I Wish I Could…

…cook myself healthy, well-balanced meals at least four nights a week.

…fashion my hair into a messy bun or down in loose waves in less than one hour.

…say no to pizza.

…find a career path that excites me.

…stop hate-watching Scandal.

…miss that one person less.

…empty the whole dishwasher instead of being lazy and just taking out what I need.

…forget how good Talenti Argentine Caramel Gelato tastes.

…replicate cute outfits on Pinterest.

…make a home manicure last longer than two days.

…find a workout routine that doesn’t bore me.

…walk in high heels.

…watch one episode of anything on Netflix without needing to watch the whole series.

…parallel park in less than four attempts.

…spell the word maintenance without the help of autocorrect.

…be more open with my feelings.

…stop abusing the 1-click buy on Amazon.

…get super zen and start doing yoga and meditating on the regular.

…hear the song With or Without You without getting teary.

…forget all the shit on this list that doesn’t really matter and start focusing on the things that do.

New Girl in the Neighborhood

Y’all…restarting your life ain’t easy. I’m going on my fourth week here in Kansas City, and (mostly) I love it. The shock of coming back from Europe and not going back to Denver was a hard one to shake off. And maybe I had a mini-breakdown while putting up all my picture frames filled with shots of friends and fun night outs in Colorado and worrying maybe I made the wrong decision and am still wondering about leaving that one person I love, but mostly, this change has been a good change. Getting through this has definitely been made easier by my new home actually feeling like a home. I think this is the first time I’ve walked into a place I’ve lived and really felt like…I was home. It’s such a powerful feeling, one that truly helps when I’m having those mini-breakdowns of missing so many people and places that now feel so far from me.  A great home doesn’t cover all the new girl in a new city woes though. Job hunting is just as shitty as it was seven years ago when I was fresh out of college. I’m happy I planned this move well enough in advance to have the kind of savings I do, but still, not going to work everyday was fun for a few weeks and all, but I’m a creature of habit! I need that daily activity to keep all my other daily activities on track (see: not waking up at 11am or going to bed at 3am or going days without working out or wearing an outfit that doesn’t involve yoga pants and flip flops). And, aside from job hunting there’s that whole friend, and possibly more than friends, hunting thing. Finding new friends as an adult ain’t easy. That in itself is possibly a whole post for a whole other day, so I won’t get into it too much here, but friends are essential in my life and always have been. While I do have my hermit-y tendencies, I’m always going to want good friends in my life, and since all mine happen to be 600 (or more) miles away, I suppose I’ll be needing to find me some new ones.

Despite these ups and downs, one things has remained consistent since I’ve been here, and that is my family. Being able to spend time with them that doesn’t require me taking a vacation and traveling here to do so has been fabulous. Maybe I don’t have the job or the social life all in place, but I have a home and I have family, and really, it’s hard to ask for much more than that.

I could go on and on about this change in my life – in the short time that I’ve been here I’ve had plenty of excitements and frustrations and bottles of wine consumed while putting together cheap, shitty furniture. I could write about it for days, but sometimes a good gif does all the talking for me…

Thinking about everyone I miss in Colorado:

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and…

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and…

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What helps when I miss all the Colorado people:

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My happy dance once my house was totally unpacked:

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Hour three of waiting for a technician to get my internet set up:

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Putting together a bar stool that comes with one page of picture instructions:

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Finally getting said bar stool put together, despite half the pieces not fitting together:

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Waiting to hear back on resumes:

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When said resume is rejected:

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Dining alone…

What it feels on vacation in Europe:

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What it feels like not on vacation:

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Getting back into a workout routine after a month off:

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Thinking about making new friends:

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Attempting not to be awkward while making these new friends:

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Checking out my new neighborhood and seeing tons of bars:

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When I look at the groceries in my cart:

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Running in the Plaza and being reminded how cute Midwest boys are:

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Assessing the dating scene in my new city:

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Enjoying the perks of living alone again:

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Wrapping my head around starting over a brand new life…

Most times:

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The optimistic times:

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Yep, y’all. It’s all happening. For better or for worse, I finally made a change, and it turns out, change feels good.

