Posts from — July 2010

photo by kenziemc
How gorgeous is this shot? Love it. Wish I had taken it.

Holy moley. It’s basically August and I have yet to sit out in the sun or see an ocean or wear shorts. It’s a cryin’ shame.

Remember those days in school where you had to write about what you did on summer vacation? Yeah, me neither. I think that happens only in the movies or in Pizza Hut commercials. But anyway, my point is that if I ever got stuck in a Pizza Hut commercial and had to tell about this summer it’d be a snoozefest. It would go something like this:

I worked and then one weekend I went and got an eye exam and then we went to the office and it was neat. But then we went again and it was boring because we kept going all the time and I didn’t want to because it was so nice out. That’s why I wanted to go to the beach but we couldn’t. Then one time we went to The Man’s sister’s house because it was Fourth of July and there wasn’t fireworks but we didn’t care too much. Only we wish there were. This summer I got two nieces which were OK I guess but kinda boring because all they do is sleep and I wanted to play but their moms said no. Dumb. And then I went back to work and that’s all I do but I have to or else I don’t get allowance.

Yes, it’d be written like that because I’d be 7 and that’s how 7-year-old’s write.

Anyhow, take it from grown-up me, this summer has been kind of lame-o. Minus a couple trips, it’s basically been winter minus the snow. Sigh.

What’s a girl to do? Why, cram it all into one month, of course. Which is why I deem August the Great Month of Excitement And That Sorta Thing. I’m visiting my new niece this weekend, have next week off, dinner with a friend during the week—yes during the week, which is a big deal for this old lady—out-of-town friends visiting over the weekend, and a wedding the following Saturday. Jam-packed, and that’s only the first two weeks.

What ever will I do with the rest of the month? I have an idea.

photo by planetchopstick

Eh, I’m kidding. Sorta. I do love my sleep.

This may also be on the to-do list seeing as all of this peanut butter and jelly consumption has given me a big craving for veggies:

photo by fotoosvanrobin

And finally, August will continue my five weeks of giving you all free stuff. (Cue chorus of elated fans.)

On Monday, I’ll announce the winner of the first Totally Awesome Beauty Package Contest. Today’s your last chance to enter (here), so use it or lose it.

Also on Monday: I’ll reveal the next Totally Awesome Beauty Package Contest. The fun just won’t end.

And now a question for you: If you had plenty of disposable income and a month to spend it, where would you go on your summer vacation? What would you do? (To force you to get creative, here’s a rule: You can’t save the money or use it for practical things like groceries, a house, or car payments. That’s a bore.)

photo by johnburke

Quiz time.

What’s worse than eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch?

Anyone? Anyone?

OK, I’ll tell you. Eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch for the past week straight. I know you’re all on the nut butter bandwagon, and I’m not dising on peanut butter in general. Still, eating it for a week straight is enough to make me hate the stuff from now until eternity. You’d think swapping jelly for honey would make a difference. But it doesn’t. The downside to going three weeks without grocery shopping. Is there an upside to that? I don’t think so.

So I just read a study that said having solid relationships is associated with living longer. The study says that people with strong relationships live an average of 3.7 years longer than those with weaker relationships. I know this study is talking about relationships with people you’ve, you know, actually met. And that’s why I’m thankful for my friends—the ones I could pick out of a lineup.

I guess I owe all of you a big fat Thank You, too. Because I think blog relationships totally count. One of the researchers even said: “[Friends and family] help support good health habits: They remind us to put that seat belt on and ask us about that pain we’ve had, have we had that checked out? That may be the biggest factor.”

Sound like anyone in particular? Like, maybe the entire health blog community? Yes, yes it does.

So, friends, every time you leave a comment here I gain another hour of life. It’s like It’s a Wonderful Life: Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings. Or something like that.

It’s really sweet of you because, as you know, my cranky knees make me about 85 years old and at this rate I’m going to be a centenarian before I hit my real age of 45.

I’m going to get a bit mushy here. Consider that a warning if you have a heart of stone and need to skip this part.

I didn’t consider the community when I started blogging. I considered the fact that there were probably other people out there with knee pain who might want to know my story. (Because everyone obsesses about their injury like I do and wants to know every single detail of everyone else’s injury too. Right?)

