On Jen Lancaster...

So who, you might ask is Jen Lancaster? Only the snarkiest, plus-sized writer to ever grace my bookshelves. Unfortunately, she is the leading cause of failure of my diet.

Maybe I should back up a bit. I enjoy reading, what one of my friends termed as "Saccharine, sarcastic chic lit." I enjoy reading others slightly absurd happenings in their day-to-day lives. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is amused, amazed and befuddled by life. I actually got to meet Jen Lancaster at a book signing in Farmington Hills.

Going with Jenn G., Kate and Jackie, we bought her a cupcake and wine in a sweet if not slightly stalker gesture figuring she will need the sugar and liquid strength after a night of signing. We then go to the gourmet grocery next door and gorge ourselves on dumplings, sushi and kobe beef panini. Realizing that we just spent way too much time eating and we most likely will get crappy seats we rush next door. As we run through the doors we notice a driver and car pull up. Wait, driver and car? In Farmington Hills? OMG! It has to be her! In walks Jen Lancaster, the cool kid, the plumpy princess. Jackie and her talk and joke like old friends as Kate and Jenn presents her with our gifts (which she loved. Or at least pretended to.) I want to dazzle her with my wit and snarkiness too! I am funny and lovable! In a lull in the conversation, she moves as if to go inside, waiting for the people in charge to lead her to her podium. I'm going to miss my chance to wow her! Say something quick!

I squeak as I try to squeeze something out. She looks at me expectantly.

"We don't work here."

Bazinga!

Giving me the, "This is why I carry mace on my book tour look" she is rescued by a Border's employee, a snippy little thing who gives me a withering look. Hmmm. Note to self: Just keep quiet next time I see famous people.

So as I sit here today, reading another of her books, chortling to myself, (Oh Jen, you ARE so witty.) I get the munchies. Hush tummy you just got a very large fattening breakfast of eggs, sausage, deep fried potatoes, deep fried french toast, and deep fried bacon. But it's hard to ignore. I mean the chic is talking about food every other page. And alcohol. And I have a good two weeks of forced sobriety before I leave Magnus, teenagers, and Pam's Prohibition 2010.

And every page my munchie craving gets stronger and stronger. This is going to get ugly really soon.

I rummage through my shelves as she describes chocolate ganache and foie gras. She lives in Chicago for pete's sake. Damn. All I have is Ramen and Slim fast. Yuck. And chocolate. And bacon. Hmmmm...

If you are going to crash your diet, crash it big. In all of its chocolatey bacony glory.

See how I am outside of the Jen Lancaster-Love-Fold? Sigh...

On eHarmony...

So in a recent spat of tequila, boredom and facebook stalking exs, I began to get a little low.  And when I get depressed, and throw in alcohol and the internet what usually results is incredibly stupid but usually amusing stories.

So I joined eHarmony.

Now before I get the usual assortment of complaints, comments and warnings about Internet dating.  Trust me.  This I know.  But after trying the gym, bars, clubs, Starbucks, B & N's, church, my neighborhood, other cities, other countries, oil change places, the library, work, and networking events, I am flat out of options.  Since trusting serendipity to play matchmaker isn't working I thought I would try the world wide web.  Cause nothing bad every happens on the internet.

At first I looked at each profile with a certain amount of nervousness.  I sent introductions to 90% of the guys on my list.  Whenever I closed a match I did it with a certain amount of apology, wanting to tell them, it's not you it's me. I waited, and hoped, and pined, and dreamed.

I received absolutely no response.

I don't mean I didn't get a response i.e. that led to a meaningful relationship, or a phone call, or message.

Zip. Nada. Nothing. Nyet.

The guy panhandling in front of the Taco Bell on Ballenger and Corunna got more acknowledgement then me.

Over 150 guys. Not a single one. So I consulted some experts in the field, i.e. the one guy I can ask dating questions to.  And he said, "Most likely they are scared." Really.  How can you be scared? I mean who wouldn't want to date a girl with a profile pic like this -

Seriously this is my profile pic.

Is it my rambling lack of sentence structure...which often works stream of conscious...often referencing things like ooo cheese...I really want popcorn right now...where was I? Oh yay, my profile. Could it be that?

