Is There an App for That?

You guys I seriously need to get a life.  This weekend I rented one, and it was awesome.  I don’t want to give it back.

I do have several of the components of a life.  I have not just a job, but a career.   Well a couple of them actually.  And I enjoy them both.  I have great friends.  I have The Boy who is hilarious and sweet and loves his mom and will grow into a really good man just as soon as he pulls his head out of his ass.  But there is something missing.  I think it might be….fun??

This weekend I spent some time with a very nice gentleman who is new to my life.  I hope to spend much more with him.  We had lunch and wandered hand in hand in the mall.  We laughed and had stimulating conversation and I felt like less like a lumberjack than I have in a long time.   I also had some much needed girl time.  Giggly, alcohol-buzzed, yelling-over-the-band, laughing-at-each-other-and-ourselves-girl-time.  I really don’t have enough of that.  I need to seriously find a way to get more.   I kind of forgot how great it can be.  I have been pretty focused on filling the gap where I think male companionship belongs, but I haven’t put the conscious effort that I should into filling my girl time quota.  I realized a while back that my prince charming is not going to show up on his own, to my office or my front door or Aldi's, since those are the only three places I typically go.  I’m going to have to go find him.  Well after that realization what makes me think rich, fun, girly relationships are going to happen naturally?  They also need to be cultivated.

Is there an app for that?  Must research.

Today’s lunch….Avocados are Awesome!!!  I may never buy mayonnaise again.  Take a can or two of tuna (I recommend two, but this stuff doesn’t keep well so do have company), an avocado (or half of one if you only have one can of tuna) and a fork.  Mash away.  Add salt & pepper to taste.  Dump the glop on top of whatever fresh veggies you have in your fridge.  Enjoy.  

Edit.....about the boy being hilarious.  He just chose to demonstrate this with a blood curdling scream, in the middle of the back yard, as he was mowing the lawn.  The scream initially brought images of an amputated foot, followed by the thought that the dogs, one of which is deaf and the other is stupid, are outside and could easily get run over by ADHD boy not paying attention.  I ran to the back door, screamed "WHAT????" and he replied "I'm out of gas".  I will let him live until he is done mowing.  No guarantees beyond that.

Double Cheeseburgers, Crack and Puppies

Sunday I did yoga.  Les Mills Flow to be exact.  It felt good.  Yesterday I lifted.  In a very different way it also felt good.

Yesterday I ate no refined sugar.  Today I have been dealing with what I believe to be an ugly downward mood swing due to sugar withdrawal.  Or, yaknow, it could be because it sort of sucks to be me right now.  Or a combination of both.  But 48-ish hours in I feel the sugar craving subsiding.  That feels good.

Sugar is the devil you guys.  Seriously.

Today, on my way to work, I sang.  I belted out a really loud and very bad rendition of One and Only.  But it felt...you guessed it.  Good.

In my head I sound EXACTLY like this:

In reality I sound more like this:

After work I took The Puppy for a two mile walk on this lovely 60 degree early April Ohio day.  It felt really, really good.

Sunday I wrote.  It felt good.  Yesterday I didn't write.  It did not feel good.  So today, right now, when I should be focusing on what would be the 11th hour of my work day, I am writing.  The work isn't going anywhere.  There it sits.  Mocking me.

Neener neener neener....you hear it right?

So I just left the work on the kitchen table to mock the empty room, and moved my happy ass and my laptop to my deck to write and watch the sun set.  It feels good.

And you know what?  None of that cost me one red cent.  And none of it will add an ounce to my midsection, raise my cholesterol or my blood pressure or hurt another living soul.

So I have to wonder...why do we eat ice cream, and buy things we don't really need and gossip and fight and do drugs and smoke and drink until we feel like crap the next day when there are good things in the world like Diet Coke, and springtime, and first kisses and naps and puppies?

Can anyone explain this to me?