Secret Sunday…Five Fucking Pounds Edition

As I previously blogged, I am getting my ass in shape. And IT IS HARD. It is like a second job, only I dislike it a lot more than any job I’ve had before (okay, except maybe when I worked sales for a communications company. I’ll take working out any day over that). I try not to talk about it too much because I don’t want to turn into one of those people that’s like “oh, well today at the gym…” or “have I told you about my diet in the last hour?” Every one knows those people, and generally, those people are fun suckers. They suck the fun right on out of any conversation. But, since I’ve made it publicly known that I’m working toward a specific goal (losing some weight and gaining a better self image by 30) I figure I may as well give an update now that I’m a month in.

1. I am very strong.

My first session with my trainer I thought I was going to die. I’ve done small group training sessions before, but nothing one on one where all the attention was focused on pushing chubby ol’ me to my limits. So going into the first training session I thought I was going to die, not from physical pain, but because I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to do what was asked of me. That I’d be too weak or too out of shape, despite working out fairly consistently for the last four years. But I swallowed all that down and forced myself to go into it as fearless as possible…and it worked. Even from the first day I went harder than even my trainer expected. And it’s not just when I have someone there pushing me, I get in there and do it on my own as well. In my mind I’m Sydney Bristow (hell, even when I’m putting in my cardio time I get Alias going on the trusty Netflix app and picture myself running shit in the CIA). I know my abs and thighs don’t resemble hers, but sweating away in the gym leads me to believe I’m strong enough to take on any villain, even the ones in my head telling me I can’t do this.

2. I am very weak.

I’ve now cried at the gym three times. I’ve seen Biggest Loser (okay, well I’ve seen previews for it, which seems like enough for me) and I HATE when people cry at the gym. Boohoo, this shit is hard. Suck it up! It wouldn’t be a work out if it were easy. Well…now I’m that person. Except, I’m not crying because it’s physically too hard and I don’t want to do it. I’m crying because I’m doing it and I’m giving it every thing I’ve got, and it still doesn’t seem to be enough. At the beginning of my third week I’d lost only 1.5 pounds and every day I was going home dead tired. For what? For 1.5 pounds? I wanted to quit. Why bother, I thought. If working this hard gets very minimal results, why bother? So I cried out of frustration, and mainly out of weakness. As much as I hate that these people on TV are crying because the workouts are hard, I hate even more that I was crying because I too was expecting this to be easy. Not the actual work, but the results. I wanted to give in because I wasn’t being instantly gratified with a miracle weight loss, or even just a noticeable weight loss, and I’m still fighting this weakness every day that I step on the scale, or put on my size 8’s and don’t see and feel a difference. This mental battle is ten times harder than the physical work I’m putting in and remains the one area where I really need to become stronger.

3. Five fucking pounds.

THAT’S IT?! When I stepped on the scale yesterday that is all I could think to myself. FIVE FUCKING POUNDS?! A month full of healthy eating, no booze drinking, and more hours in the gym than in front of my TV or in bed with a good book and it’s only gotten me five fucking pounds?! Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

4. Five pounds is five pounds.

After about twelve hours of pouting, I thought about this; I have three months to go before my 30th birthday. Even if it seems slow, if I continue to lose five pounds a month, I will have lost 20 by the time I am entering into my third decade. And you know what? Twenty pounds would be the best present I could ever ask for, no matter how slow it was to come off.

5. I am a pretty great cook.

Well, great by my standards. It’s been well documented that I am a picky eater. For me, eating healthy is difficult not so much because I love fast food and sweets and drink a million pops a day, but because I am so dang picky about what I want to eat. It would be so easy if I just loved chicken and could eat baked chicken and steamed veggies all day long, but I can’t (okay, I could, but I would very quickly become absolutely sick of it and devour the first pizza put in front of my face). So I have to work really hard to come up with meals that A) include ingredients I can stand and B) are healthy and have an appropriate amount of calories and fat in them. This can be a tricky process, especially after working a full day and spending two hours at the gym when making any sort of meal for myself sounds absolutely dreadful and, again, devouring the first pizza placed in front of me just sounds so much easier, but I’m slowly figuring it out. I spend a few hours on the weekend cooking meals for the upcoming week, making picante fish or turkey chili or gluten free pasta with a sauteed mushroom, olive, and onion sauce, and suddenly eating better after a long day doesn’t seem so daunting when all the work is already done and the meals don’t involve baked chicken.

