Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Peanut Butter Addiction . . . Running Sucks . . . and Pumpkin Pancakes.

Isn't it awesome that I let you read about how wonderful my husband is for seventeen STRAIGHT days?



Yeah, he's awesome.  But, he's not seventeen days of awesome.  Let's get real.  I just haven't had anything much to say.

My eatings have been super boring . . .  intermingled with a little good girl, gone bad.  My biggest problem is that I can't keep my spoon out of the peanut butter jar to save my life.

I had stopped buying the good stuff because it's full of high fructose corn syrup and other liquid death ingredients (sugar can syrup . . .).


But, then OZ went looking for it in the cabinets.

I told him that I stopped buying it because I was the one eating all of it.  He told me those were the words that divorces are made of.  So, it's back in the house.  And, guess who is eating all of it again?

To further complicate matters, my boys brought home 50 candy bars that they were selling for school.  Since I'm not going to let them go door to door like a bunch of little Mormons, the candy bars cost me $100 and have been sitting in my house . . . taunting me.



Though I don't especially love chocolate, I discovered that those little chocolate bars taste even better than my spoon when dipped in the peanut butter jar.



So . . . other than my complete lack of self control, NOTHING else has been going on.

SOMETHING is on the horizon for November, but the Great and Powerful OZ has me on lockdown.

Like a government spy,


I'm not allowed to talk about it.

I can tell you this:   The SOMETHING on the horizon involves a bikini wax and a $19 spray tan.



And, it also involves me keeping my grubby hands out of the peanut butter jar . . . because bikini season is coming around again a lot sooner seven months sooner than I expected.

But, I'm absolutely not complaining . . . and you will hear more about it later.

So, since this is supposed to be a "look at what I ate" and "look at how far and fast I ran" blog . . .and  I've already covered the peanut butter . . . I'll go ahead and talk about running.

I haven't been running.  At all.



I have not hit the pavement in over eight weeks.

I stopped when I went in for my second shot in the ass (you can read about it here), and the good Doc asked me when my back hurts the worst.  For the first time ever, I was completely honest and said "When I run."  He said, "how far?" And, I finally  admitted that any distance hurts.



Naturally, he told me to stop.  And, I did.  I haven't run since.  [Well, okay . . .  I have run some quarter mile sprints at cross fit class, but that's it.]



To be honest, I thought that I would miss it more.  I thought that the loss of this "thing" that I have done every single day for more than five years would leave a big empty hole in my life . . .



. . . but really, it hasn't.  In fact, it's kind of been a relief.  I no longer have to think about how far I want/need to run, or how fast, or how early,  or how my schedule/plan/goals work with anyone else.  And, now that I'm staring down the barrel of the gun that is winter, I don't have to think about how freaking cold and dark its going to be at 5:15 in the morning . . . because I won't be out there.

Instead, I'll  just go to the gym . . . by myself . . . where it is climate controlled . . . at whatever time works best for me.  And, as an added perk, I will jump onto the elliptical and climb into a book and forget that the rest of the world even exists.   For sixty minutes, I will forget that I'm not a vampire.



Or an angel.



Or a half-beaten-to-death high school teenager that can't make up her mind who she wants to have sex with for the first time.



It's been beautiful, really.  And, my relationship with this machine is solidified.



I've never loved an elliptical before.  In fact, I used to think that they were a big waste of time.  But, this one . . . she has stolen my heart.

I'm trying to talk Oz into buying me one for the house, but he seems resistant.  I don't really understand it.  If we charge it to my American Airlines Mastercard we will earn 7000 frequent flier miles . . .  which is a win-win.


So,  I'll keep trying to convince him . . .

NOW . . . in an effort to legitimize this blog . . . below is a recipe for a pumpkin pancake that Elizabeth dreamed up . . . because she is a culinary genius.  Please keep in mind that Elizabeth doesn't measure ingredients . . . so this is my interpretation of her pancake recipe.