Well, imagine how shocked and awed I was to find out that there were real live people on the other end of this Internet thing, and these real live people happened to be really cool and fun and supportive and a lot of other gushy words. In short, you’re great.

Hey, Tin Man, come on back. I’m over the whole mushy part.

I’ll end with something a little more manly to balance things out. Grunt, grunt. You guys are, um, you know, kinda cool.

Oh, by the way, if you haven’t heard, I’m spreading the love. I’m giving away 16 beauty items on Monday. Friday is your last day to enter, so head to this post to join in the fun.

What do you get out of the blogging community?

Brief public service announcement: You can still enter to win 16 makeup, hair, and skin-care products in my Totally Awesome Beauty Package here. It’s open for entries until Friday so head over there and leave a comment, tweet about it, or become my friend (officially).

And a dilemma: What to do with a perfectly good yet overripe white nectarine.

Here’s the thing. I love nectarines and peaches, I really do, but the white nectarines that The Man picked up at the store a couple weeks ago just aren’t the same. They’re missing the citrusy bite of the regular variety and I’m all about tart flavors (as evidenced by my love letter to vinegar).

White peaches are perfectly lovely fruit but when ripe the flavor more closely resembles those sugary peach gummies I used to load up on at the candy store when I was a kid. (Note: Not that my mother bought us candy or anything, because that would be bad. Or awesome.)

So last night I had a super ripe and ridiculously sweet white nectarine that was about to either die a slow death on my table or be eaten right then. I’m generally against death (unless it involves cockroaches or mice, in which case I say, Die, Suckers, Die!). I decided to spare its life.

If you’re wondering, cutting up a white nectarine and putting it in a glass of ice water is a very good idea. The water gets lightly flavored. The nectarine slices are tamed.

Cutting up white nectarine and putting it in a glass of iced tea is an even better idea. Just so you know.

I’ve made this before with watermelon, which rocks but was missing from my fridge. I can only assume other fruits—raspberries, blueberries, kiwi, whatever—would be equally as good.

What are some interesting ways you guys get your fruit?

photo by ryantron

I’m going to admit something here, but first:

You can still enter to win 16 makeup, hair, and skin-care products in my Totally Awesome Beauty Package here. It’s open for entries until Friday, which means you have T minus 96 hours to mosey on over there and leave a comment, tweet about it, or become my friend (officially).

And also, the crazy end-of-times weather we’ve been having in Virginia left me without power last night. It’s always nice to have a reminder at just how terrible of a pioneer you’d actually have been.

So, there’s that.

Anyhow, my confession: I break the don’t-eat-after-6-even-if-you-haven’t-eaten-all-day-and-are-on-the-verge-of-passing-out rule. It’s quite the rule, I know. Not eating late night is, like, the golden rule of healthy eaters right? It’s what magazines tell you to do in order to Wittle Your Middle—Fast! or Drop Pounds In No Time.

Don’t hate me (or, um, do hate me, but don’t tell me), but that’s a load of baloney. I’m one of those crackpots who thinks a calorie is just as much a calorie at 11 a.m. as it is at 11 p.m.

For a very long time I figured that if I ate at, say, 8 p.m. I’d wake up a size larger. Don’t ask me how I assumed that worked. It just did.

Since The Man started his new job we’ve been getting home too late for that rule to apply. Unless, of course, I wanted to give up on food in general. Which I don’t. So after we do the gym thing and the making dinner thing it’s about 8:30 p.m. I know.

However.

It’s not that bad. Sure, I basically zero free time before I head to bed and do it all over again. But the whole late-night dinner thing? Not bad at all. By the time I’m done eating dinner, I’m too full to mindlessly snack.

This sugar fiend doesn’t even eat dessert most nights. Yes, I just wrote that. And I’m not lying. See, before I started this late night eating thing, I’d finish my meal around 6 or 7 then have plenty of time to get hungry and fill up on all sorts of unnecessary yet delicious desserts.

Therefore the point of this long post is this: Eat late curse dessert cravings.

Or, you know, do what works for you.

