Sunday, July 27, 2008

(My) Top Ten Workout Songs (For Now)

I went on a marathon walking and workout session yesterday, and when all the good energetic songs came up on my iPod, I thought, "Bitch, you should make a top ten list of this shit." Then I went and smoked some Newports, because based on that last sentence, I'm apparently black and fierce.

But then I thought about how hard it is to make a definitive top ten list. I mean, my tastes aren't your tastes, and my tastes always change. I don't want to order all people of the world to enjoy this list, but only offer it as a suggestion. And I don't want to nail myself down to just this list forever, thus the overly parenthetical title.

(My) Top Ten* Workout Songs (For Now)
*In strategic playlist order.

1. Sec Walkin' - My Morning Jacket: The perfect warm-up song. It begins with the lyrics, "Left leg, right leg, one leg at a time I keep on walking..." It's slightly honky tonk, good rhythm, great for starting a long walk, the walk to the gym or while you're getting ready.

2. Here it Goes Again - Ok Go: The title says it all, "here it goes again," back in the saddle, doing that crazy treadmill choreography.

3. Everyone Nose (All The Girls Standing in the Line for the Bathroom) - N.E.R.D.: The pulsing rhythm is essential for a third-in-line song. Plus, the irony is too great - all those girls may be standing in line, but you're not. You're not getting ready to snort coke, either. At least I hope not.

4. The Way You Make Me Feel - Michael Jackson: Take it down a notch by going back to the old school. You can't beat these lyrics, "Hey pretty baby with the high heels on...I like the feeling you're giving me." That pretty baby? That's you. The feeling you're giving me? Them're endorphins, from all that sweatin'.

5. I Want to Take You Higher - Ike & Tina Turner or Sly & The Family Stone: Put some heat into it, bitch! "Don't you wanna get higher? Oooh yeah!" You can't beat the throbbing repetitions of the word "higher" and the scatty "boom-shaka-laka-laka, boom-shaka-laka-laka." Damn! I love this song!!!!

6. It's Tricky - Run-DMC: Every time this song comes up, I feel like I should be skateboarding on a halfpipe or something. Instead, the rhythm makes me put my ass into it on the elliptical machine. And I mouth the lyrics and nod my head; I probably look like an asshole, but this song pumps me up!

7. Southern Hospitality - Ludacris & Pharrell: The hydraulic rhythm of this song brings you down a few notches after the previous songs. It makes me feel like a hot bitch, to be honest. You gotta love a song that shouts out to women that got some "big titties and a matchin' ass."

8. Running on Empty - Jackson Browne: This one's a gimme - I mean who doesn't remember Forrest Gump running to this song in his long hair and raggedy beard. And by this time, you're probably running on empty, too. It works. (Runner Up: Runnin' Down a Dream by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers)

9. Dance to the Music - Sly and the Family Stone: The obligatory second-to-last, keep-movin'-that-ass song. It ain't time to cool down just yet; you gots to dance to the music, and "ride, Sally, ride."

10. Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing - Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell: It seems like an odd choice for a cool-down song. I mean, a Motown love song? There's just something about it: the long rhythmic strides, the praise of this ever elusive "real thing," whatever that is. I imagine that it's living in love with my body, as it is. I don't know if that's ever gonna happen, but I like to dream... (Runner-Up: Shoo-Be-Doo-Be-Doo-Da-Day by Stevie Wonder)

I challenge you to check some of these songs out and see if they get your body moving, whether their your style or not. Lord knows I'm not a huge rap fan, but I can't beat those rhythms when it comes to breaking a sweat!

So there's that,


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I'm Back, Baby!

So yeah, me no writey in a week.  GET OVER IT!
Just kidding.  Don't get over it.  Hold the resentment close to your heart until it courses bitterly through your veins.
There have been some new developments in the past week:
  1. I have a tight vag, but you know that.  I've embraced it, and I think it's really funny...when it's not.
  2. I talked to my Mom last week to find out once and for all if she had breast cancer when I was a kid.  When I was in the first grade, I remember she had to come up to Chicago for some tests.  I remember bringing my white Marshall Field's teddy bear to her and laying with her in bed, scared that she was sick.  Thankfully, her tumors were benign; they would return every few years since then.  I wanted to know for my own medical records, and we ended up having a long talk about women's health - the kind of talk we didn't have when I was going through puberty.
  3. During this talk, we came upon the subject of menopause.  She admitted that she had gone through the worst of it, and when I asked her when that was, she said this:  "Oh you remember - that was when I went all crazy and divorced Dad."  Which MEANS she kind of owned up for being a raging bitch over the last few years.  Hmmm...a good thing?
  4. I met a guy.  Upside?  He like, likes me.  Downside?  He has an accent like Yakov Smirnov.  Everytime he talks I think, "In Soviet Russia, CAR drives YOU!"  It's not really a downside; it's kind of cute.  He's Moroccan...and swell.
  5. I lost 3 lbs, gained them back, and lost them again.
  6. I've been sticking to my workout schedule.
  7. I won a party at Howl at the Moon Piano Bar!
  8. I made tabouli for the first time.  It's pure magic.
  9. I'm going to see The Dark Knight tonight with Yakov.
  10. I think I'm travelling home over Labor Day weekend!  Weeeee!
So there's that,