I read somewhere a theory that poor people are, on average, fatter than wealthy people not because healthy food is so expensive (which it is) but because we are programmed to pursue a certain amount of pleasure in our lives.  Wealthy people can fill their pleasure bucket with things like massages and vacations and fine wine and time to relax and us poor folks can only afford double cheeseburgers and crack.  I have to say I kind of buy that theory, but it doesn't have to be.  Money doesn't buy happiness.  Money buys puppies, and that's the same thing, but I got off track.  Wait they have puppies at the pound so again, my theory is valid.

So do me a favor.  As soon as you're done reading this, shut down the computer, get up and go do something that feels good, doesn't cost anything, and doesn't bring any harm to you or anyone else.  Then leave me a comment and let me know what you did.  I can't wait to hear.

Today's lunch:  Salad.  It was good.

A fish who actually needs a bicycle.

You guys I'm a bad blogger.  I know this.  And yet you keep coming back.  I love you for that.

I've been blocked.  Wait that makes me sound constipated.  I haven't been able to figure out what to write about.  Yaknow, the old fear of oversharing.  I'm not one to just yammer on (stop laughing and let me finish my sentence) about things that mean nothing to me.   But it is not always appropriate to yammer on about the things that do.

You guys have been with me through this whole manhunt dating adventure in more ways than you probably know.  I enjoy filling you in to the extent that I am able without offending anyone or violating restraining orders.  It's a nice outlet for my frustrations. And oy have there been frustrations!  And you have all been kind enough to refrain from calling me a wackadoodle (to my face anyway) even on the days when I am sure I came off as one.  But also I have this running monologue going on in the back of my head.  It sort of evaluates how, if I were to write about the adventure of the day, I would do so.  Maybe this is typical of everyone who is a writer at heart but not always in practice, in the same way that the actress who is waiting tables thinks of each encounter as a potential "scene".  Most experiences are sorted in my head into one of two categories.  Something I can write about or something I can not.  And the "can's" are then sorted into subcategories of 'blogworthy' or 'file it away for the book'.

Cheeyah right, like I could focus for that long.

Where was I?

Oh yeah....I love you guys.

So this whole dating thing is definitely an adventure.  Inside the span of three months I've gone from "I'm never dating again!" to "Let's just take a looksee at who's out there" to "Well it can't hurt to put my profile out there" to "Well I suppose I should probably at least participate and contact someone" to "GodDAMMIT I know there has to be at least one sane, responsible, employed, independent, articulate man within a 50 mile radius".

I've dealt with the weirdos who contact me (and probably every other woman) with such engaging lines as "I make good man for you". I've dealt with the guys who LITERALLY live in their mother's basement.  I've gone out with the nice, sweet, sexy, guy with a job who has no time (so he says, but I'm oh-so-aware of the possibility that he actually just has no desire) to return a text message much less go out on a date.  I've met the guy whose profile picture was taken ten years and 30 pounds ago.   I've spent time with the perfectly nice, respectable, responsible guy with whom I have about as much chemistry as I do with my push mower.  I've passed up the foot fetishists, the guys with the profile pictures that looked like they just rolled out of bed and stumbled to their toothpaste encrusted bathroom mirror to snap a pic.  I've passed up the guys who didn't BOTHER getting out of bed for their picture.

I figure once I've weeded all of that out there are about four guys left.  Two of them are married and one has a boyfriend.  But at this point it's a matter of principal. He's out there and by gosh I'm gonna find him.

I'm either unreasonably optimistic or a little delusional.  Or both.

And lest you think I actually have TIME for this search, throughout the entire adventure I have managed to work The Day Job a bit more than full time, The Night Job not as much as I should, kept The Boy fed, clothed, sheltered and (thus far) un-incarcerated.  I've dealt with the unceremonious and hasty resignation of my assistant, begun the process of interviewing a replacement, visited The Boy's school where I met with the Vice Principal AND a very nice police officer, kept my house just clean enough that the health department remains uninterested, mowed my lawn twice (in MARCH for crap sake), worked out roughly 4 times a week (I'm a bad, bad coach) and still managed to shower and brush my teeth.

