. I’ll be seeing almost all of their shows — I’ve bought tickets for 18 shows, and there are 2 more that I’m waiting on. The plan is to follow the band and meet the people that do this sort of thing regularly. Panic tours three times per year, so they typically hit the triple digit mark in shows per year, and there are people that follow them on almost every tour.
Because of this, when my parents asked what I wanted for my college graduation gift, I decided to reconsider my original choice of Europe. I’m currently quelling my fears that I’m doing something incredibly stupid at the expense of a great trip to Croatia or Italy by telling myself that Europe is passe and the exchange rate sucks.
So now I have to draw up my plans for this sojourn. I’ll be taking Shane, my trusty 1994 Celica with 150,000 odd miles on it. The air conditioning doesn’t work and the sunroof is broken, so although it refuses to open, it instead creates a high pitched whistling whenever I drive over 45 miles per hour. It’s a coupe hatchback (i.e. there’s more room in the average kitchen cabinet), and I need to sleep in it most nights to save money, so it will be one of those austere, minimalistic experiences where I get to come back afterwards and people will have to listen to me describe how I lived in a car about the size of a breadbox and subsisted on canned tuna and Doritos for 2 months (they will tell me that I did something really cool and unique but think to themselves how self-righteous I am. By then, I probably will be).
However, before I lose all of my friends, I have to make the trip. And that scares the shit out of me.
Hunter Thompson wrote in his last book, Kingdom of Fear, about, well, exactly that. The media, general stupidity, and our president have created an empire of fear. We’re afraid of terrorists, anthrax, and being raped and beaten by the local gangs and left for pulp on the sidewalk. I guess it’s rubbed off, because I’ve spent the last three nights waking up in a cold sweat, dreaming of crazed hippies on acid creeping into my tent.
I thought about it, and I’m giving myself a 90% chance of survival.
I was able to convince Max to go to Ralph’s today to fill our neglected pantry, which was emptier than the premier for a new David Spade movie. It being mid-April and well over ninety degrees, we decided to get drinks from the coffee shop inside the grocery store before doing our shopping (which mainly consisted of standing in the freezer section to cool off and making the errant mad dash into the produce section to nab more strawberries). So we ordered our iced coffee, with the requisite five to seven adjectives which used to be superfluous when buying a cup of joe, and waited by the counter to pick them up.
We were idly talking about how badly the cashier had butchered my name when writing it on my coffee cup (Christine. It’s Christine. Just plain Christine), when out of the depths of the magazine section a man poked his head out and informed us coolly that “well, that’s what you get when the man is convicted of killing a federal agent. He just doesn’t care any more.”
Even for southern California, this was a little out of the ordinary.
Max and I glanced at each other and attempted to sidle away slowly, with the same caution one would give when retreating from a surprise rattlesnake encounter. However, as our drinks were not yet prepared, we couldn’t go very far. Because of this, we ended up hearing a five minute diatribe on… something. We were never quite sure what, per se. I thought at first that The Coffee Bean had hired a few new employees fresh out of the clink, but the few words I understood during his ramble seemed to be mostly political catchphrases, like “oil,” “deficit,” and “government consipiracy.” So it was most likely something else entirely.
Eventually, our drinks came up and we retreated to the freezer section.
28 April 2008 — Monday
10:30am: Woke up, 8oz H20;
11am: 6oz Coffee w/ 2% milk, fake sugar, a little creamer (50); 16oz H20; 
12pm: 1/2 of a porn prop-sized banana (80); 8oz H20; 
2pm (hungry by now): 1 egg + 3 egg whites, fried (no butter) (130); 1T ketchup (20); 16oz H20; 
6pm: Iced coffee (vanilla NSA) (100); 
7pm (hungry): 3oz baby carrots (35); 2 T hummus (50); 1 double fiber English muffin (110); Salad greens with light balsamic vinagrette (70); 1 small slice cheese (40); 1 hamburger patty (4% fat) (120); 32 oz H20; 
8pm: 16oz H20;
10pm: Sunchips (300); NSA pudding (60); 1 c strawberries (40);  Ugh! That’s what happens when I don’t eat during the day…
11pm: Light peach yogurt (100); 
April 28, 2008
My parents met Max’s dad today. Although both Max and I were slightly concerned about whether or not our parents would be relatively soluble, things seemed to go fine.
27 April 2008 — Sunday
Weight (as of yesterday): 138
10am: Woke up
11am: Coffee (30); 1 whole egg + 1 egg white, fried, (100); 
2pm: Salad greens, no dressing, (40); Grilled chicken with dipping sauce (300); focaccia (50); iced tea (0); 
5pm: Grilled chicken with dipping sauce (250); 
9pm: Small house salad (30); bread with hummus (70); Garlic linguine with steamed shrimp (300); 3 spoonfuls creme brulee (100); 
11pm: Peanut butter and honey half sandwich (300);