Pumpkin Pancakes





Ingredients:
    1/2 cup Libby Pumpkin
    1/2 mashed banana
    1 whole large egg
    1 large egg white
    1/2 tsp cinnamon
    sweetener to taste (optional)

Directions:   Mix all ingredients.  Mash that banana real good (or use a food processor).   Cook it on low to medium heat on a griddle or in a frying pan . . . for a VERY long time.  Don't get in a hurry.  While you are waiting, check out all of the mundane things that your friends (including me) are doing on Facebook.  Then, flip.  And, just before the whole thingburns and goes up in flames, take it off the heat.  I doused mine in some sugar free maple syrup.

And, then because I'm a glutton for punishment, I also covered it in some PB2 mixed with some more sugar free maple syrup.



Heck yeah I did.

And, that's all I have for you today.  I went to Dallas today for work and wasn't mistaken for a hooker even once.  That I know of.  I hope you had an equally good day.

JMo



Saturday, October 6, 2012

Husbands are like Hamburgers . . . and a Week of Workouts

Just like there are different grades of hamburgers, there are different grades of husbands.  And,  I frequently compare husbands to hamburgers.

For me, the measuring stick is a Dornick burger.

Admittedly, this is not an actual Dornick burger.
But, it would look a lot like this.
If  you aren't from southern Oklahoma, you've got no idea what "Dornick" is.   But, let me tell you . . .  the Dornick burger is big . . . it is juicy.  It has all the fixings including bacon and is made to order.

And, a good . . . no, a great husband is like a Dornick burger.  I could rattle on and on about what a great husband does for his wife.  But, a wife mostly just measures a husband by what he does for his kids, and a great husband is a father who is present.



A great husband helps to get the kids out the door in the mornings.  He fixes hair.  He makes breakfasts.  He eats dinner with the kids and asks each one about their day.  He "babysits" his own kids . . . and some times, he even babysits an extra kid that doesn't belong to him.



A great husband camps out in the backyard with the kids.  He sleeps on the ground because the kids want to sleep on the air mattress.  He takes them to Walmart on a Friday night to buy sleeping bags that will actually keep them warm because it's going to be cold out there.  That's a great husband.

Now, a good husband might not rate as high as a Dornick burger but might compare to a Burger King Whopper.



It's flame grilled, and there's something to be said for that.  A Whopper Husband might be willing to do most of the things I said above but falls just a little short.  Maybe he doesn't help in the mornings before school.  Or, maybe he doesn't regularly make it home for dinner.  But, he's still a good guy, a good dad, and a good husband.

A little bit lesser husband might be a McDonalds Quarter Pounder with Cheese.

It's not that great, but it does have two pieces of cheese so it's better than a poke in the eye, right?  A quarter pounder husband isn't a guy you want to kick to the curb, but he might not fully justify the calories.

An even lesser husband might be a plain jane, fairly disgusting Happy Meal Burger.



This burger is nothing to write home about, but it does come with a toy so it has a redeeming quality.  A Happy Meal Husband is just barely getting by.  He's providing little nutritional content or enjoyment.

And, a pretty crappy husband might be nothing more than a slider.


Even if it's cute and comes in some fancy packaging, at the end of the day it just leaves you unsatisfied.  A Slider Husband is the same way.  He spends more time with his friends or on his hobbies than he does with his family.  He's of no use around the house.  The Slider Husband just leaves you hungry for something more . . . or maybe something else.

I know this post isn't funny.  I'm sorry for that because I usually try to keep it funny, but I just wanted to rave on the Great and Powerful Oz for a minute.



Sometimes I make jokes at his expense on this little blog of mine, and he takes it all in stride.  He puts up with my shenanigans . . . well, mostly.  I mean, let's be real, he's not a saint.  But, he's a good guy and a great husband.  He's usually a Dornick burger.  Now, he's not a Dornick burger every single day, but he rarely delves lower than a Whopper and never, ever below a Quarter Pounder with Cheese.  But most importantly,   whether he's swinging and hitting or swinging and missing, he always strives to be a Dornick burger.