So it will not come as a surprise that more than once during this process I stopped and looked in the mirror and asked myself why I am doing this.  Obviously there is very little about my relationship history that would lead a sane person (let's not point out the obvious here, we're better than that) to believe that Happily Ever After is at the end of this line.  Why not just be happy with The Boy and The Jobs and The Dogs and The Friends?  A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle...or something.

But here's the thing....I truly believe, if you boil down the whole 'why am I here?' issue....I think it all comes down to relationships.  The work and the art and the things and the stuff and all of that is ancillary. We are here to connect with other human beings.  And only those who are deeply connected to their higher power (I'm thinking monks here) or those who have been deeply wounded by another human being are able to go long periods happily without that connection.  There have been times when I thought I fit into the latter category...but now we're back to 'unreasonably optimistic or a little delusional'.

I'm tired of feeling that I have somehow failed as a modern woman or as a mother because I want to be in a relationship with a man.  Do I respect the single, working mothers who take care of their homes and go to work and come home and make dinner and get up the next day and do it again and again until they end up living alone in stoic abstinence, looking forward to a future of waiting for their children and grandchildren to visit?  Sure.  I respect them for, presumably, doing what they want to do, and for their independence.  But I don't especially enjoy being alone and I'm not enough of a martyr to insist that I need to continue to do it because I've been hurt.  I don't dislike my own company enough to want to be with the wrong person, but get just bored enough with the sound of my own voice to want to find the right one.

Yet here I sit.  Just me and the dogs.  The boy is with his dad.  It's been a wonderful weekend.  It started with a very nice date with a very nice gentleman who I really do hope to see again.  After that I did some exercising, some cleaning, some working, some playing, some relaxing.  I went to a movie with one of my favorite people, I walked my dogs, and now I'm going to pay my bills (I know...the exciting life of a single woman).

This is, after all, an adventure. Any adventure will be wrought with a certain amount of peril at some point.  But I have hope for a happy ending.

Today's lunch....popcorn.  At the movies.  Yes, I'm a bad bad coach.  Didn't we already cover that?

Like this...with less y'all.

You guys, the COOLEST THING happened to me yesterday!  I almost got run over and lost my pants!

Yeah, I might need to back up.

I was heading across the street to pick up Subway for lunch (yes yes yes I realize I said I wasn't going to do that any more.  Clearly I was in the middle of some sort of psychotic break that day) and I was too pressed for time to walk down to the cross walk...so I broke the law, took my life into my own hands, and played human frogger.

I work on a five lane road, Subway (and Baskin Robbins, and Five Guys, and Starbucks and Robeks and Brueggers and Ruby Tuesday and Fridays) are across the street. On my side of the road...McDonald's.  Mneh.   So I saw an opening, and I went for it.  And by that I mean I RAN.

Ok yes it was, I don't know, however wide a five lane road is...I'm not talking the Cleveland Marathon here...but it didn't hurt my back, knees, ankles or feet and I didn't get even a teensy little bit out of breath.

 

Ok I didn't even think I looked good for a half second because the next AWESOME thing happened too quickly....my pants almost fell down!!!

A little like this, with less "y'all"

But you guys!!!  It's WORKING!!  Umm...I mean of COURSE it's working.  I never doubted it for a second!

I have been more than a little disappointed in myself lately.  My weight hasn't budged in something like two months.  Honestly I'm amazed it hasn't gone UP.  I have been working out sporadically (which is like a squillion times more than I did before Beachbody) and I've been eating too much in the evening (but doing pretty well during the day) and while I've been known to discount the value of small changes it would appear that these small changes have joined forces to create either a smaller waistline or increased gravity as applied to my pants and decreased as applied to my back, knees & ankles.

I'm choosing to believe it's the waistline thing.

Just imagine what will happen when I actually APPLY myself.  Because this is taking FAR TOO FREAKING long, and for good reason.  I'm a total slacker.

So the next Beachbody meeting is in something like a month.  I have a team t-shirt that is a bit too small that I WILL wear to that meeting.  And it will not be too small.  I'll post a picture.

Hey look...down there....it's a gauntlet.

Today's lunch.  Salad bar.  I don't want to talk about it.