Some days I still think about nothing more than going home after a long day of work and clearing out my DVR in one sitting and allowing myself one delicious slice of pizza in the Liz Lemon style:tumblr_inline_mgyle22VY01rnvwt1

But so far, every day I end up in the gym, busting my ass and wanting to feel more like this (you know, with the guns, just without the actual gun):

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A Clusterfuck of Crazy

You know those weeks where everything’s just off and you realize you’ve gained about six pounds and it’s all in your tummy and it’s totally obvious because all your shirts give you the fat-girl-in-a-little-coat feeling but that doesn’t stop you from stress eating a BLT because everyone at work is looking at you kinda funny because you turned down a new position but none of them know it’s because of your early onset mid-life crisis and then you stress eat French fries because people make it so damn complicated to get into graduate programs thus furthering your early onset mid-life crisis and those French fries end up helping your waistline almost as much as they help your skin, which you know is an old wives’ tale but nonetheless weird skin isn’t exactly easing your stress level for the week, especially when you are in the midst of a social life more active than your planner has ever seen and there’s nothing that makes an already painful activity like dating even more painful than bad skin, oh expect staticky hair, which you now have because you stupidly dyed it again, even though you knew it would leave your hair a staticky, split end mess but you still couldn’t stop yourself because the color on the box just looked so much better than the color currently on your head and this is kind of leading you to believe that you have a “grass is always greener” problem and then wondering if you only want things you can’t have, like boys in California and new lives in new cities when there’s a possibility that the life you have here and the boy you were out with last night are perfectly fine and there’s no need to go makin’ changes because then your life might turn into one big staticky mess? Yeah. That’s been my week. My brain has been a clusterfuck of activity, my thoughts scattered in a million different directions. The only thing calming this craziness?

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So happy Friday, fellow crazies!

A Case of the PRB.

As I sit here at my desk, on my last allotted break for the day, too tired to even make my way to the break room, or even outside for a short stroll due to the late night fire scare in my building last night (yes, apparently grown adults still burn shit in their kitchens and have to get the fire department involved…and then drink with their neighbors and whoop it up over all the excitement {yes, I’m looking at you neighbor directly below me} thus keeping others around them up until all hours, throat burning from the lingering smoke and smell of melted Tupperware.), I find myself having a bad case of PRB. No, not PBR. I’m not drinking a skunky case of Pabst Blue Ribbon (although, at this point in the day, even that is starting to sound better than another 100 minutes of work.). What I’ve got is PRB. Today I’m afflicted with a case of the Places I’d Rather Be. It’s clear to anyone who has seen me today that I’m suffering from the PRB. Even people who don’t really know me can tell by my restless leg shaking, constant sighs, and the glazed over look in my eye, all the classic signs of PRB. So here, dear readers, are the Places I’d Rather Be:

1. At a spa.

Not just any spa though. A spa that boasts miracle fat and cellulite reductions through intensive treatments of hot stone and deep tissue massages given by Daniel Craig look a likes and serves meals consisting of the world’s creamiest macaroni and cheese that is not only delicious, but is guaranteed to trim at least two inches off your waist (three if you add bacon to it).

2. A beach.

The beach from the movie The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio is what I’m picturing (but not actually with Leo there. Sorry, love, I’m not 13 anymore and you’re just not my type. But please, if your friend Tom Hardy is available, feel free to send him over… with a bottomless pina coloda. And tanning oil that prevents all forms of skin cancer while giving the perfect golden glow.).

3. At a cafe in Paris.

With delicious glass of cabernet, Steve Martin’s “An Object of Beauty,” and a warm, fresh, delicious baguette (that, again, would take at least two inches of my waistline if I promise to eat all of it. With herbed goat cheese.)

4. In a magical world.

And in this magical world, when you force yourself to be brave and put yourself out there for a guy, the guy has the decency to respond to you in an acceptable period of time (i.e; not a day later).

5. In an even magical-er world.

Where guys stop acting so laid back about everything and thus never forcing you to have to be brave and put yourself out there. Yes, this is most certainly a PRB.