When do you eat dinner? Do you set a cutoff point for nighttime eating?

Remember a couple weeks ago when I showed you guys my incredibly organized house and I heaved one ginormous sigh of relief because that’s the effect tidiness has on me?

Yeah, well, that’s all gone to crap. My living room is littered with boxes and bottles and piles and containers that are meant for organizing but aren’t serving their purpose. So, yeah, it’s a mess again.

And also, I’m out of pretty much all groceries and might be living off of almonds, dry cereal, and apples this week unless The Man braves the furnace that is Virginia air and hits up a grocery store.

You should know: I did it all for you. (Well, not the grocery part. That I did because a girl’s got to eat. And that girl just happens to have knees too banged-up to grocery shop.) But the mess, that I did for you. I went through all of my beauty products so I could share them with five lucky readers. (I think this goes without saying, but the products are all of the never-been-used variety.)

I’m giving away what I’ll now call a Totally Awesome Beauty Package every Monday for the next five weeks. Yes, you read that right. Every Monday. Five Mondays. Five giveaways. I’ve gone off the edge.

I know, you have a million questions, so I’ll answer them here:

Why?
Because I love you. And I love beauty products. And I wanted to share the love.

Are you giving away the same stuff every day? That’s lame.
I know, right? That’s why each day I’ll be giving away a new group of beauty products. I like to keep things exciting. For instance, the other day I brushed my teeth left-handed just to live on the wild side.

Can I enter just one day? That’s lame.
Stop calling my Totally Awesome Beauty Packages lame! It’s so not true. You can enter every single Monday. Or you can enter just one Monday and forget the rest. Whatever you feel like.

How do I win?
I’ll use a random number generator (I’m official like that) to pick one winner per day.

So, what exactly is in this Totally Awesome Beauty Package?
Well, I can’t give away the contents of the other four packages—that’ll happen on a day-by-day basis so as to A. provide suspense, and B. prevent this from becoming a crazy long post.

Today, you can win the following (all of which are pictured above):

Foot Petals Stilleto Survival Kit
DDF Dramatic Radiance TRF Cream
Calypso Mimosa body lotion
Kiehl’s Abyssine cream
Travel-sized Dermalogica Conditioning Body Wash
Benefit pineapple face polish
Crabtree & Evelyn Skin Care lip conditioner with SPF 15
Mini Bill Blass eau de parfum
Travel-sized Oscar Blandi Sheer Gloss
Travel-sized Oscar Blandi Protein Mist for Restyling Hair
Clinique Fresh Bloom Allover Colour in Peony
Clinique Cream Shaper for Eyes dual liner in Egyptian and Brightening Gold
Clinique Superbalm moisturizing gloss in Mango
Bobbi Brown eye shadow in Camel
Mally Eye Brush Kit

Who can enter?
Anyone with a U.S. mailing address. If you live outside the United States: I wish you could see my teary eyes saying sorry.

How do I enter?
There are three ways to enter. You can do all or just one—it’s up to you. (I’m so easygoing it kills me.)

1. Leave a comment telling me which product you’re most excited to win. Or tell me your favorite marine animal. I don’t really care what you say—just leave a comment to get a number.
2. Tweet about this giveaway, then come back and leave a comment telling me you did it. Because my goal is to make your life easier, here’s the link to this contest: http://bit.ly/djsOWF. Don’t forget to mention @notsuperhuman so I can see it. (And don’t forget to comment to tell me you tweeted about this; it’s the only way you’ll have a number for entry.)
3. See that lonely little grid of friends on my left sidebar? Make it a little less anemic by joining the site. Then leave a comment letting me know you did that—the comment will serve as your number for the random drawing.

So can I just comment a million times a day for a week? I hate my job so I don’t mind doing it all day long?
Sorry your job sucks, but I’m limited this to three comments per person per day—one real comment, one for a tweet, and one for becoming a friend.

Do my comments on any of your posts count as an entry?
No, sorry. If you want this stuff, you’ll have to leave a comment right here.

When does this contest even end?
Today’s contest ends next Monday, August 2. That also happens to be when the next giveaway starts. It’s all fun all the time here at I’m (not) Superhuman. Just so you know.