Monday, July 14, 2008

Cooter Update

Went to the gyno, and it was awful.  Worse than I imagined. 
You can p'shaw if you'd like, but if I told you the whole story, you'd be all, "That's awful."
I think my feelings would best be expressed in a scene from the major motion picture, Waiting for Guffman:
The Pearls and the Albertsons are enjoying dinner at a chop suey house.  Sheila Albertson is very drunk when she admits a family secret.
Ron Albertson: I had to have penis reduction surgery.
Dr. Allan Pearl: Penis *reduction*?
Sheila: I said to him, "Ron, you've gotta do something!" And he says to me, "Well, why don't you get one of those vagina enlargements?"
Apparently, I'm in need of the latter as well.
It was bad, and it has ruined my day.  I'm shame-eating in response.  Had a McGriddle right afterward, and at 3:00 I'm planning on a big ole frappuccino.  You know it.
But I'm still gonna work out!
So there's that,


Sunday, July 13, 2008

I Squeam.

So tomorrow's the big day - I'm off to see the gyno midmorning.

And I'm freaked out.

I tried to do what I always do when I can't wrap my mind around something: I research it online.

So I went to WebMD and typed in "gynecologist first visit" and laughed ruefully when the most informative link was addressed to teenage girls. The language was all, "If you think you should see a cooch doc, ask your mom or dad to make an appointment." HA!

Then I kept reading about what to expect in full detail, and my stomach lurched. Seriously? I think my cooter's just going to fold in on itself when approached by a strange lady with cold steel. Kind of like the Wicked Witch of the East's striped legs after Dorothy's house landed on her. Or maybe it will screech out, "Oil can!" Or worse, I'll mention all these awful jokes aloud in an effort to cut the tension. And then I'm afraid she's gonna be all impatient with me because I'm 26 and I need to get over it. And then I'll cry.

I mean, it's not like I haven't had someone else poking around down there before; but it's completely different when it's someone I'm not attracted to. Like I said in an earlier post, I'm gonna need a roofie first.

So wish me luck. I know it's the responsible thing to do in regards to my overall health, but fuck; I'd rather they'd develop a less invasive way to do it. Am I right ladies?

So there's that,


Belly Laffs

This? Made my Sunday morning.

You're welcome.

So there's that,


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Head to desk, then smack lips three times.

I'm sleepy...can't I just get an alarm clock and curl up under my desk like George Costanza did that one time?
Ungh, there's boxes under there.
I wish I had one of those mobiles above my cubicle.  Something with fluffy cakes and milkshakes dangling from it, rotating whilst a tiny music box slowly plunks out the Motown hit, "Gravy (for my mashed potatoes)" - which is my theme song, bee tee dubs.  Has been for months.
Doesn't it suck so much since George Carlin died last week?
So there's that,

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Butternutty Pudding

This recipe doesn't have butternut squash in it.  I just like the word "butternut."
Butternutty Pudding
Serves 4
1 package Jell-O fat free, sugar free butterscotch pudding
2 c cold fat-free milk
Sweetened coconut
Sliced or slivered almonds
Prepare pudding according to package directions.  In four fancy glasses (or not fancy, whatevs), sprinkle some coconut flakes.  Then add a few spoonfuls of pudding.  Then more coconut.  Then more pudding.  Then put some almonds on it.  Then some more coconut.  Let chill for at least 5 minutes and serve.
Isn't it good?  I even like putting a baby sprinkle of salt on the top....mmmm...butterscotch, nuts,
So there's that,


Monday, July 7, 2008

In Bad Taste

Over the past few days, I've seen the commercial for this more than once.

And it makes me sick.

Does anyone else think this is just wrong?

