Posts from — June 2010

photo from abc family

I’m baaaack. Good or bad thing for you? I’ll let you decide.

So even though I was so under the radar, I read each and every one of your comments. And would you believe me if I told you they were the highlights of each day? Because they totally were.

I won’t do a wrap-up of my trip right now because it might read something like this: wah wah wah wa. Brain = mush.

(By the way, the brain is such mush that yesterday was the very first day of my blog that I didn’t post on a weekday. That’s the first time in 183 posts I let you down. I’d tell you to punish me but the 30-degree conference room I was stuck in for four hours was punishment enough, no?)

However, there will be a post in the vein of a My Summer Vacation report, but with a lot less “I went to Disney and rode all of these really neat rides that made me laugh so hard I shot orange soda out of my nose” and more “I saw Universal from my window. The tippy-top of Hogwarts is way cool.”

So yes, updates to come as my brain solidifies. Today, though, I wanted to discuss something: [Read more →]

photo by express monorail
No, I will not be riding Dumbo this trip either. Sigh.

Hi all. Right about now I’m sunning myself in lovely Orlando.

Ha! That’s a joke. I’m somewhere inside the frigid conference center, wondering if it’s sunny, rainy, hailing, or the middle of the night. There are two things that keep me going:

1. Coffee. It blunts the sleepyness caused by a 7 a.m. mandatory meeting.

2. Coffee. It gets me through the sluggish afternoons.

To answer your mental question (I’m skilled like that, you know): No, I will not be seeing Mickey Mouse anytime on this trip. I will not ride Space Mountain or the never-gets-old Back to the Future ride.

And I won’t be waiting in seven-hour lines to enter the world of Harry Potter. And you know what that means—I’m cranky because I’ll be thisclose to Hogwarts and I won’t even get to play a pickup game of quidditch. Nope, I’m suck with the rest of the muggles outside the parks.

So, if you were lucky enough to land in Orlando for the weekend and if you were doubly lucky to not have to spend daylight hours in a convention center, which one ride would you want to visit at Disney?

I think you know my answer.

photo by jim bahn

Thanks for all of your anniversary wishes. My mother says thanks, too. We both think you’re really great.

I’d say Happy Friday but it really isn’t. That’s because I’m working this weekend. Grumble.

So right now I’m flying to Orlando for a big work conference that will force me to get up at the unspeakable hour of 6 a.m. on a weekend. Weekend! I’ll be in the sunshine state until Tuesday. Needless to say, I’m going to need a direct infusion of caffeine to make it all the way to next weekend.

But I won’t stress about that right now. And I won’t think about how this trip is going to make my knees scream for probably another month. I’ll just relish the four hours I have on this Friday morning to sit around and read.

That’s what I do on a plane. The movies usually rot and listening to music bores me by the time we take off. So I grab a new book and dig in.

Well I’m off. I’m wishing all of you who have a weekend (no, I’m not bitter) a happy one.

How do you pass the time on an airplane?

Four years ago, something crazy happened. Marriage.

Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togetha today. (Sorry, had to quote one of the most amazing love stories of all time.)

Here’s the 30-second recap: [Read more →]

photo from self

I’m glad you guys liked my story of how I stalked met The Man. You know, there’s a lot to be said for making the first move. I’m extremely shy and a total introvert, but I’m glad I put myself out there. Otherwise, who would be doing my grocery shopping and heavy lifting right now? (Dear The Man: That was a joke.) Seriously though, it works.

Also on that topic but kind of not, tomorrow is my four-year anniversary with The Man. (Incidentally, it’s also my mother’s birthday. We like to keep things easy in this family and group celebrations together.)

So, four years. I’m old. Don’t even remind me that it’s my 10-year high school reunion this year. Crap, now I feel even older.

Anyhow, tomorrow. Right, tomorrow there will be much celebration going on here on the blog. Consider yourself warned.

Now to what I really wanted to say when I opened this bright and clean document: Sometimes celebrities make me want to roll my eyes. Most of the time. But every so often an Anna Paquin comes along that makes it all right again.

I got the latest issue of Self in the mail this week and flipped to the interview with Anna Paquin. The girl’s adorable and really slim. And you know what? She’s not a liar. She told the magazine she eats lots of fruits and vegetables to keep her body in that shape. She also said she works her butt off (probably quite literally) to stay in shape.

Finally a celebrity admits they work hard to look that way. Unlike others—nudge, nudge Cameron Diaz—who claim to drink beers and eat burgers on a nightly basis. I guess I just have a good metabolism, they giggle. Here’s the thing: I have a good metabolism. Really good. But I still eat well and exercise. It’s not a good metabolism that turns regular humans into celebrity sticks. No, it’s lack of calories, lots of exercise. Maybe some illegal drugs, but you know—what happens in rehab stays in rehab. (And US Weekly.)

