I am so controversial...

I received an email about a complaint about my blog, and a link to click to view it, and blah blah blah, SPAM, so I deleted it. Because I? Am no fool. I do not clink links in ridiculous emails.

Then today I logged on to take a peek at my blog for the first time in, oh, a while, and lo and behold, a big, bold message greeted me:

We have received a DMCA complaint for your blog, So Not Zen. An email with the details of the complaint was sent to you on 11-Jan-2012 , and we reset the post status to "Draft"; you can edit it here. You may republish the post with the offending content and/or link(s) removed. If you believe that you have the rights to post this content,you can file a counter-claim with us. For more on our DMCA policy, please click here. Thank you for your prompt attention.

Wowza. Who did I piss off? I went to the deleted post, and it was a picture (from Google images) of a French bulldog with the title "Christmas Wish List No. 6" and that's pretty much it.

I had no idea frenchies were so controversial.

In other non-threatening news, today is January 12 and I have yet to break my January resolution, which is NO BIG BOX STORES. I'd love to make this a lifestyle choice, but even given our differences, the Tar-jay still calls to me on occasion. But not this month. We'll see what February holds.

I have continued my January tradition of dieting my way back down to my post-holiday level of overweight, which is my baseline overweightedness. It's hard to feel celebratory about the fact that, yay, I am dieting my ass off and now I only need to lose 15 pounds. But in comparison to the oh, hell no, reality of gaining six or seven ADDITIONAL POUNDS during the course of the holidays, I guess it's the better position to be in.

Hopefully I'll be back to my normal weight by March (15 pounds by March, that's doable, right?) when I start my running training program up again. This year I am running two half-marathons, one in May and one in June. I've got no good excuse for not running these days because our weather has been brilliant and non-wintery to the extreme, yet I haven't run since I did a 5k on Dec. 4, so six weeks ago, not one little jog. I have, however, been dancing with Tim, three hours of classes per week. We're doing West Coast swing, East Coast swing and Cha Cha. I could live without the cha cha, personally, but the swing classes are a lot of fun.

So, here I am, back to the blog, again, hoping to make it a semi-regular occurrence. I'll try not to stir up too much controversy with my cute dog posts. Peace out.

I've got absof steel buried under there somewhere

Today I did a kettlebell workout, a 30 minute session in a 150 degree sauna, and then went to a running group where we did 25 minutes of sprints followed by a core workout.

And then I died.

Sunshine

Today I went for a six-mile hike... in 72-degrees and unfettered sunshine... on November 3... in the Pacific Northwest. W T H?

Not that I'm complaining.

Shred this, biyotch

Don't be fooled by her cute little dog. This chick? Is not nice. She tried to kill me. As a result? I have limited use of my arms. And my legs. WTF, Shred?

I went to Walmart today. No photos were taken, that I know of. I had to buy storage bins. So I can pack away our Christmas decorations. Yes, you read that right. CHRISTMAS. Now, you may ask, why do you have to pack away anything when you didn't even decorate your tree this year? Good question! Though the decorations never made it to the tree, they did make it to the mantle and the front porch. And then they made it back down into the basement, overflowing their random and tatty cardboard boxes.

Now that we are feeling pretty confident that we will be moving by summertime, whether the house is sold or not, I figure it's a good time to get that stuff organized and stored in a way that will be move friendly. Plus? Purging through. I am not so good with the purging, but I'm in the mood for it today. Inarguably, I will throw something out that I will want back desperately tomorrow, so I am going to make sure that everything in my OUT pile goes to Goodwill before bedtime tonight.

I have yet to watch a single episode of the final season of Lost, but I have them all on Tivo. So that's the plan... sit in front of the TV and sort thru Christmas crap. As soon as I regain the ability to lift my arms above waist level.

You know how there is funny "haha" and funny "um, okay, whatever, dude"?

So I have some of each.

I went to the gym to run on the treadmill today. Because every now and then, even though the weather is swell, I like to indulge my OCD tendencies and run on the treadmill, where I can micromanage and be acutely aware of all of my running stats, likes miles per hour, distance down to the .01 of a mile, and calories burned.

