Posts from — May 2010

The other day, when I was at a restaurant and deciding whether or not to skip dessert, I had a revelation: I’m oddly opinionated about meaningless things. I have strong opinions about things that matter, too, but that’s normal. My feelings toward nonissues are a bit stranger.

In honor of that realization, I give you five things that are totally overrated. And three that deserve a little more credit.

Overrated: Ice cream
I know I’m not the only person who doesn’t like ice cream. (No, really, I married the other person.) I can’t understand why someone would eat this over cake, cookies, pie, tarts, pastries…

photo by kern.justin

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photo by ecstaticist

Just when I thought today was going fine (and I mean fine; good is reserved for days I can sleep in past 6:30 a.m.) researchers go and tell me I’m going to die. Nothing like a death notice to make a cold, rainy May day just a little less enjoyable.

Here’s what I read: “Compared with people who did not work overtime, people who worked three or more hours longer than a normal, seven-hour day had a 60 percent higher risk of heart-related problems such as death due to heart disease, non-fatal heart attacks and angina.”

Hear’s what I heard: “Blah blah blah blah 11-hour workdays blah blah blah blah 60 percent blah blah die.”

Apparently there are plenty of reasons for the link, all of which describe me: little sleep, type A personality, and overly tense.

And then I read that a woman’s life expectancy drops as the gap between her age and her husband’s increases. That goes for younger and older husbands. The Man’s only a year and a half older than me, so whatever. I’m dying anyway. (See above.*)

In case you’re wondering, men with younger wives live longer. Because, to be fair, men need another reason to date younger women.

You want something positive, don’t you? Alright. Fine. A study found that four behaviors increase a person’s risk of dying: smoking, not being active, drinking a lot of alcohol, and eating unhealthy foods. The good news is I don’t do any of those things. So maybe that will counteract the damage my long workdays and older husband are doing to me. That, or I’ll just have to quit my job, move into a smoke-free apartment, and spend my days working out and eating salads. Oh, and searching for a 28-year-old boyfriend.**

*You know me well enough to get that I’m being sarcastic, right?

**If you’re The Man and you’re reading this, I’m joking.

Do you ever get sick of studies telling you how quickly (or, if you’re a man, slowly) you’re dying?

photo by migraine chick
I realize I’m on a Barbie kick recently. I’m not sure why.

So glad you all enjoyed this month’s Q&A. I always think learning about the person behind the blog is fun. And I can’t always work details into each post—though I’m sure I could have figured out a way to tell you about my former CIA dreams at some point. (By the way, good thing I chose writing. I don’t think I’d be much of an agent without the ability to run. Or walk.)

Today I was thinking about alternative therapies. Don’t ask me why. I’m not sure how my brain works half the time.

Anyhow, I was never a big believer in alternative medicine. Up until a few years ago, I swore by pills and tried-and-true treatments to cure me. I looked to Western medicine first for my knees, too. I tried icing and anti-inflammatories. I tried physical therapy, which I still do. And ultrasound. And cold laser therapy.

That’s when I schedule an appointment for acupuncture. Here’s where you’d expect me to say it cured me. (Let me just imagine that for a minute, mkay? A little longer…) OK, I’m back from that fantasy. I’ll get this out of the way fast: It didn’t work.

But that’s not my point. The point is that it took daily excruciating pain to get me to open my mind and get an alternative treatment. Since then, I’ve gone on to try prolotherapy and platelet-rich plasma injections. They’re on the fringes of current medical therapy, but they’re helping me. [Read more →]

photo by wanderingtheworld
New Zealand: I wanna go back, I wanna go back…

Have I lost you yet? No? Whew. Well, here I go with the second and final part of the May Q&A…

Lara asks: What is your favorite part about blogging?
The community. I’ll be honest, I was a blogging skeptic only up until a few years ago. I didn’t see the point since facts came from print publications and their online versions. I think what I was missing by not reading blogs was the sense of community the blog world provides. I feel as if each and every reader is a dear friend. And I feel like I know every blogger that I read. (But not in a creepy stalker-ish way or anything. I swear.)

This isn’t so much about blogging as reading blogs, but I’ll throw it out there anyway because this is my blog and I can. (Another thing I love: ultimate power.) I was surprised by and now love the blogging community’s creativity. As for health bloggers, the number of new foods I’ve been introduced to through various blogs is insane. And who started the almond butter-covered date trend? Genius. Even The Man likes them, and that’s saying a lot.

Nicole asks: Are you as witty in real life as you are on your blog?
Of course. You know, my family says I’m only funny when no one is listening, but that’s a lie. I may have said that one time when I was 10 and no one laughed at my jokes, but that was a long time ago. I should admit that I’m not always funny. In fact, catch me at 8 a.m. (who am I kidding—before 11 a.m.) and you’ll be lucky if I can mumble a coherent sentence. I’m also not witty when watching Lost; the only thing you’ll hear me say is shhh. Or, during commercials: What just happened? I love this show so much!