Aaaand, go!

photo by cristal filgueiras bittencourt

You know those people who get so sucked into a TV show that they stay up really late watching it and then feel exhausted the next day and are super grumpy? Losers.

I’m so glad I didn’t get hooked on Veronica Mars, which happens to be on Netflix’s Watch Instantly list, which also happens to be free for Netflix members. So glad that’s not me.

Because that would be embarrassing. I mean, that show was cancelled in 2006.

(I know this because, incidentally, I used to love the show and thought it was one of the most well-written teen shows at the time and cried My So Called Life kind of tears when it was ended.)

But, yeah, they’d be total losers.

They’d be especially pathetic if they were looking forward to the weekend solely because they wanted to finish season two. As if there’s nothing else going on that weekend! I bet they make excuses for their laziness by doing laundry during the show so they can pretend they did something meaningful on their days off.

I bet people like that stayed up to all hours of the night watching series like 24 or Prison Break. I bet they look like zombies by morning, dark circles ringing their eyes. Serves them right.

Yup, I’m glad that’s not me.

What are you so not doing this weekend? Wink, wink.

photo by express monorail
If only! Most air definitely smells more like feet than flowers.

Glad you all found yesterday’s post entertaining. I’m sure I’ll be getting plenty of new readers now that I’ve scattered those search terms all over. More creepiness will be going on here. Um, great.

Moving on, today is going to be a two-part post, so let’s just get going shall we?

Part One: A Useless Piece of Information About Me That I’ll Tell You Even Though You Probably Don’t Care

I’m part bloodhound. Hm, that didn’t come out right. It’s not like I’m some weird dog-human mix (though I hear people like dog people as evidenced by exhibit A). It’s just that I’ve realized my keen sense of smell isn’t normal.

Well, really, The Man helped me realize that when he gently said, “You’re a freak. I’ve never met someone who smells as well as you.” (Only he used the word good instead of well, but I’m such a nice wife that I corrected his grammar.)

There’s the fact that I can sniff faint scents long before most people notice the room even has a smell. And then there’s the annoying part of my superpower: Even the faintest gross smell makes me want to barf.

So, like, when we’re making dinner and I catch the smell of egg or when the sink takes on that slightly metallic smell, I start to gag. Sure, I love eggs, but smelling them cook makes me seriously consider veganism.

But you see, it’s not just those foods that normal people think stink. It’s random scents that I can’t put my finger on. I’ll start with the scent that may make you think I’m insane. Sometimes my water glass smells even though I haven’t even sipped it. (Of course I dump it and get a new glass, which makes The Man insane and may have elicited the “You’re a freak” speech in the first place.)

Other instances go more like this:

ME: What stinks?

THE MAN: I don’t smell anything.

ME: It’s like a dirty mop. Or diner counters that have been wiped clean but mysteriously smell like rot.

THE MAN: I don’t smell anything.

ME: Or it’s like stinky feet lingering in an elevator.

FAMILY MEMBER NO. 1: You’re nuts.

ME, sniffing around: I think it’s over here. Nope. Hmm.

THE MAN: I smell nothing.

ME: How can you not smell it? It’s so gross! It’s like cardboard boxes in a small room in the heat.

FAMILY MEMBER NO. 2: You’re nuts.

THE MAN: I do smell something! Is that French fries?

ME: No! It’s not French fries! It’s disgustingness in gas form!

THE MAN: You’re nuts.

Anyhow, useless but important to my life nonetheless.

Part Two: A Useful Study That I’ll Share With You To Make Up For The Useless Piece of Information About Me.

I’ll start by telling you I don’t eat gluten-free foods. But I know many of you do so it’s my civic duty to pass some info on to you: Those gluten-free foods might not be totally free of gluten. I mean, there’s a chance they could have a teeeeensy bit of gluten in them, which is either no big deal if you just eat gluten free to spend extra money or a huge deal if you’re intolerant. The FDA doesn’t regulate this kind of thing.

Fact is, some researchers looked at 22 gluten-free products and found that seven of them wouldn’t pass the FDA’s test to determine gluten-free-ness. (Shut up, it’s a word.) Here’s the whole story.