I work out at Marhsall Community Center (because? $35/month, yo!) and there is a big parking lot on each side of the building. But very limited parking right in the front of the building where, you know, the entrance is. But I? Always get a spot in front. Always. Because I? Have a tiny bit of blogthismom parking mojo, but just a tiny bit.

But today? No spots in front! So I circled the lot. Twice.

And then realized I was circling a parking lot in order to save myself a 1/16 of a mile walk into the building, so I could go inside and run four miles. And that? Cracked me up. Sorry, I guess I am easily amused.

And now on to the funny "um, okay, whatever, dude." My husband? Is unnaturally obsessed with all things Michael Jackson. Every night? He comes home from work and pours over the "news" of any MJ coverage. The whole thing? Is kind of creeping me out. Wherein "kind of" = ewwwwww and get the frick over it.

And lastly, not funny in either sense, but just hot... Did you see President Boyfriend throw out that first pitch? Oooh la la. He? Is delicious. But, yo, baby, what's up with the mom jeans?

Could not find an image that captured the mom jeans. You Tube it.

brie for dinner

This has nothing to do with why I am fat. I had a salad for lunch and ran 4+ miles. Plus? It's DAIRY for fucksake. It's practically HEALTH FOOD.

Slippery Slope

My weight is creeping up. Slowly. And yet? I just ate six peanut butter filled Hershey's kisses. Which, by the way, if you have not had them, are divine.

I'm feeling very apethetic about dieting. Because I'm running. Make that running! A lot! Four days a week, including one long run every Sunday morning (6 miles yesterday, 7 miles next Sunday). And all of this running makes me feel very entitled... entitled to eat whatever the hell I want to eat. And let's not even discuss this weekend's alcohol intake. Yes, it was a festive weekend. But still. Apparently I lack whatever component of our DNA controls moderation. Moderation. I don't even like the way the word sounds. It's a creepy word.

So there. It's out there. I am gaining weight. I need to get it in check. So now I am proclaiming myself accountable to the Internet. Gah.

The Dishes Are Staying

So I decided to keep the dishes. They're pretty. I'll never use them. But after all of the decluttering, I'm starting to feel the need to HANG ON TIGHTLY to a few things. And so the dishes are staying. Thanks for all of the helpful suggestions!

If anyone knows anything about china, I'd love to try to figure out how old these are. They are "Rose China," Dalton pattern. From what I have learned via google, Noritake manufactured under the name Rose China following WWII briefly. Could these dishes be that old? If so, they they were handed down to Tim's mom. Would love to figure that out but hit a brick wall on it.

Work has been insane this week. Very busy. My work is done in a two-step process. Step one, I go to a deposition and, using my stenography machine, "write" down everything that is said. Step two, I type up the transcript, edit it, proof read it, bind it and provide it to the attorneys. Not every deposition goes to step two. Sometimes they'll hear what they need to hear in the depo, and then settle the case, or whatever, and there is no need to type it up.

So the week before last, I worked for two days on a deposition that was being translated for a non-English speaking witness. The attorney was too cheap to hire a court-certified translator, so he used a friend who speaks Chinese as his translator. Knowing how to speak a language is NOT THE SAME THING as knowing how to be a translator, and the whole deposition was a huge clusterfuck, amounting to an insane amount of time of me sitting there, playing solitaire on my laptop, while conversations that should not have been taking place where being conducted, in Chinese.

This depo did not go to Step 2. Not because the attorney doesn't need it, but because he's too cheap to pay for the transcript.

Since that day, he has called FOUR TIMES asking for parts of the deposition to be READ TO HIM over the PHONE. Rather than pay to have the thing typed up. I AM ABOUT TO LOSE MY SHIT OVER THIS. There are 400 plus pages of testimony, and he's calling up with questions like, "Remember when I asked her about bank account No. 1234 and she said she was the joint holder? Can you tell me exactly what she said?"

I wasn't going anywhere with this story other than to say I AM LOSING MY SHIT over this attorney. That's all. CHEAPSKATE.

I hate that I have hours and hours of work to do today, on a Saturday. Blech. But before I chain myself to the computer, I am going to haul some goodies to a friend's garage sale, then go to a 30-minute "core" class followed by 60 minutes of yoga. Because? The marathon training group is kicking my ass and I need to do something to step up my game. Also? People who strive to run 26 miles apparently are all a little bit nuts. Who knew?

