Last night I almost didn't go to my night class because all of my jeans fit too tight. I threw a giant fit, almost started crying and sat in my bed in just my undies pouting until guilt took hold of me and forced me into some pants and out the door.

I've been trying not to miss as many days working out, but for some reason it doesn't make me feel any better about myself. I know it will eventually but, I'm not very patient. I'm more of an immediate satisfaction kinda girl. However, I find it hard to keep myself motivated when I'm not actually working towards an end goal and I'm very good at finding reasons to stay home instead of going to the gym. Not a good combination, and it doesn't help my jeans fit any better.

The motivation I've been using lately is my parents. They work out every morning. EVERY MORNING! Well, except Sunday, that's the holy day. Anyhow, when I start to convince myself that I need to stay home instead of going to the gym I replay the conversation of my mom telling me about her daily workout routine including sit-ups and cardio. And I figure if my parents can go to the gym every day I should be able to do it too, it's hard to find excuses after that. Or, I guess I could just go into the dressing room and try on my jeans again.


Butternut Squash/Sweet Potato/Portabella Mushroom Soup

It should come as no surprise that I am not a fancy chef. I have never had a flair for culinary creations...I'm more on the taste tester side of expertise. However, my boyfriend Casey really loves to cook, and since sometimes I feel bad letting him do all the work I help out and sometimes I even pick the recipes we try and so far I've done a really great job. (Yay me!) :)
On Wednesday it was grey and rainy so we decided some soup sounded good...after over an hour of recipe hunting I made the decision for us that we would make Butternut Squash soup. We went to the store for the ingredients and Casey decided it needed to be spiced up with some sweet potatoes and portabello mushrooms. (I would've followed the directions to the T so, it's a good thing he's more adventurous.)

The prepping of the food was by far the hardest part because that damn squash did not want to be peeled, and I almost lost some slices of my skin. Which, probably would not have made the soup taste better and I probably would have never cooked again. Anyhow once everything was sliced, diced and sauteed it all got to simmer together in juices for forty minutes. I got bored so I drank some delicious wine (because you can't cook without wine, I hear there's some sort of law against that or something. The wine was: Insatiable. A blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Barbera, Zinfandel, Syrah and Nebbiolo.)
Anyhow, even with the wine drinking and the Jeopardy! on t.v. I got bored waiting for the soup to be done so I could blend it into perfection so i took some pictures of me looking hungry by the food. You're lucky I am only posting one of those pictures because they did not get better with the more I took.

Finally time was up! I poured everything into my blender, and pureed the crap out of it, poured it back into the pots so Casey could add the portabellas, we decided they would be better NOT blended into a pulp. Casey whipped together a salad, and created a dipping sauce for the bread
I added sour cream to my soup (because that's what the recipe told me to do). Casey ate his as is because he thinks sour cream is gross (I know, What?!? is he crazy? Possibly.) Anyhow, the soup turned out so amazing and we have a ton of leftovers, we even had enough to put some in the freezer for another rainy day. I can sort of see why people enjoy cooking, but I still much prefer to just do the eating!


Trapped (for now) by a little round pill

She fumbles through the night alone. Weary,
worn and tired. Smaller in her life
than she had ever known. Praying no one
catches on to the lies that keep her here.
One more night, one more swallow, will it be
enough this time to avert the crushing
low? The dreams she once believed in, withered
dry beneath her worn leather mary-janes.
She is shrinking now, she can feel herself
dissolve, this is not the affect she planned.
But her image in the mirror suggests
she won't take this sitting down anymore.
Determined to become the leading role
in her story once again. Emptying
out the contents of her pocketbook, she
turns on her heels, determined walks away.

Our assignment was to write a sonnet using iambic pentameter about a piece of art we saw at the Portland Art Museum. Below is the piece of art that I very loosely based my poem on.

Gregory Crewdson - Blind Reflection



It's easy to get down on yourself, for some reason it's hard to look in the mirror and focus on the good things instead of all the little things you wish you could change. It's hard to accept a compliment without giving some sort of response to negate the nice thing just said. Which is why I've created little things in my life to help remind myself that I am, in fact, awesome. Stephanie and I have spent many hours creating "awesome lists" (I believe EVERYONE should have one) and I did a very cheesy collage above my mirror with nice words so I have to look at it when I look in the mirror. It tells me that I'm "skinny, breathtaking, unforgettable, beautiful, tiny...etc" things I don't look in the mirror and tell myself ever! Anyhow, I am following Shannon's example today and creating a list of 5 things I love about my body, here they are in no particular order:
  • My feet - not only do they allow me to dance and wear fun shoes they also have really cute toes.
  • My butt - it's sort of on the biggish side, and I love it, in fact when it starts to look like it's getting smaller I get my butt back into the gym for squats
  • My eyes - I love the color they are, and the shape
  • My legs - those things are strong, and relatively short on cellulite, plus they look really great in skirts
  • My hands - they are kind of tiny and I like that about them, plus they are really good at giving massages
So, while there are times when I wish I could change things about myself, or lose a little bit of weight I actually really love how I look.


I still like it.

It was brought to my attention on my last visit home that liking the smell of baby's breath might not be normal.

THIS kind of baby's breath:

<----NOT THIS kind

I always thought it was normal...it's not only my favorite thing about newborns but it's also my mom's, and two of my sister's. So, now I'm thinking it's another one of those things that has more to do with the family I was raised in and less to do with the fact that it is indeed one of the sweetest things ever. The older I get the more I discover that there are some thing that I think are normal...but as it turns out, are not.


Hello? Operator?

The other day I called my parents house and got the busy signal. Remember the busy signal? That damn signal plagued my high school years and got in the way of a lot of important conversations. Sometimes I would sit and listen to the *beep* *beep* *beep* for minutes before giving up and walking away from the phone. Most of the time I would just hang up/redial, hang up/redial, hang up/redial, repeat repeat repeat until it finally started ringing. One time though I just sat there so long listening to the beeping that it finally connected my call and it started ringing. How long did I sit there with the busy signal? Who knows. Seems like a total waste of time now, but back then I'm sure it seemed totally reasonable.


Tangerine Dreams

One day older than yesterday
a little smarter, not much wiser.
The weight of tomorrow
causing me to tremble.

Remember the day
spent drinking tangerines
over the rainbow, under the moon.
Watching movies, holding tight
to euphemisms created
in the silver light.

Stalwartly dedicated
to moving forward,
keeping out
of the way
of the elephants
that would smash
through dreams
last year,
before I can remember.

I hadn't posted anything from my poetry class in a while. So, here is one I turned in a few weeks ago, I haven't gotten it back yet, so I have no notes on it...if you want to give me some I would love it.