Consider yourself informed.

I love it when my readers leave smarter than when they arrived here.

(Or, you could argue, I love it when they leave stupider. But I might give you the evil eye for saying that.)

I have two—count ’em, two—questions for you today.

First, what superpower do you legitimately have? (No, “I can fly!” doesn’t count unless you really can fly in which case—can I book you for a trip to Massachusetts? These airplanes are getting kinda expensive what with the baggage check fees and all. E-mail me.)

Second, do you buy gluten free? If you do, are you worried about it possibly being gluten-full?

photo by salim virji
Monkeys these days, drinking soda, watching TV. Sheesh.

So, as you all know, the greatest thing about writing a blog is reading the keywords that sent people to your site.

I’m happy to report that the No. 1 word that brought people to my site is Lost. I’m not sure, but it might have been the dozen of posts that mentioned Lost. Or my kind of severe obsession with the show.

Then there are the usual suspects—every variation of I’m (not) Superhuman you can think of plus some HELP MY KNEE HURTS AND I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! from poor souls who also have knee pain or want to get PRP. I think those people found what they were looking for.

But what about the others? Do they deserve to search Google, click all the way on over to my blog, and leave empty handed? Not if I have something to say about it.

All you people who went on a search spree and didn’t find what you were looking for, I’m going to respond to your search queries now. Because I’m nice like that and I want you to visit. (But not you, snot man. That’s a little creepy.)

All the women at my gym check me out.
Aren’t you lucky, you stud, you.

Eating ginger for runner’s knee
I wish. I feel your desperation. It’s kind of like when I googled “magic cures for knee pain.” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but nope.

Happy birthday I don’t have a gift.
That’s OK, I’ll still like you. Just put some cash in a card and we’ll call it even.

Another way to say don’t worry be happy
Chill, mon.

How come I don’t sweat when it’s hot outside?
Because you’re indoors next to the air conditioner. Hardee har har.

How to tell your boyfriend he is eating too fast?
Slow down.

Is it possible for snots to come out your eye sockets when blowing your nose?
I’m not even going to go there. Call a doctor.

How to tell the brain I’m not hungry?
I’d try, “Heya brain. What’s up? Not much here man. So I’m totally not hungry or anything. Might as well forget about lunch. Ya know, because I’m so not hungry.”

How to trick the brain to think you eat more then you actually did?
Hm, I’m guessing the tip from above didn’t work? OK, well start by piling a load of food in front of you. I’m talking pizza, burgers—the works. Then take a few bites of salad. Shut your eyes. Then quickly remove the rest of the food. (I realize this may be tricky with closed eyes, but do the best you can.) Now, open. See brain? No food. It helps if you say that out loud. Oh, and don’t forget to close with, “I ate it all myself!”

Monkey watching too much TV
OK, fine maybe he is. But what’s it to ya? He’s just a monkey. Let him have some fun already.

Turkish bath massage buttocks
Sounds like the stuff nightmares are made of. Unless, of course, you’re searching for a Turkish bath that does butt massages in which case I’ll save you some trouble: This site is going to be no help to you whatsoever.

I am so stressed that I feel like punching something.
Ah, don’t we all? But then you end up still stressed with another thing to worry about: a broken or at least severely scraped-up fist. Just go eat some ice cream, friend.

I don’t like fennel.
OK. I don’t like onions.

Gremlin with lipstick.
I think you’re looking for this. You’re welcome.

photo by pieter musterd

There was a time in this long (or very, very long depending on whose counting) life of my when I wore high heels with a passion. Because, folks, here are are the facts:

1. High heels make your legs look longer, leaner, and sexier. Yes. Yes, they do.
2. High heels make a blah outfit look fancy.
3. High heels make you feel important because nothing says Power like the clack, clack, clacking of heels on tile. Nothing.

So I know why we wear them. And I agree that when it comes to fashion there’s no argument against them. But.

(I bet you knew there was a ‘but.’ You guys kill me with your intuition.)