On the soccer front, my post about tryouts was cut short because I was doing it on my phone from the soccer field and started talking to another parent. But the "fearless" part of the deal is the fact that it's a different soccer club, so Carlie is going in cold, as opposed to playing with all of her usual soccer friends. She has three workout sessions per week for the rest of April, then tryouts the first week of May. One of my favorite things about Carlie is that she is fearless. She saves all of her neuroses for bedtime,  but in the light of day she's that kid that bolted from the car to the classroom the first day of school while a few others clutched their mom's legs and cried.

Having been a mom to both kinds of kids, the bolt to class and the cling and cry variety, I have to tell you, man, is it so much easier with the first v. the latter.

And lest anyone think I am pushing my young child too hard to be competitive, let me reassure you that I am not. I don't know where it's coming from, but she is all about being on a competitive team right now. She still has the option to play another year of "fun" soccer, but wants to go with the select team. She has been BEGGING to go back to cheerleading, but we are holding firm with a big NO on that front. Because competitive cheerleading? Is hardcore insane. We've done it twice (because we're stupid like that) and there is no way I am letting her talk me into that one again. I shall regale you with tales of insane cheerleading mommies another day.

Because Carlie goes to a Catholic school, they are always doing inspirational school projects, faith-based, and they post them on the walls of the school. Yesterday while I was there to pick her up, I checked her class bulletin board to see what her project was. Each child had written a paragraph about something that brings them joy. Horses were very popular, along with golden 

retrievers. Some kids said their friends, their pets, their favorite toys brought them joy. Here is Carlie's worksheet, photographed right on the school bulletin board: 

and in case you're not fluent in fourth-grade cursive, it says:

I AM JOYFUL WHEN I GO TO COMPETITION FOR STUFF LIKE SOCCER OR CHEERLEADING. AND EVEN IF I LOSE IT WAS STILL FUN!

Yes, I am sure this is exactly what the Psalm in question was talking about.

My 16-year-old doesn't like to be a big point of discussion on my blog, so I won't say a word about her, but I am just wondering if this has anything to do with it all.

UPDATE: Okay, I could not find the article to link to, but Erinna was highlighted in the newspaper as Athlete of the Week this week. Apparently it's only in print and not online, though. The article linked above features this little tidbit (but she is a sophomore, not freshman):

However, it was the sets that Lake Oswego won in singles and the victory by Erinna O’Brien at No. 4 singles that locked up the victory for the Lakers.

Lake Oswego coach Debbie Ford didn’t want to put too much pressure on O’Brien, a freshman but she knew that if she pulled the match out, the Lakers would likely win the match.

“I have full confidence in her. She’s going to be very tough to beat at fourth singles this year,” Ford said.

O’Brien got down early in the match but rallied quickly for a 6-3, 6-1 victory over Alex Loren.

It would be the only singles match Lake Oswego would win. Lakeridge’s first through third singles players were solid. Kathleen Preston tallied a 6-1, 6-3 win at first singles over Kelsey Edmondson while Callie Harling and Olivia Stark each prevailed in tough three-set matches at No. 2 and 3 singles.

This is why I should not be allowed to turn the TV on during the day

I just got home from my job in Hood River. Cloudy drive out there, quick 1.5 hour depo at the hospital, and beautiful, sunny drive home. Since I was able to charge travel time on this one, all in all not a bad day's work.

I have two hours of alone time before I head over to pick up Carlie, so I flipped on the TV. And was immediately sucked in by Susan Lucci in an infomercial for the Malibu Pilates Chair. And now? My life will not be complete until I own a Malibu Pilates Chair for the price of $350.00. Because? I am a SUCKAH with a capital SUCK. 

The sun is shining. The TV is off. And I am going to go for a run and try to work the burning shopping desire out of my system. You would think being completely broke and on the brink of abject poverty would be enough to quell that shopping desire. But I am here to tell you... not so much.

Have you ever been the victim of an infomercial? Share your AS SEEN ON TV moment in the comments.

The incredible growing girl

Carlie woke up for school this morning, and her clothes were too small. Like, as in nothing fit. Seriously. Her plaid school skort? Skin tight and barely buttoning at the waist. Her sweatshirt? Knobby wrists sticking out when she raises her arms. Even her tennis shoes were tight. SHOES THAT SHE WORE YESTERDAY. I am not even kidding.