No, rather it was the same fears I had. The same fear everyone has. What might happen in a relationship, both good and bad.  Relationships leave us vulnerable and nobody wants to be that.  Apparently I have no sense of self preservation though and had no problem contacting strange guys on the internet.

So I pulled up my big girl pants, and decided I wouldn't let the affirmation or approval of a couple hundred eHarmony guys ruin my day.  I dusted the dirt from my sandals, quit the account and looked on to better days and dating in real life.

Until eHarmony contacted me and said I still had two months left of my commitment at the tune of $49.95 a month.

I guess one more look wouldn't hurt?

On underwear...

Things I learned about my body after losing weight number four- You will wear smaller size underwear.

Obviously, not the ones I wore. These are just for illustrative purposes.

New runners have the most interesting conversations. And by interesting I mean disgusting. When you run, all sorts of interesting happen.  Your body changes, and most of the time it isn't pleasant. Blisters, torn muscles, fatigue are just the beginning. Runners will often dehydrate and vomit while running. I've heard of stomach cramps so bad you literally shat yourself. But the worst is the chaffing...

Chafing - definition
1
: irritate, vex
2
: to warm by rubbing especially with the hands
3
a : to rub so as to wear away : abrade chafed his skin> b : to make sore by or as if by rubbing

Yep.  That would be number #3.

We are encouraged by our team leaders to try out new equipment, energy supplements, etc on our runs now to make sure everything works great for race day.  So as I began my run yesterday, 3 miles through downtown Flint and along the river, I decided to try out a new pair of running tights.  And stupidly enough, my new cotton briefs.

Now the underwear were dangerously close to falling through most of the day, but I thought perhaps I could struggle through the run, occasionally tugging them back into place.  I was wearing my underoos, the running tights, and then cotton shorts over them.  Well after the first 100 yards that clearly was not going to work.  My underwear were going down.

And taking my tights and shorts with them.

So what began as a fun jog through Flint turned into an ungraceful waddle through the city, with me desperately holding up my clothes to keep me from showing my business to municipality of Flint. Within a 1/4 a mile I had to get rid of the tights and underroos to keep what was left of my modesty.  That left me with a scanty pair of cotton shorts.  You what happens when you add cotton, sweat and friction?  You get chafing.

Refer to Definition #3 above.

After about 1 mile I was uncomfortable. 1.5 miles I was in pain. 2 miles and it was agony. My thighs were literally raw meat. (Your welcome for that visual.) And I wanted to quit so bad.  I wanted to sit down on the curb and call my roommate to pick me up. But I kept running. Not because I found some point of zen contemplation. Or came to a great breakthrough. Or pure stick-with-it-ness.

No, I wasn't in the best part of Flint and really didn't want to wait for someone to pick me up.  But it worked out. I finished the run and I learned a valuable lesson.

Cotton Shorts + Sweat = Walk of Shame

On death...

Benjamin Franklin once said, "In the world nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes." If I may add "And they will hit at the most inopportune time."

So the culmination of the past four weeks of Magnus is the two performances happening this Saturday at the Whiting. And for some of the faculty and staff this performance has been a year's worth of hard work and sweat.

The head of our program just found out today that her father-in-law passed away. And the funeral is Saturday. Four of our staff members are family of the man. On a day that should be about celebration and breathing a sigh of relief, now is about mourning. Which got me thinking.

Why is death so inconvenient?

In a world of flat tires, dropped calls, traffic jams, and missed chances it would seem that at least our final moments would have some sort of order or planning.

Instead we spend so much time filling our lives, that when a death happens, it always feel sudden and unfair. One more day. If only I'd known. I would have done things differently.

And perhaps that is why things are the way they are. That we need to live each moment like it's the last.
Cause death is inconvenient. Of that, I'm certain.

On Jen Lancaster...

So who, you might ask is Jen Lancaster?  Only the snarkiest, plus-sized writer to ever grace my bookshelves.  Unfortunately, she is the leading cause of failure of my diet.

Maybe I should back up a bit.  I enjoy reading, what one of my friends termed as "Saccharine, sarcastic chic lit." I enjoy reading others slightly absurd happenings in their day-to-day lives.  It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is amused, amazed and befuddled by life.  I actually got to meet Jen Lancaster at a book signing in Farmington Hills.