Beeteedubbs:  http://beachbodycoach.com/TGILLAND    Just sayin'!  :)

Life's like this....

.... that's the way it is

I had THE BEST weekend.  I got to spend the better part of Saturday with my Beachbody family, refilling my resolve, determination and enthusiasm as I gained knowledge and enjoyed the company of some awesome, amazing, fun and inspirational people.  I followed that up with dinner with one of my best friends.  Did a lil' shopping, new shoes are always good, even if they're more cute and practical than pretty.

I got to hang out a little on Sunday with one of my other favorite people, enjoyed some beautiful weather, walked my dogs, pumped some iron.  There are very few things, aside from the company of two special gentlemen, one being my offspring and the other being...well...not....that could have made this weekend any better.

I like you the way you are
When we're drivin' in your car
and you're talking to me one on one

Then Monday hit.  And holy cow you guys...it tumbled down on me like a ton of bricks.  Broken, rough, spikey bricks.  That had recently been sprayed by skunk.

It started out with The Boy oversleeping, then announcing that his throat hurts "SOOOOOO BADDDDD MOM!!!!" and asking to stay home from school.

Chill out , what you yellin' for?

I caved. 

When I rolled my butt out of bed I realized it was a tad chillier in the house than normal.  Sho'nuf ye olde thermostat showed 64 when it was set on 68.

You're tryin' to be cool you look like a fool to me

Unfortunately it's not really cold enough today to make The Boy wish he had gone to school, but if it goes from 60 today to 10 tomorrow it would certainly not be the first time in the history of Cleveland weather.  So as undesirable as the bill is going to be, a guy will be working on it before the day is out.

Then I got word that a dear friend got some troubling medical news.

Life's like this you
You fall and you crawl and you break

and you take what you get...

I've learned the hard way to NEVER say "What NEXT!!".  The answer is never good.  But seriously...today sucks.

And you know, if I could just get out of my own head.  If I could only stop WORRYING about everything and everyone under the sun....nothing would turn out any differently.  

The guy I am oh so into, who I'm starting to think is not so into me....

promise me I'm never gonna find you fake it, no, no, no

....will either be or he will not.  

The furnace will either cost a fortune to get fixed or it will not.  My friend's health issue will be what it will be.  

The boy is either legitimately sick, in which case it's a sore throat and not the end of the world, or he is sitting on my back deck smoking pot and laughing at his gullible mother. 

You're watching your back like you can't relax

All of these things are going to turn out one way or another whether I worry about them or not. 

Why you have to go and make things so complicated?

So yeah, waah waaah waah....poor me.  

Focusing on the positive.  Tomorrow evening I get to go see the Cavs.  In a suite, for free, with my coworkers.  I've never been to a pro basketball game.   I'm pretty lucky there.  

Another positive....they're done effing with the time for another six months.  Because seriously, that shit pisses me off.

And there is still the wonder of Diet Coke in the world....

Today's lunch....chicken corn chowder & diet coke.

Chill out , what you yellin' for?

How Do I Stop and Enjoy the Pizza?

GOD!  I make myself nuts!  I am the least patient person I know, and that pisses me off.  I have this uncanny ability to ignore what is good in anticipation of the next thing.

I. MUST. STOP. THAT!!

It's like....and I must preface this analogy by saying I don't like it one little bit.  My mother wrapped every life lesson in food...I'm better than that.  Aren’t I?  Why yes, yes I am.  But I'm also not patient enough to figure out a better way of putting it rightthisverysecond.

So it's like….I'm eating pizza for lunch.  It's good pizza.  It's awesome pizza.  I'm talking a nice buttery crust, crispy on the outside but soft on the inside.  Minimal sauce.  Tons of cheese.  Dripping just the right amount of grease.  Pizza Nirvana. But all I can think about is what I'll make for dinner.

How do I stop and enjoy the pizza?

So I'm working on that.  And honestly it takes real, conscious, often difficult effort to just stop in the moment and go "Ahhhhh...wow, this is really nice".  That may not SOUND like work...but to me, it is no easier than shoveling the driveway.  Yes FAR FAR FAR more enjoyable, but no easier.