How is this possible? I mean, I know kids have growth spurts, but she literally grew overnight in a measurable and tangible quantity. This is freaking me out somewhat.

Also freaking me out? My core. I mean abs. I mean stomach. I mean gut. Because? Loose and flabby is why. And my little nanosecond of plank the other day drove home the point that I need to be doing some kind of exercise other than running.

So today I was going to see how long I can maintain plank position. I had previously worked up to, like, 90 seconds. But I can't find my stopwatch -- the stopwatch I specifically bought to time myself in the plank position when I was all "let's get fit" last year. So how am I supposed to exercise if I don't even have the right equipment? This is like a giant conspiracy, though I am not sure who exactly it is that is conspiring against me. Possibly one of my alternate personalities, because I am pretty sure no one in my family gives a rat's ass about my ability to plank or my $1.99 stopwatch. 

In other news, I bought peanut butter cups at Trader Joe's yesterday. Because the big peanut butter scare? Makes me want to eat nothing but peanut butter all day, every day. Because? I am broken that way. So as I complaining about my flabby belly I am scarfing away on peanut butter cups. If this were an Alannis Morissette song, it would be ironic. But since it's real life, it's just me, being stupid. And then whining about it.

But guess what? Chocolate and peanut butter and diet coke are the only thing that actually make my headache feel better. The headache that I woke up with. Is that not the most horrible feeling in the world, to open your eyes and realize first thing in the morning, I HAVE A HEADACHE. AGAIN. ? The worst. The second worst? The realization in the following moment that you need to haul your headachey ass out of bed and take your daughter to a 7:15 a.m. violin lesson. To which we were late. Because see the nothing fit rant above. I went on a 4.5 mile run to try to shake off the headache, but it's still here. The peanut butter cups really do help. Because? Candy is magic.

If I can find my stopwatch, I will time myself and see how long it takes to finish off the entire family sized box of peanut butter cups.

UPDATE: Still no stopwatch, but estimated time to finishing off the peanut butter cups is about three minutes.

The Inauguration: it's like I was there, only I was falling on my ass in the gym instead

I cancelled my session with my trainer this morning (doesn't he look pissed?)To spend my workout with this guy instead. Because? Hotness.

I'll be honest. I did unplug my headphones when this guy started talking about his Lord...

...and chose to commune with God in my own way, with Bono. Because Bono? He's got God's ear. Amen.

And it was all good. Jogging and watching history go down right before my freaking eyes. And then President Elect Hot took the podium.

And my heart? It stopped beating. And my feet? They stopped running. And the treadmill? It didn't GIVE A SHIT and kept on going, sending my spastic ass sailing off the fucker (not totally, but close enough).

And I'll be honest again. When this guy took the stage for the benediction? I was about ready to check out of the proceedings and head on home. But I didn't. And man, am I ever glad. Because this old dude? He fricking rocked it. Big time.

I'm not a cryer. I made it through the inauguration without a single tear. Until the final moments. When he blessed the angelic Sasha and Malia. And the camera panned to Momma Michelle, smiling at her girls, the girls with their little heads bowed in prayer. And that, my friends, was all it took. I shed a tear. Or two. Or wept openly for a moment. Whatever.

And now? I'm trying to reconcile how one remains respectful of someone in such a position of high authority as PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, while lusting after his fine ass, because holy hell, that man is smoking hot. It's going to be a fabulous eight years.

For Mama Milton

I was going to email this link directly to Mama Milton, but I thought everyone deserved to share the joy, the love, the pure ENERGY that is Jazzercise.

If you do NOTHING ELSE for the rest of the night, you MUST visit Back in Skinny Jeans and rock your body to some old school Jazzercise.

Run, Forrest Run!

I went for a four mile jog this morning. Outside. The outside part might seem redundant when paired with the jog part, but in reality when I run more than three miles it is usually in the gym on the treadmill. Where it is safe, and the ground is level, and there are no dogs or traffic or busted ass curbs lurking around every corner.

I ran three miles (outside) Wednesday and nearly stroked out, so my hopes for this morning were less than high. But the run was actually awesome and post-run my body feels great. No foot pain, knee clicks or prat falls into the gutter. Sweet.