Samantha, she of the mind-stumping awesome questions, had three. I’ll go one by one here: [Read more →]

photo by bbaltimore

Before I give away the secrets of the universe (or, um, my life) I wanted to let you in on another secret: Iron Man 2 is not as surprisingly awesome as the first one. Even a bag of popcorn in all of its gazillion-calorie glory could not redeem it.

So, we’re going to do this in two parts since you asked a lot of good questions. Here we go with part one…

FoodFitnessFreshair said: I know you currently work for a diabetes publication, which is awesome! Do you have any future journalism aspirations or goals in mind?
You mean aside from winning a Pulitzer? Kidding. Sort of. When I first started at the magazine, my goal was to do some freelancing on the side. I did that for a (short) while until I came across this problem: I work from 7 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. so I’m short on hours left to do interviews for other projects.

Sure, I could conduct interviews during work hours, but I’m too much of a Goody Two-shoes to do freelance work at my full-time job. It just seems wrong. Thus, I’d say my future aspiration is to find out a way to make freelancing work. Or to find out a way to increase the number of hours in a day. I might get a Nobel Prize for the latter, so I’m aiming for that.

Estela asks: I just wanted to know if you’re a freelance health writer or if you write for a publication.
I currently only work for a magazine, though in the past I’ve freelanced. Once I slow down the earth’s rotation around the sun—thus giving me a few non-work hours during which I can conduct interviews—I might start pitching freelance ideas.

Wei-Wei asks: How did you come up with your blog name? I love it, it was what attracted me to your blog in the first place!
I love that you love it. Here’s how it went: I was complaining to The Man about my ever-annoying knee pain. Then I started fantasizing about mad scientists creating a bionic woman with knees of steel that gave her the ability to do all sorts of crazy cool things. That woman, of course, would be me. I thought of this bionic me like Wonder Woman with more modesty (because I’d never wear that getup) and that’s where the name I’m (not) Wonder Woman came from.

Then I had thoughts about copyright infringement and lawsuits and all sorts of bad things, so I switched it to I’m (not) Superhuman. That is just as truthful. For now. [Read more →]

photo by sweetz eyez
This is my Friday gift to you: complete cuteness.

You all have had some really great things to say this week. Speaking of yesterday’s discussion, The Man and I are sitting on the couch typing on separate computers. I never said I was perfect.

So today I thought I’d throw out a call for any questions you want me to answer. I always like learning random facts about bloggers, so I figure you must, too. And last Q&A was fun. (Or was it just me that thought that?) Oh, and because apparently I’m lazy.

It goes something like this:

What are you going to do when Lost ends?
Sit in a corner, roll into a ball, and cry for three days. Wonder what I’ll do on Tuesdays now that Locke, Ben, Desmond, and Hurley aren’t in my life.

Puppies, bears, or monkies?
What kind of question is this? How can you expect me to choose between this, this, and this? So wrong.

What does your dad look like?
Funny you should ask. Because this:

Is my dad:

Believe me, this was way better in 1986. Too bad I don’t have proof.

Alright folks, bring it on. As me anything you want. I’ll answer all your questions Monday.

photo by D Sharon Pruitt

There was a giant cul-de-sac bordered by a weedy field that rose to a hill at the far reaches of our neighborhood. You could get there by turning onto Yankee Hill Road about a mile down the hill, at the white house where all the kids went to get candy and 50-cent coins from the old woman who lived inside. On your way, you’d pass a brown Colonial with an above-ground pool and a top-secret fort in the backyard. That’s where you’d find Kim. My best friend.

When we were younger, we’d hop on our bikes and circle the cul-de-sac until we got dizzy or bored, then we’d race down the hill, sometimes with no hands. Or we’d sit squarely in the middle of the circle—because no cars drove down that far—and talk about the things second graders talk about. I could tell what Kim was thinking without words, not because I was special but because we were friends. And that’s what friends do, right?

Maybe not.

There was an article in the New York Times that got me thinking about childhood friendships. It mentioned a recent study that found half of all American teens send 50 or more text messages a day. (Among other tech stats, like the fact that most kids don’t know what a land line is. Kidding. I think.) The writer and the experts she interviewed wondered whether technology is changing what friendship means. Instead of talking face-to-face, teens are texting or leaving messages on each other’s Facebook walls.

And now for the priceless quote:

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photo by the written geek
Dinner, according to The Man

There are times when I can’t distinguish between The Man’s jokes and his seriousness.

Case in point: After slicing a bunch of pepperocinis for our salad last night (they’re awesomeness in salad, by the way), he walked over to me, palms up and fingers squished together.

“I think something’s wrong. My fingers are all yellow.”

I laughed. He didn’t.

“Are you serious or joking right now? I can’t tell,” I said.

