and just so you know i think about more than boys…
December 3rd, 2008
…I’m actually reading more these days. I have a few good friends also reading the same book in efforts of stimulating some good conversation and movement toward health. If you’re interested, allow me to highly recommend the following:
It’s seriously brilliant. To sum up? Eat food. Not too much. Mostly greens. A lot of info about how the government and food industries have teamed up to brainwash us into thinking the Western diet is actually good for us. And then a lot more info about how it’s actually killing us.
Like Joe, I’m attempting to cut out a few bad practices and replace them with good ones all a bit at a time. My first step has been to reprogram my brain into seeing the layout of a dinner plate entirely different. Seems since youth I have been taught from my mom to t.v. dinners to any restaurant you visit that protein should take up half the plate, while starches take up most of space remaining, and veggies? Well, they just get the small corner leftover.
Take a look at a plate the other day as I attempted to eliminate starches and give protein a minor role to the vegetable festival I called lunch with my friend Cara.
From the top moving clockwise allow me to impress you with my wicked culinary skills:
1. butternut squash soup made without dairy and heavy butter
2. braised red cabbage with a little goat cheese (because you can’t be good 100% of the time)
3. roasted brussel sprouts with almonds and dried cranberries (dont’ judge…they’re amazing)
4. spaghetti squash with shiraz kissed organic tomato sauce
The yummy substance in the center? Organic chicken sausage from Whole Foods, following the recommendation to only buy proteins raised organically, free-range, and free of antibiotics. And yes, even though it was lunch, I did have a glass of wine with my meal. I felt a little bit like a lush in the process, but he said I should, so I did.
the dating chronicles, part 2
December 3rd, 2008
Would you believe it if I told you I have another date Saturday? Yeah. It’s true. And I haven’t even signed up for on-line dating yet. I’m being set up. With an older man. In Branson.
(I’ll give you all a minute to think of your own responses to that.)
(And another minute to laugh a little.)
(And yet a few more to come up with another joke or two.)
(And, now, laugh a little bit more.)
Now that you’ve got that out of your system, allow me to clarify a few things.
No, we did not meet on Shoji Tabuchi’s fan club website.
We will not be throwing rolls at each other at Lamberts.
I’m pretty sure we won’t be outlet mall shopping.
Or riding the ducks.
I hope we’re not actually going to be wearing Bible belts.
A Yakov Smirnoff show is not my idea of a good time.
Smirnoff, however, is probably (ironically) illegal to drink down there.
Dang it.
the dating chronicles, part 1
November 23rd, 2008
My friend Jared has volunteered to pay for my e-Harmony fees as he knows there are a 1,000 untold stories waiting to be had if I signed on. Me? I’m a little reluctant. Seems “story telling” shouldn’t be my motivation for on-line dating. However, after only one date (see entry below) I already have a story worth sharing. My writer’s block here on hurricanic.com could in fact come to a close if I keep “getting out there” as they say.
So Coldplay was awesome. Todd was great. No major connection made, but it was just a concert, right? Right. And you’ll all be happy to know there was no vomit involved at any point of the date, prior - during - or after. As my sister Dana shared with me, there is nothing sexy about vomit, so I, clearly being very, very sexy, decided not to throw up.
However, in classic Kelly fashion, one moment during dinner deserves recap. We met up in the Power and Light District before the show and enjoyed the last decent fall night on the patio of Gordon Biersch. My dad instructed me years ago to only eat things requiring forks on the first five dates, as I have a habit of making a mess of everything. So in reviewing the menu, I honored his request, seeing everything in only two catergories - fork and no fork. My date ordered from the no fork section. Some sort of southwest chicken sandwich. Being very sweet, he offered to let me try it half way through eating. I, being very honest, shared with him the rule my dad had given me, as we had learned pre-date that our dads were high school friends. (Weird. Yeah, I know.) He laughed when I said, “I would love to, thank you, but my dad has specifically directed me to only eat with forks on the first few dates…so I’m sure it’s great, but whatever sauce is in there would somehow find it’s way on my face or down my shirt or something as I am the biggest klutz around, so I think I might need to pass.” He laughed a little, asked, “Sure?”, and two hot seconds later I took a bite of my salad and somehow managed to drop a piece of lettuce from the fork down my shirt.
Yeah.
I totally did.
And he saw it all happen.
Being a gentleman, he excused himself from the table so I could “take care of the situation” while I meanwhile sat on the patio and dug lettuce out of my top like an idiot.
the first date jitters diet
November 13th, 2008
I’m going on a date tonight. First date in over a year. I had declared “No Date 2008″, but then, well, I got a message on Facebook.
Yes, it’s true. Facebook. I’m like a 16-year-old. An old high school acquaintance wrote me, then I him, then he me, then I him, and then Coldplay tickets fell out of the sky like a gift from heaven and now…we’re going.
I’m seriously so nervous about this I think I might throw up on my keyboard. I haven’t been able to eat for about three days. Sleep? Yeah. Didn’t get any of that last night. I’m a mess.
Sometimes I think when you meet up like this after, what, 16 years you probably shouldn’t spend the whole week on the phone and texting because expectations tend to be built. And I hate going into things with super high expectations. So I keep telling myself, “It’s just a concert.”
It’s just a concert.
It’s just a concert.
It’s just a concert.
(There, Joe. I blogged.)
bad, bad boy
September 8th, 2008
A couple weeks back I went to a local paper company to purchase new bags. This isn’t something we have to do but every three years or so, and having been there only twice before, I was a little floored when the owner welcomed me by name.
“That’s impressive,” I said.
His reply?
“I have a pornographic, I mean, photographic memory.”
Gross.
Didn’t know whether I should be completely grossed out or completely grossed out.
I went with being completely grossed out.
The bags, of course, had to be special ordered, so when I came back to pick them up, he said, “Took you long enough.”
I told him, “Sorry. I injured my lower back and it’s taken me a couple days to get back to running errand like this.”
His reply?
“New boyfriend?”
And I wonder why every time I come by there is a new office assistant.