It was kind of gray out when I left, so I wore my running jacket which has a reflective stripe on it. It's not quite one of these...... but close enough. And because it was gloomy and I hate being out in the rain, I also had on a ball cap and crinkly jogging pants. Not exactly like an old school "wind suit" but crinkly enough to go CRINK CRINK CRINK with every step. You know, kind of like if your granny was out for a jog, that would be me.

I maintained my semi-geriatric pace of a 12-minute +/- mile for the whole run, which was my goal, so yay for me. I was almost home, frumpily jogging along the sidewalk in my reflective gear, when this really cute woman runs by, passing me as if I were using a walker, and just totally ruined by whole yay me moment. She was dressed all in black (SO NOT SAFE) and running in the middle of the street (AGAIN WITH THE NOT SAFE) like she owned it, and did I mention she blew past me like I was running backwards? This isn't her...

... but close enough.

I came home, and I was all, like, shit, I thought I was so cool and I am so not cool, and I immediately lit all of my safe reflective crinkly running gear on fire and vowed to only run in sleek black tights evermore. OK, not really, but metaphorically.

I think the key to today's run being more successful than Wednesday was that Wednesday I left home and went south, which is downhill to the river, then is a tortuous uphill climb after running 2.5 miles. So today I headed north, loping through the neighborhood, which was a tortuous uphill climb for the first two miles, but than a downhill trot for the last two, which felt much better. I know this might seem like totally DUH! but it didn't occur to me until today that going uphill in the beginning as opposed to at the end would actually matter.

To wrap up this riveting run report, a photo of my running injury. I bought a new sports bra that chafes. I've already learned this lesson TWICE and off to Goodwill was the decision for the bra, being that it's brand new and was worn twice. Of course I needed to wash it before it went into the Goodwill pile, and it ended up back in my dresser and I wore the fucker again. My own stupid fault, but OW.

Bra is in the garbage can now. And, OK, just uploaded the picture and it doesn't look like much, but I swear this is way worse than the photo shows and I am not being overly dramatic about it at all. Swear. Also, I do not have a double chin (anymore) as one might surmise from this photo. Swear.

Breast Cancer Awareness 30 Minutes Challenge

I have a family history of breast cancer, including losing my mom to it in 1998.  So I try to stay trendy and in-the-know when the latest how-not-to-die-from-cancer info comes down the information highway. And the latest? 30 minutes of activity for as little as five times per week can decrease your risk of breast cancer by 20 percent.

While I was unable to meet my fitness goal last month during the Lazy Man Triathlon, I am ready to move on to the next challenge, The Breast Cancer Awareness 30 Minutes Challenge. This one, I feel confident I can do. Though I was also pretty cocky about the triathlon, so we'll see. And note to self: when doing a triathlon, it is essential that one actually goes to the pool at some point. Doh!

I'm currently doing the Hal Higdon Spring Training Program to run a 10k, so this should be a slam dunk, right? Except for the part where I ran three miles yesterday and thought I was going to die. Three miles! WTF? Three miles is not difficult, but yesterday, sheesh, just not feeling the love.

Back on point, though.  If you are (1) up to the challenge (nanner-nanner-boo-boo) and (2) want to work on your fitness level and (3) are a victim of peer pressure (i.e. perform better when you are part of a group) ... go to Elastic Waist and sign up : )

When you sign up, you'll get linked to a Google document, and all you have to do is log your minutes per day on the document, and you can see what everyone else is doing, and know that they are seeing what you are doing, and that if you don't exercise they will point and laugh behind your back.  How's that for motivation?  (No, actually, there is no laughing or pointing, but the thought of laughing and pointing is what keeps me going because that's how my damaged brain functions.)

See you there?

Ass Project '08

Well, the time has come to admit defeat.  I signed up, but I never followed through.  Not a single photo of my ass graced the internet.  You're welcome.

Lest I be accused of being a total fitness slacker, I did/am following through on some of my other fitness goals.  I signed up and completed Boot Camp, without missing a single session.  I stuck with the Lazy Waisters Triathlon, though it became more of a duathlon for me because I never did make it into the pool.  And yes, my bike riding was pretty chintzy, making it kind of more of just a plain old athlon, I guess.  Or we could just call it running.  I did lots of running.