So today I have the whole house to myself until The Boy comes home this evening.  I have nowhere to go and all day to get there.  I need to work out, I have a phone meeting at 2 with one of my favorite Beachbody people so it’s not really work.   I should probably get started on my taxes but hey, it’s barely March so if I don’t, it’s no biggie.  Beyond that, my time is my own. 

Ahhhhh…..wow this is really nice.

Today’s lunch….Chicken Pesto Pizza.  This is so simple that I can hardly call this a 'recipe', but since Pinterest has been quite kind in contributing to my traffic (up from 10 a day to about 20....you think I'm kidding?  Sadly, no) I'm going to start posting step by step pics of my oh-so-simple culinary experiments.


So I started with these awesome things:

Actual honest to goodness pizza crust would obviously work, but I really like Flat Out.  It gets crispy and yummy and is good for you too.


To that I added pesto.  Store bought.  If you prefer to make your own, God bless you and you are a better woman than I.  And to be clear, I really like pesto, and I don't have a significant other to complain about my breath.  So make yours look like this at your own risk!

The chicken I used was from some leftover (previously frozen) fried chicken.  I'd like to say that I threw the skin and breading away and that I did not eat it like an appetizer....yes I'd like to say that indeed, but I will not.


At this point you can add your choice of veggies...I like tomatoes and bell pepper.

And then, of course, lots of mozzarella cheese.

I popped it in the oven at 350 for about 10 minutes, then set on low broil just long enough to finish melting the cheese without over-toasting the 'crust'.


And here's what you get:

Life Begins Outside Your Comfort Zone

You guys blogging is really hard.  Boo hoo hoo.

Ok you know I love it, and when one person joked with me yesterday after several badly executed text-while-walking attempts (the problem was the walking not the texting) that I should perhaps give up the written word I said “I would sooner give up breathing.”  But as someone who writes best when she writes from the heart, about things with which she has direct experience, I can tell you that sometimes it is really hard to find things to write about that don’t fall into the category of oversharing. 

One of my favorite quotes (and this is saying something since I collect quotes like some collect pocket lint) is “Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self” – Cyril Connolly

I have no other knowledge of this Connolly dude, but I like how he thinks.

I do, in a big way, write for you guys.  But writing for you guys gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling and that is, obviously, for me. And I stay true to my beliefs and I write the truth.  I will never be accused of having no self if I have anything to say about it.  And I have something to say about most anything.

So if I seem to be beating about the bush, not really sharing every thought that enters my head as I have occasionally been accused of doing, it’s just because there are other people’s thoughts to consider here. 

The other day I found myself sitting in a parking lot waiting for a gentleman.   Not randomly hoping one would show up, but one in particular who was on his way.  We had been texting for about a week and I was very anxious to meet him.   Ok I was freeping terrified.  Certainly not the first online match that resulted in an in person meeting, and these meetings always make me nervous, but this went beyond nerves.  This was stark, shaking head to toe, terror.  I wasn’t especially concerned that he would chop me up in little pieces, though the possibility is never too far back in my mind, but I was more worried that the in-person meeting would not compare to the written conversations.  I was afraid we wouldn’t like each other or, worse yet, I would like him and he wouldn’t like me.

And this little motivational tidbit sprung to mind: 

Life Begins Outside Your Comfort Zone.

It’s a big thing in Beachbody.  And yeah I get it.  Sometimes it’s uncomfortable trying to sell to someone but if you don’t ask the answer is always no. Yes my friends, today is cliche day.  And if we don’t push ourselves far beyond our comfort level physically then change will never happen.  But it never occurred to me to apply this principal to regular life.

So as I sat there in the car waiting for this man to arrive, shaking from the top of my flat ironed hair to the bottom of my cute shoes (dating is exhausting you guys…I put on MAKEUP, on a SCHOOL NIGHT!!!) I just kept telling myself that the more afraid I was the more out of my comfort zone I was and therefore the more awesome it could be.

I was right.  And that’s all I’ll say about that right now J

Today's lunch.  Boring soup.  Not even worth a picture.