“Serious.”

“It’s from the pepperocinis.”

“Oh.”

And then there’s his definition of healthy, which I have yet to figure out. Is he teasing? (Please.) Is he serious? (Please no.)

Example No. 1: The other night, he smeared a biscuit with two inches of Smart Balance butter. I instructed gently reminded him that the heart attack in fluffy bread form already had tons of butter—what do you expect from a can? His answer: But Smart Balance is a healthy butter.

Err?

Example No. 2: The Man must have bread. And instead of eating butter, he picks olive oil with some salt and pepper. I was proud of him until I noticed he was eating about a half cup of oil each night. His answer: But olive oil is healthy.

Example No. 3: This is where things border on ridiculousness. After buying the Forbidden Cheese (if you’re not familiar, it’s nacho cheese in a jar that you heat up and eat like a starving child because it’s so good), he scarfs it down with tortilla chips and sour cream. I remind him that the processed Forbidden Cheese, while strangely delicious, is about as healthy as drinking liquefied Crisco. His answer: Forbidden Cheese is made of milk, so it’s healthy. Chips are made of corn, they’re healthy.

Explaining portion control—and the fact that calories exist even in healthy foods—to a human man is hard work.

(Confession: Last night, mine was hummus and pita chips. More hummus and pita chips. And a heckuva lot more hummus and pita chips. I’ve been trying to tell myself those calories don’t count (hummus is healthy!), but I know better…)

Is there something you eat to excess because, well, it’s healthy?

photo by alex dram

There comes a time in every bloggers life that requires a big palm slap on the forehead. (Right, that happens to everyone? Seriously, just indulge me here one minute and shake your head yes. OK, much better.) So about that head-slapping moment…

But first, you know I love you right? That I’d never do anything to disappoint you?

Well, I didn’t take pictures of the wedding. Lemme explain.

After all of the overpacking then unpacking, then adding a few more things into the suitcase that I did on Friday I had a major oversight. I forgot a purse. And a camera.

I remembered the camera somewhere between entering DC and exiting it, which was about two hours into my trip. You probably guess it by now, but with that brain-zapping traffic there was no way I was backtracking to Northern Virginia. Aside from the fact that I would have missed my flight, I’d probably come very close to driving off a bridge. You know, just to move somewhere.

I figured I’d just snap photos from my iPhone’s camera (even though it’s the single program on the entire phone that really does suck). Then, between cursing myself for packing a dress that was obviously ugly in the crystal-clear light of Embassy Suites and polishing my makeup, I realized I forgot my wedding purse. You know, the one that isn’t the size of a small suitcase? Yep, it was sitting at home in my closet in its protective Jacket of Dust Prevention. I could have lugged around my jumbo purse but I couldn’t do it. Not to a wedding. Not in my ugly dress.

The Man did, however, snap this with his phone (that’s me in the first row, second from the right. The one with the ghostly white skin):

Isn’t my friend’s dress absolutely beautiful?
It was lace and vintage and perfect.

Here’s how it ends: I stored the rest of the nights snapshots conveniently in my hippocampus. I’ll take them out from time to time to look at them, but that’s about it. So everyone who commented they want photos, hang on. I’m working on a memory hookup. If we can both just stick this USB cord into our gray matter, we might be able to share. I’m working out the kinks now because it’s extremely painful. And there’s this weird side effect where I speak like Mr. Belvedere. And it makes me talk in rhyme. All the time.

In case you’re wondering, the whole health thing kind of got sucked down the drain this weekend. It felt wrong visiting Buffalo, New York, without trying a buffo wing—or, um, a dozen. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that I ended Sunday with a giant salad to make up for my discretions.

I feel like a failure for giving you two posts with no useable information (besides, of course, my wit and charm) so please do with this nugget what you will: Fig balsamic vinegar + olive oil + Dijon mustard = the best dressing I’ve made in a long time.

Photo by mr.kio

Wed•ding \we-diη\
noun

1. : a marriage ceremony held in a grand cathedral and sometimes featuring a children’s choir.

2. : the celebration of a marriage ceremony held at a natural history museum; festivities often include piles of appetizers, dancing to old-time songs, and drinking more than a few glasses of wine.

3. : a large party in celebration of marriage in which old college friends catch up, trade stories, and wonder why it took so long to get together.

Sleep \slep\
noun

1. : a mythological state of suspended consciousness in which the body is restored; upon waking, the mind is said to be refreshed and the body alert.

2. : a period of tossing and turning on hard coils padded by a thin mattress; often accompanied by a bruised spine, stiff neck, and a sense of fatigue.

3. : a natural bodily function typically shortened by humans who have not seen their friends in a very long time; usually involves laughing and reminiscing.

You might have guessed, but thanks to the wedding, I’m starved for sleep. Back to the regularly schedule programming tomorrow. How was your weekend?