I’m so sick of reading articles where the celebrity orders a burger or pizza or stuffs her face in macaroni and cheese just for the interview. As if we didn’t know they saved up an entire week’s worth of calories for that very hour.

Needless to say, I appreciate Anna Paquin’s honesty. The end.

What are your thoughts on celebs’ supposed non-diets?

OK, as promised yesterday, the abridged version of how I met The Man. Wei-Wei asked if I had ever told the story. And, in fact I haven’t. But it’s a good story, and since we’re two days from our fourth anniversary, this is a good time to tell it.

I was working at a restaurant, trying to make up all of the money I spent while studying abroad in New Zealand. There was this really cute bartender who never spoke to me and barely gave me the time of day. Of course, I wanted to date him.

So I kept dropping blatantly obvious hints that I was head-over-heels for him. For instance, I would smile at him when I got to work. Sometimes I’d joke around. I’d say flirty things like, “How was your weekend?” Once in a while I’d touch his arm while I snaked around his side to grab a new bottle of ketchup. One time I invited him to hang out with a bunch of us after work. The Man wasn’t super perceptive and claims he had no idea I liked him. [Read more →]

photo by D Sharon Pruitt

Welcome back. Or, really, I should be welcoming myself back because most of you read and write blogs over the weekend. I don’t; it’s my time off. Which may make me lazy.

You know what else might signify I’m lazy? My monthly Q&A. Easy content. (Though really it give you a deeper understanding of my twisted little brain than any regular post can, right?)

So here we go:

Kelly asks: What has been your favorite age and why?
Ten. Life was simple at 10. Girls generally don’t reach that obnoxious caddy stage until at least 14. (You know, when they say they’re your friend but tell someone else you so aren’t their friend … until next week when you really are their friend.) At 10, we got to read books like Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret and The Giver. I had the best teacher in the whole wide world who told us stories about Ireland and kissing the Blarney stone, and let us pretend to kiss our own Blarney stone while hanging upside down from our desks. (This was the early ’90s. Kids were allowed to be more independent back then.) And 10 was the age I went to Disney World for the first time, which in itself makes 10 awesome.

Samantha says: If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one ability or quality, what would it be?
This is the easiest question of life. I’d wake up tomorrow with the ability to self heal. If I got a cut or scrape, it’d heal up before you could open a Band-Aid. And if something else got injured—let’s say my knees, just as an example—they’d be healed sofast.

Heather C asks: Why are manhole covers round? Okay, totally joking with that one. What I really would like to know is what do you think having to deal with an uncooperative body has taught you about life and living?
Manhole covers are round because manholes are round. Duh.

I think my uncooperative body has taught me that life’s harder than you think it is at 10 (see bliss above). And also: Even the most impatient person in the world will one day be forced to slow down and learn to wait. It’s taught me the value of persistence, the importance of rejoicing in the small victories, and the power of Vicodin. Just kidding about the last one, mostly. It’s also taught me that most anything can be turned into a chair if your knees hurt enough.

Diane asks: Do you like your name or would you change it if no one in your life minded?
Funny you ask, because growing up I hated my name. Quick interesting tidbit: I was born as Jessica. My birth certificate was signed and at the last minute my parents decided I didn’t look like a Jessica. I’m not sure how you decide that based on a bald baby, but they did and spent an extra day at the hospital trying to figure out what I did look like. Apparently, I was a Tracey.

I never knew another Tracey, which made me feel weird and like an outcast in the ’80s when everyone had normal names. (Not like today where the baby name game includes picking out the most random, non-names out there.) On top of that, everyone misspells my name as Tracy, which makes me at least wish my parents went generic and dropped the e.

While I probably wouldn’t change my name now, since I’m attached to it and all, I would have when I was 10. I probably would have changed my name to Jessica or something like Tiffany or Debbie because I loved Tiffany and Debbie Gibson at the time. (And on that note, thank goodness my parents never gave me the option.)

There was one more question, but I think I’ll save it for tomorrow since this post is getting really long. Here’s a preview: Wei-Wei asks, Have you ever told us about how you met The Man? I love the conversations you two have and I’m curious about your relationship.

Stay tuned for the story.

For you: Pick one of these questions and answer it in the comments.

Edited to add: Check out my Q&A with the lovely Andrea on her blog. Then browse there for her killer baked goods. Then come back here and thank me—because she’s a genius in the kitchen.

photo by the moog

Hey, would ya look at that? It’s time for June question and answer time.