Going with Jenn G., Kate and Jackie, we bought her a cupcake and wine in a sweet if not slightly stalker gesture figuring she will need the sugar and liquid strength after a night of signing.  We then go to the gourmet grocery next door and gorge ourselves on dumplings, sushi and kobe beef panini.  Realizing that we just spent way too much time eating and we most likely will get crappy seats we rush next door.  As we run through the doors we notice a driver and car pull up.  Wait, driver and car? In Farmington Hills?  OMG!  It has to be her!  In walks Jen Lancaster, the cool kid, the plumpy princess.  Jackie and her talk and joke like old friends as Kate and Jenn presents her with our gifts (which she loved.  Or at least pretended to.)  I want to dazzle her with my wit and snarkiness too!  I am funny and lovable! In a lull in the conversation, she moves as if to go inside, waiting for the people in charge to lead her to her podium.  I'm going to miss my chance to wow her!  Say something quick!

I squeak as I try to squeeze something out.  She looks at me expectantly.

"We don't work here."

Bazinga!

Giving me the, "This is why I carry mace on my book tour look" she is rescued by a Border's employee, a snippy little thing who gives me a withering look. Hmmm. Note to self: Just keep quiet next time I see famous people.

So as I sit here today, reading another of her books, chortling to myself, (Oh Jen, you ARE so witty.) I get the munchies.  Hush tummy you just got a very large fattening breakfast of eggs, sausage, deep fried potatoes, deep fried french toast, and deep fried bacon.  But it's hard to ignore.  I mean the chic is talking about food every other page.  And alcohol.  And I have a good two weeks of forced sobriety before I leave Magnus, teenagers, and Pam's Prohibition 2010. 

And every page my munchie craving gets stronger and stronger. This is going to get ugly really soon.

I rummage through my shelves as she describes chocolate ganache and foie gras.  She lives in Chicago for pete's sake.  Damn.  All I have is Ramen and Slim fast.  Yuck. And chocolate. And bacon. Hmmmm...

If you are going to crash your diet, crash it big.  In all of its chocolatey bacony glory.

On Magnus (week one)...

525,600 minutes...wait...that's not right...that's a year...

Okay so you have to hum "Seasons of Love" to make it work...you ready?

604,800 seconds
604,000 here at Magnus
604,800 seconds
So you might ask, what's all the fuss?

In sore throats, in grown nails, in dorm food and lots of dancing.
In tendu, in demi, I don't know what that means...

In 604, 800 seconds, I hope I don't kill, any of these teens.

This is week.....ooooonnnneee.
Oh God, week....oooooonnnne.
This is week one.

On Magnus....

Let me just preface this post by telling you that after every sentence you should add "And then I walked." Man my feet hurt.

So as some of you know, for the next month of I have signed up to be an RA for the Magnus Midwest Dance Intensive in Flint. I work my normal FIM job during the week but at night I take care of 100 12-22 year olds at the U of M - Flint dorms.

Yesterday was move in day. I spent five hours walking up and down floors the length of two football fields answering questions, reassuring parents, explaining thermostats, etc. After they moved in we walked to the Cultural Center a 1.5 mile round trip (I googled it.) Last night, I fixed wi-fi, unplugged toilets, gave out extra blankets and patiently said no over 50 times. Mostly about things they knew they shouldn't do but just wanted to test the waters. Hey, their parents weren't there. I'll let them get tummy aches from eating too many cookies, but walking the streets of downtown Flint is just too far.

This morning it was showered, dressed and downstairs by 8. Placement classes were today. The students would be placed in three different groups based on their ability. I was warned about temper tantrums, hysterical sobbing, and slammed doors as these best-of-the-best divas found out what happened when all 99 other dancers were the best-of the best too.

The kids did their placements and then we had lunch. It was a lazy day, just hanging out. I would get little visits through out the day and I would laugh at their shenanigans because well they are teenagers and full of shenanigans.

After Dinner, talking with some of the girls about their day and how they were adjusting the elevator doors opened to a mob of students clamoring to see 3 small pieces of paper. Placements. I stood back and watched their faces. Trying to gauge if someone would need a pep talk or hug, and just watching. At first it was hard to see who was placed where. Quick fleeting glances of disappointment, brief moments of excitement. No tantrums, no slammed doors. These young men and women were talking this like champs.

I am sure that tears were shed in private and that moms and dads got triumphant phone calls, but I was really proud of all of their poise today. Now only 27 more days to go...