I tracked down the commercial on youtube so you can see it in a larger view:

I'll post more thoughts on this later. Feel free to discuss.

So there's that,


Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Dick Move

I was doing my laundry tonight, and the person who was using the dryer before me left her clothes in 3 of the 4 dryers.  Guess what?  I needed all 4 dryers.
The rule in our laundry room is that you should promptly remove your clothes so things like this don't happen. 
Now I understand if you can't be there at the exact minute your drying cycle ends.  That's why I put my clothes in the empty dryer first.  Then I waited a minute or so before unloading the stranger's clothes from the other dryers.  Once it was apparent this person wasn't coming, I started emptying each dryer, one at a time, and filling them with my clothes.  This way, if that person got there, I won't have removed any of her items if I didn't have to.  That's awkward.  I mean, I don't want to touch your underthings just as much as you don't want me to, but I'm on a schedule here, too.
The person didn't get down there by the time I finished, so I thought I successfully avoided the awkward apologies for touching her clothes.  At least.
When I was emptying the last of my quarters into the dryers, I couldn't help thinking how great it was that I had JUST ENOUGH quarters to do my laundry.  I practically dusted my hands together in accomplishment.  I even double-checked that I pressed the start button on each machine.  If I don't do that, then the red power light will stay on, but the machine won't run, and I'll have wet clothes in an hour.  I've done this before.  It sucks.
So, how do you think it felt when I went to retrieve my clothes promptly after the drying cycle, only to find that not one, but THREE of the dryer doors were opened slightly?  And guess which three they were? 
That's right:  The ones that had that chick's clothes in them. 
Opened, just a teeny bit.  Cutting off my drying cycle.  There was no red light on the dryer; I had no drying time left.  I had no quarters.
It was clearly an act of revenge, as each door was opened about an inch.  Each load had the same level of lukewarm dampness.  And none of those dryers had shoes or anything of the like that could blow the door open from the inside.  This was standard laundry, and no such thing had happened before in my 1.5 years in this building.  It was, in short, a dick move.
Now I'm up here in my apartment, fuming, because I have to run to the currency exchange where the scum of the earth find ways to haggle over the balance of their Link Cards while I wait in line, feigning patience.  But I can't run to the currency exchange until my Thai food gets here.  Shrimp noodle soup I ordered to be perfectly timed with the accomplishment of folding my clean laundry.
Good grief.  I want to retaliate somehow, but I can't.  It was an anonymous crime.  All I can do is let it out here, and hope that by the time my food gets here and I run down the street for more quarters, feed the machines, and run back soup will still be warm.
So there's that,

The Most Dangerous Game

I was washing my hands in the office ladies room, when I took notice of the odd way a woman's feet were positioned in one of the stalls.
What does this matter?  There is a problem at this office with women who hover whilst relieving themselves.  You would think that, working in a healthcare organization, people would be more sanitary, but no.  Just yesterday I went into my favorite stall to find the seat sprayed with thick yellow urine.
So I noticed this woman's stance:  feet spread wide, legs an odd distance from the seat.  I thought that I should give her the benefit of the doubt; maybe she has a tampon ritual.  But then I heard it.  Loud pee.  Pee that hit the water sounding like it was dropped at least a foot away.  Pee that echoed uncharacteristically because legs weren't covering the open bowl.
I sound like a pee scientist.  No.  A pee detective.
Detective or not, I decided not to hang around the bathroom long enough to see the culprit.  Partly because I hate awkward bathroom conversation, and partly because I don't want my image of this woman (if I work closely with her) to be sullied by this incident.  I noticed someone leave the bathroom once without washing her hands, and I haven't felt comfortable around her since.  God, I'm a loser.  This is my Zodiac, my Son of Sam, my Carmen Sandiego.  I don't have the balls to look her in the face?  She was mere feet from me!
So now I'm on the hunt for a pair of shoes - orthotic-looking mary janes, probably worn with knee highs.  The woman is slender of leg and short of pants.  All Points Bulletin!
So there's that,

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Mistakes Were Made

Last week was a great week. I stuck to my workout schedule, brought my lunch everyday. Even flossed regularly.

Then I went to the Stevie Wonder concert on Saturday night.

Oh, sure the concert was awesome. Got to spend the beautiful evening outside, meandering through a big, friendly crowd at Taste of Chicago. The Wonder played for 3 hours - vastly outperforming the younger acts I've seen in recent years.