But here are some other facts:

High heels turn normal feet into creepy bulbous triangles. Yes, I said it. High heels are cute. High heel feet? Notsomuch. I understand the pointy shoes, I really do. (In my dreams, where I can fly and breathe under water, I also wear high heels that don’t damage my feet. Oh, and I date Leonardo DiCaprio. Just so ya know.)

(Speaking of Leo—yeah, we’re on a nickname basis—if you haven’t yet seen Inception yet get yourself to a movie theater ASAP. I swear you’ll thank me. Because it’s kind of awesome. No, really awesome.)

What I don’t understand is a love for high heels that runs so deep women will walk around with the misshapen, bunioned feet that go with them.

But that’s not the point of this post.

(Did I surprise you there? Hm? No? Sheesh, you guys know me so well.)

OK fine. The point of this post is that a real, live study found that wearing heels—what with their sloping soles and all—causes calf muscles to contract. OK fine, you say. But get this: Eventually, with enough wear, the calf muscle fibers actually shorten. And the Achilles tendon thickens. The result is mucho pain, pain, pain.

That’s right: Wearing high heels changes your anatomy.

Lemme ask you—would you keep wearing socks if you knew that over time they crushed ankles into nothingness? I think not!

Sure, slipping on a pair is OK every once in a while but constant use? You crazy.

This is my favorite quote from an article about the study:

“You put on heels, you are going to deform your body. End of story,” said New York City podiatrist Dr. Johanna Youner, a spokeswoman for the American Podiatric Medical Association.

I’ll also tell you another secret I learned some time ago. High heels are killer if you have bad knees. Which is why I haven’t worn a pair since 2005. (And, trust me, I know. I learned the hard way if you know what I mean.)

So, finally, here are the last few facts you should know:

1. Your legs look just fine in flats, I swear.
2. Models wear flats when they’re not parading around the runways. Why? Because no one likes looking at deformed feet. And incredibly deformed feet are unbelievably difficult to Photoshop.
3. I got a letter from 70-year-old you. She said, Put on flats, will ya?

Fess up: Who wears heels religiously?

OK, you guys are either really honest or fear my wrath. (I’d like to think you love me, you really love me, but I’m guessing the latter. I make a wicked evil villain.) Either way, thanks for all of your sweet comments. I will continue on with my plan for world domination as scheduled.

One of the comments was made by Wei-Wei, who asked if I ever considered taking my own photos. Funny she should ask because I just happened to have taken today’s pics. (And, really, I had them all set up before she commented, which means we’re either on the same page or she’s bugged my house. Hm.)

So the other night I got a massive chocolate craving that would not be cured by a piece of dark chocolate because, it just so happens, I also had a crunchy craving. I know, my appetite is strangely specific.

Then I remembered a recipe for some sort of chocolate cookie on 101 cookbooks, which, after reading the short ingredient list, I decided was simple enough for a non-baker like me. (Because, see, as much as I want to bake like this girl I’m more likely to buy cupcakes than whip them up from scratch.)

Just know that what you’re about to see is delicious enough for honest-to-goodness bakers but easy enough for the culinary inept. Like me.

And also, I cut the recipe in half because The Man and I need 18 cookies like we need another bag of chips.

When I started mixing all of the ingredients together I started getting really worried because it seemed very possible that my mix was missing some liquid. I re-read the instructions three more times before I decided to just stir like mad and hope for the best.

What’day know: It somehow stopped being dry and crumbly and got nice and gooey. (Those are chunks of walnuts which incidentally make the batter look like puke. Fear not; it’s prettier in real life.)

Then I scooped two tablespoons into a heap.

The piles of nutty, chocolately goodness will turn into puddles, which is totally normal. Don’t freak out.

Then bake ’em. It’s OK to check on them halfway through just to make sure you didn’t screw them up. You didn’t, I swear.

Once they start to crack they’re ready to come out and cool. See, I told you it would be all OK. Those little puddles puff up into ginormous cookies.

They’re gooey on the inside but crunchy outside.

They’re seriously good. The Man says they’re even better with peanut butter on top.

The president of Chocoholics Anonymous (which is, of course, me) could only eat half. They’re that rich.

What’s your absolute favorite cookie recipe? Leave a link in the comments.