Now, its only fair . . . if I'm comparing him to hamburgers that I compare myself to something too, right?   So, let's say, I am like a cupcake.  Occasionally, I'm a gourmet cupcake with peanut butter frosting.

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But, most of the time, I'm probably just an average Walmart cupcake.  I get the job done, but there's room for improvement.

And, every now and then, I'm even a nasty-ass hostess cupcake that's just barely getting by.



But, like my Dornick burger of a husband, I'm always striving to be the gourmet cupcake and not the Hostess cupcake.  I want to be the gourmet cupcake with peanut butter frosting.

This post is too sickly sweet . . .  ick . . . that's not my style.  Oz is going to think that I'm after something.  Like maybe a fifth-wheel camper . . . because I'm not one to sleep on the cold ground.

Here's what I did this week:









Have a great weekend!

JMo

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

I am [not] a literary genius . . . and what I ate on Tuesday.

Every now and then, magic happens.  Without trying too hard, I write a post that people seem to actually enjoy.  And, then for a few days, people stop me around town and tell me how great that particular  post was.  


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Let me tell you what the formula is for that magic:  vodka.  




I'm usually about three drinks in when I write something that is self-deprecating enough to really be funny.


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Lately though, I've had some writer's block. Or, maybe I just have been cutting back too much on my vodka intake, but, for whatever reason, I've been struck speechless . . .  which is unheard of.    

So, just now, I poured myself my first second vodka and club soda, and we are going to see what happens.


Yes, that is a whine glass.  No that is not a typo.

Switching gears.   So that you never have to wonder again, I added a little block in the side bar that tells you what I (and usually Elizabeth, too)  am reading right now.  




Now, don't go thinking that I'm going to wow you with my literary selections.   After  . . . or maybe because of . . . the Twilight books, I discovered that I get the most enjoyment out of reading about vapid little girls that like to send mixed signals to their bad boy, turned-protector boyfriends.  


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What can I say?  I read patents about telecommunications devices and protocol all day.  I don't want to think too terribly much when I am reading for pleasure.  

Now, I will freely admit to everyone (but my dad) that I like a little Shades of Grey in my books.


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But, I don't really require much . . . a little will get me by . . . 

And let's be real.  You had to read somewhere around 1500 pages in the Twilight books before you got to any Shades of Grey.  Damn Mormons.   (More than fifty percent of America is thinking that today for an entirely different reason).





Right now we are reading "Beautiful Disaster" by Jamie McGuire.  




I'm actually done with it, and salivating like a dog with rabies while waiting for the "sequel" (which is not a sequel at all but the book written again from the dude's point of view).  




I love the idea of a romance novel written from the perspective of the should-be-unattainable bad boy.  I personally relate more to the boy's perspective of romance than the girl's.  I'm not gushy.  I'm not touchy feely.   I don't cry.  I am not a communicator.  




But, I do love a love story.  So, I'm really excited about this next installment of my current reading obsession.  In fact, it has me the vodka thinking that maybe I should write a book myself.  Only, I will skip the girl's perspective altogether and go straight to the sequel.  Or is it a prequel? 

I brought this idea up to Oz last night.  He rolled his eyes and said, "here we go . . . "  I don't think he thinks it is a good idea.  But, this is from a guy who thinks it is a good idea to take up bee keeping.  

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Boy did I get off on a tangent.  

Want to know what I ate yesterday?  I was a very good girl.   


A very boring breakfast followed by a coffee date with a
high school friend I hadn't talked to in 20 years.
Lunch:  Shockingly delicious.
Dinner:  Three bean Chili from www.skinnytaste.com.
If that looks like a lot of food, it was.  And, I ate every bite.
Made for an interesting evening.


Snacks:  Delicious.  I love snacks more than meals.
I should mention that Elizabeth and I started a "28 day Crackdown on Crapola" on Sunday.  If you want the details, please see our "The Rules" page.  

Who's in?

Have any good book suggestions?

JMo