Sidenote: I went to see Th' Legendary Shack Shakers a few weeks ago, and I patiently sat through way too many songs from The Lawrence Peters Outfit before finally seeing the Shakers' 60 minute - albeit mindblowing - set. The opening act wasn't unbearable or unenjoyable; it was just long, and I had the runs, and I wanted to see the main event. Point being? I was at the venue for close to 3 hours, and I only got to see the headliner for 60 minutes. Suck.

But Stevie Wonder. Was. Amazing. I went with Shana, and we nearly chickened out on account of the claustrophobia-inducing masses. But...we made it in, decided to tunnel through the people, ended up in a spontaneous "electric slide" line that grew exponentially throughout the song, "Superstitious." We chanted with our new dance partners, "Ain't no party like a Chi-town party, cuz a Chi-town party don't stop!" I felt like I was in an urban step battle.

It was the concert of the year! So far!

Then we decided to go to the loop for ribs, because we didn't want to get suckered into the Taste of Chicago prices. That's where I met my food demise.

For $13, I got a rib-tips lunch box at Ronny's Steak House - a kind of soul food cafeteria. Sounds meager, right? It's just rib tips, right? Not like it's a rack. And it came with vegetables: a baked potato and side salad. That can't be bad...unless the potato is served up with the butter already melted into a yellow oil, and the salad comes with a quarter cup of ranch dressing. My tray weighed more than 10 pounds. I betcha any money. did all come on some heavy dinnerware.

And it? Was good. Oh yes.

I couldn't finish it, so I took the leftovers home and prayed that I'd run into a homeless person I could foist the guilty evidence upon. Wouldn't you know it? The ONE time I need a homeless person in my path, I can't find one. I even took a long route from the train to my apartment, passing 2 liquor stores, the burrito house where I'm always accosted late at night, and a few of their camping zones. Nothing. I guess I had to keep them.

I got home and took a sominex to come down from the excitement. Mistake. I slept until 3 the next day, and I felt like I could sleep some more. It was like the kind of Sunday that follows a night of heavy drinking, though I hadn't had a drop of alcohol in a few weeks. I felt lazy. I felt like I wasted a day. I felt...warmly sleepy. I needed to wake up, though. I needed to eat something, didn't I? So I nuked the ribs and they were perfect.

Then I decided I needed more ribs. Having told Shana that my favorite place for ribs - named, believe it or not, Art of Pizza - has a rib special every Sunday (an offer I have taken advantage of occasionally....every other Sunday), I had rib special on the brain. Fall off the bone rack of ribs for $9.95, with fries and a side salad, delivered straight to my door.

So I let a few hours pass, hoping the craving for ribs would leave as silently as it arrived. It didn't. I called it in. I ate those bastards up in mere minutes, my cuticles red with the tangy, peppery evidence of food sex.

This of course started the slippery slope. Yesterday I went out for Potbelly subs for lunch, though I chose the turkey instead of the standard wreck. And I know I had something else "terrible" that I can't put my finger on. BUT I didn't surpass my calorie budget, and I worked out.

Today, was BAD NEWS. Amy and I went to the food court in Chicago Place mall on Michigan Ave. I didn't know a food court like this existed so close to me for so long. It was like a dream only the suburbs could make come true. You know what I had? Great Steak and Potato Company. Chicken Teriyaki Sub (it's just chicken, right?), hand-cut fries (split 80/20 with Amy; guess who got 80?). This was a trip down memory lane, to Penn Station (same company) on Sundays in college, when calories were for adults. I savored every moment of it.

And we had coupons for frozen coffee beverages from Seattle's Best in Borders Books that expired TODAY, so we HAD to take advantage of them, right? Now, I'm a Frappucino Lite girl at my best, but what would it hurt if I got the full sugar/fat milkshake for grown-ups?

It would hurt. A lot.

Immediately after leaving Steak and Potato, I felt like I was sweating fry grease. After my first sip of frap crap, I could feel my innards roiling. Bad News.

Once back at the office, I checked out the companies' websites for nutrition information.

The it's-just-CHICKEN sub? 900+ calories, 50+ grams of fat. The fries? 600+ cal, 30+ grams of fat. The frappe? 400+ cal, I'm passing out now grams of fat.

You know that part of the Goonies when Chunk tells the story of making a batch of fake puke and taking it to the movies?


That's what I felt like. Not in the bulimic way, but in the "there are over 100 oily grams of fat in your system right now and you haven't had that much fat in one sitting in quite some time so your bowels are treating you, well, like shit" kind of way.

Long story short, I got a long walk home tonight.

So there's that,