And I am into the third week of my 10k training, trying to ramp up my distance from 5k.  Oh, and I even ran in a 5k this month, like a real race, with other humans.

Time to set some October goals.  I'll have to give that some thought.  And to give props to Mrs. G and all of those working on their asses.   Viva la Ass Project!

Namaste

My baby neice Lana aligning her chakras.

No Derfs Allowed

Riddle me this, bloggers: Why, why, why would anyone TALK on their cell phone in a crowded gym while they work out and others attempt to work out as well?  Why, I ask you, why?  

If I might borrow my new favorite word from the oh so wise Mrs. G... hey, derfwad**, get off the effing phone while I workout, please.  Or go work out by that other derf with the GOD AWFUL shitton of perfume on.  

To my credit, aforementioned derf distractions did not prevent me from hitting the treadmill and running three miles and walking one, thank you very much.

**Derfwad: /durf/wod  noun

1. low grade moron; 2. pathetic term of endearment; 3. nut job.

And now for a gratuitous web cam shot of me and mini me, post-homework.

An Open Letter

Dear Fitness Instructors of the World,

Thank you for your hard work and dedication to "the cause" of getting my ass in shape. Your devotion is appreciated. With every "You've got it now!" and "Looking good!" that you chant through your headset microphone, I know how much you truly care.

But if I were to offer a little constructive criticism, I might suggest that you put careful thought into your playlist. Not everyone likes COUNTRY MUSIC at CRACK O'DAWN O'CLOCK. Seriously. In fact, for some of those less motivated exercise wannabes who are struggling to make it to your 5:30 am class, COUNTRY MUSIC could be just the thing that turns them back to a life of sloth.

Also, in a small class setting where you know everyone by name, when you have a new person come in for your class, while it is nice to introduce yourself and learn their name, it is probably not necessary to YELL their name through your amplified HEADSET every FIVE MINUTES to let them know they've "Got it now" and are still "Looking good!" If said newbie were perhaps a bit self-conscious or even adverse to group exercise classes, this could definitely be a turn off.

And lastly, might I suggest that when you have two women YAPPING their freaking HEADS OFF at a normal conversational tone in the middle of the room and all through the class, you might suggest they try using their whisper voices, or that they take their conversation about carpooling thier satan spawn to soccer outside, or even that they perhaps SHUT THE HELL UP AND EXERCISE. Seriously.

Again, I thank you for your efforts. My back fat thanks you for your efforts. So, please, "Keep it up!" because you're "Looking good!"

Yours in fitness,
Shana

Another 5k Ass Project Update

Tim and I have just made a last minute decision (at 8:30 pm) to run in the St. Joe's Sausage Fest 5k tomorrow morning. I mean, come on, meat on a stick AND exercise all in one convenient location. Who could resist?

So even though all of this 5k'ing is having no impact on the size of my ass, I shall soldier on. If you are at the Sausage Fest in the morning (and, honestly, if you live in the 'Couv where else would you be?) and you happen to see two middle-age pudges trotting along in the middle of the 5k looking like they might stroke out at any minute, give us a shout out.

Holla.

5k Ass Update

Reading Mrs. G's update reminded me of my own laziness in the 5k Ass Project. So a brief update: I ran 5k today. My ass has shown no appreciable shrinkage. In fact, I have lost exactly 0.0 pounds in the last month, despite much running, sensible eating and three weeks of Boot Camp participation.

I have no photographic evidence of said lack of shrinkage, but take my word for it, there is no shrinkage, unlike the lovely Mrs. G who is working it!

My hat's off to all of you Ass Project participants who are shrinking before our eyes! Well done.

I am in the process of stepping up my game, so to speak, from 5k to 10k. So far, it's not going all that well. I can run a comfortable slow four miles and have even hit the five mile mark ONCE (and only ONCE), but that seems to be where I am maxed out. And now with this whole "lose your toenails" business, I am all skeeved out. I'm going to follow the advice of Ms. Oliver Rain and contact the high-tech running store where I purchased my high-tech running shoes to make sure I am well-equipped with the right gear for keeping my toenails. Eeeewwww. Shiver.