Not sure how we do this thing? I’ll refer the uninitiated to this, this, and this.

So, ask me whatever. It can be about injuries, food, fitness, my secret non-Internet life, about physics (I can’t promise accurate answers), movies, or something totally random—like which Brady was my favorite. (Peter.)

I’ll kick things off by answering a few questions The Man asked me this week…

What’s for dinner?
I dunno, what are you making?

Why did it take me an hour to go the last 2.5 miles of my commute?
D.C. sucks.

Want to go see A Team this weekend?
I don’t want to see A Team ever. Not even on rental. Not even if it’s free and someone tells me Bradley Cooper’s abs play the best supporting role this year. No. Not as long as Jessica Biel—she who whines about being too pretty to hire—is in the cast.

Please?
Call your brother.

How you doing?
Ugh, I got this killer headache at work, which only grew and grew and grew the more hours I started at that computer screen. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. And I wanted to claw my eyes out, but not really because they’re actually quite useful. I’m tired.

Where’s my belt?
I put it away.

Where’s away?
Where it goes.

Where does it go?
You know.

No I don’t!
That wasn’t a question.

So there you have it. Easy as pie. Or, really, easy as something easier than making pie—like parfait. Easy as parfait.

Have a great weekend, folks!

photo by trey campbell
Ice, ice, baby.

Thank you all for your comments about P90X. The Man gives you a big thumbs up. (OK, fine, you caught me. He didn’t do that. He smiled. I just thought that made him sound goofy.)

So apparently there’s another side effect of P90X—other than giant guns, abs of steel, and a strange love-hate relationship with Tony Horton. It whip your non-P90X spouse into gear.

On The Man’s first day with the videos, I laid on the couch, scribbling down his reps while he sweated his innards out. I was nursing a brain-exploding headache, which made walking hurt.

But Tuesday, head cleared and running smoothly again, I hit the gym while The Man bounced around the living room. Inspired by his hard work, I decided to really push myself. I’d been going really easy for a while, attempting to keep my plantar fasciitis on the road to recovery.

So I hopped on the bike, told my left foot to quit its whining, and peddled like I was escaping a convoy of bandits brandishing machetes. Or, um, like I was in a race.

Either way: Major concentration.

You know you’re in the zone when Vanilla Ice comes on the iPod and you don’t realize it.

And you know you grew up in the ’90s when you leave it on until you almost rap “check out the hook while my DJ revolves it” to the whole gym.

(Um, no clue why I have Vanilla Ice on my iPod. I smell a prank. While I admire Mr. Ice’s hair, I much prefer Sir Mix-A-Lot)

So there. P90X delivers results even if you don’t do the workout. Horray. Maybe that can become part of the marketing copy.

Finally, in case you’re curious, my knees took the hard ride (and strength training) like champs. I wish I could say the same for that other part of my body. Coughfootcough.

So, what ’90s song do you secretly jam out to? Or which’90s song do you wish you could jam out to?

photo by edd sowden

I never thought this day would come.

Let me backtrack a little. For most of our marriage, The Man has been the kind of person that associates McDonald’s with the gym. As in:

TRACEY: Hey, let’s go to the gym.

THE MAN: Really? No, let’s get McDonalds!

TRACEY: The gym.

THE MAN: I’m sooo tired! And I want McDonalds.

You get the idea.

Recently he’s been better about getting to the gym because we go together after work. Still, he has a hard time pushing himself or knowing what to do. So he ends up running and then wandering from machine to machine, aimlessly like a lost sheep.

Well. You can imagine my surprise when The Man said he wanted to do P90X. At first, I laughed. Then I realized he was serious. And then I told him we weren’t spending that kind of money on a workout video when he can’t regularly get to the gym we already pay for.

But little by little I became convinced that the structure is just what he needed. And besides, he has a goal to work toward. Which means that in 88 days he will be a P90X grad.

Did you catch that? 88 days. That means he’s done two already. Day one kicked his butt bigtime. I had my cell nearby in case I needed to call 911, but he survived. After that hour he was panting hard but at least he was breathing. Day two also kicked his butt, but what do you expect? A miracle?

Now he’s walking around the house like a cowboy with bruised arms. Every motion—picking something up off the floor, moving a book—is accompanied by a long, loud groan.

In case you’re wondering: I’m not doing the workouts with The Man because ye ol’ knees can’t take the jumping and lunging and squatting that the crazy video throws at you.

Any P90X survivors out there who want to give The Man any words of wisdom? Feel free to comment as long as your wise words don’t include STOP NOW! TURN BACK! GO NO FURTHER! OMINOUS! OMINIOUS! DOOM!

For the rest of you: Do you do workout videos? Which is your favorite?