there are no excuses, but i'm gonna make lots of them anyway.

holy shit. march 27th. march 27th was the last time i wrote anything on here. what the f*ck have i been up to? and/or what is wrong with me? there are no excuses for this behavior.

wait, actually, there are.

your lunch really smells.

so this will be my attempt to tell the truth about how much sh*t i really eat.

seriously, it's terrifying.

so did i tell you about the time...? (warning: not for the squeamish or any of my male readers)

so did i tell you about the time that i decided to go run four miles with two dudes that i work with?

i think i'm gonna like it here...

i honestly can't believe that eating bacon has done this for me, in just 30 days.



look at what mama did! or, look at what bacon did.
weight loss, in a completely nerdy graph.
you're welcome.



week three of paleo.

it's been about 3 weeks since the badger and i converted over to this paleo way of eating. i've made mention a few different places that i'd post an update on how we've been feeling and on how it's going... so here it is.

i don't know who i am anymore

in the span of just one month, yes, one month, we have gone from being vegetarian to paleo. i have been known for making broad pendulum swings like this in my past. in fact, i'm kind of prone to them. so whatever. judge me if you must.

difficult things.

it's funny.

when you eat real food, you want to keep eating real food because you fill up really fast and aren't that hungry between meals.

when you eat sh*t, you want to keep eating sh*t. and after eating the sh*t, you feel like sh*t. you are hungry/irritable/depressed and mad at yourself for eating sh*t. and in my case of astounding mental stability, those loathsome feelings just send me right back to the chocolate bucket, bag of chips, can of cancer-laced soda, pint of beer, etc. (aka "sh*t")...

i married ron swanson

somewhere between being a vegetarian and craving meatloaf is where the badger and i swing quite frequently. when i met him, he was in the best shape of his life, and a 98% vegan. at the time of our courtship, i had dabbled in being a vegetarian with vegan tendencies, so i enjoyed our early days together as we learned to cook and eat vegetarian and vegan together. but in the years since we've met, i've gone back to some of my 'roots', per say, when it comes to cooking. nothing can worm your way into a man's heart like a bacon-wrapped meatloaf, especially when that man is a wisconsin boy raised on meat and potatoes.

grand theft auto is not just a video game...

it is a police event that culminates in your backyard.

but i digress, let’s start from the very beginning. a very good place to start…

whoops, i did it again.

will that song ever not be awesome?

moving on, what exactly is it that i "whoops" did again?

i signed up for another half marathon.

a half marathon recap of sorts

i did it. i actually did it! i ran my first half marathon this morning. my time was 2:10:37.

i had set some unrealistic goals for myself, to the tune of "finish in under 2:00!", which was a tad impractical given that this was my first distance race. but when i got to the start line this morning, i was just giddy with excitement. i had trained my ass off, and this was my day. no expectation or missed goal was going to rob me of this, my first half marathon. so my goals changed as i crossed over that start line. i decided to enjoy the run, high-five the spectators, rock out to my awesome playlist, keep consistent with my speed, and keep a smile on my face as much as i could.

totally freaking the f*ck out (or, my first half marathon is in four days...)

my first half-marathon is this saturday. last night, after a 30-minute-pity-party about how much i've fallen off the running wagon these past two weeks, my mother said to me "well, you've got some cramming to do this week then!"

i know that she means well and that my endeavor to run 13.1 miles is quite a foreign thing to her. but the thing is, you can't really cram for a half-marathon in the last week. i don't know much about racing, but i know that. with only four days to go, if i'm not ready now, there's not much that can be done.

ten, ten, ten, ten, everything, everything, everything, everything!

if you understand the reference in the title to this post, then you most likely graduated high school sometime between 1994 and 1997 and therefore should rejoice in being a part of the most amazing generation ever.

this past saturday morning, i tackled my first double-digit (or, what i shall herein refer to as 'double-deuce') mileage in preparation for my debut half-marathon on april 28th. the farther i journey down this rabbit hole of long(er) distance running, the more i realize that i have no idea what i am doing. i have read endless articles on training plans, injury avoidance, blog posts on hydration and fueling for longer runs and, of course, subscribed to runner's world... which apparently is a requirement if you are to become a 'real' runner. you must have a collection of back issues of runner's world and when you find yourself in a conversation with another runner who references "that article on shin splints from the october 2004 issue of runner's world", you must immediately acknowledge that you not only have read the article, but have it framed in your bedroom.

i quit.

don't panic. i know it's been a while since i've posted, and i'm sure that you've missed me, thought about me constantly, and you're probably thinking right now that "i quit" means that i'm quitting my blog.

but i'm not.

i am quitting quit weight watchers.

weight watchers, beer and chowder.

so. i joined weight watchers.

i know, right?

after almost a year of trying to lose weight, i faced the music a few weeks ago and realized that i may be one of those people who needs an external force to help me out. now that the twins are two, i technically can't get away with calling this 'baby weight' anymore. and although getting back into running this past year has helped, i've only lost about 15 pounds so far. there's another 15 that i need to get rid of in order to not be considered 'overweight' by those infuriating BMI charts, and i'd love to squeeze my ass into some size 8 or 6 jeans by summer.

"i'll have a booze, booze christmas."

my family has been known to enjoy our booze from time to time. there have been entire vermont family reunions that are lost to my memory all because of my aunt's vodka slush. it starts with a large plastic bucket (because we like to keep it classy) into which you toss some frozen lemonade, some coco lopez, some pineapple juice, and then as much vodka as you can fit into the container. plop this into your freezer and once it's frozen and slushy, scoop some into a glass and top it off with sprite or 7up… you know, to "cut the sweetness". nothing is better on a hot summer day than burying your face in frosty glass of vodka slush.

christmas bit me in the ass.

The pressure that is put upon us during the holiday season is stunning. I used to love Christmas. I would host a cocktail party or two, and then attend a cocktail party (or four). I would savor my shopping experiences by strolling leisurely through any number of malls while sipping a peppermint mocha, purchasing only the most heart-felt of presents which I would take my sweet, delicate time wrapping in the prettiest of papers and curviest of bows. Come Christmas day, my only worries were what I would drink before noon as I noshed and sloshed my way through the holiday. I would then get to sit down to a fabulous meal crafted by my mother, my only concerns being if the red wine I picked out would complement the meal, and if my Parker House Rolls had properly risen.

But now that I’m a mom? I’m expected to bake at least four or five different varieties of sweet Christmas goodies and cookies; decorate my house; pick out and then trim a tree; buy and wrap presents; take the kids to a tree farm, to a Christmas parade, to the mall to see Santa… all the while keeping a holiday-spirit-has-snuck-up-and-bit-me-in-the-ass-and-I’m-LOVIN’-it smile on my face (shortened henceforth as Christmas Bit Me in the Ass, or CBMA) to set a good example for my children and make lasting happy memories for them, proving that the generous and merry spirit that is in the air at Christmastime is what makes it all possible.

always wear your underpants (or, viral meningitis part II)

my apologies that it has taken me over a month to compose myself enough to write part two. (if you would like to hear all about part one of my meningitis saga, please click here. thank you, kindly.)

now, where were we? oh yes. i had been medically discharged from work by the onsite doctor at headquarters, and told to go to the emergency room with the words “i think you may have meningitis…”. upon hearing those words, i imagined myself touching the face of god Herself (i.e., dying) and decided that if this was the last time i’d be at my desk, i should probably tidy up a bit. i threw away a 2-day old yogurt cup sitting on my desk, and crossed off at least half of the items on my “to do” list.

viral meningitis, part I

it was monday, october 31st. amongst the chaos of getting my twin toddlers ready for trick 'o treating, i was battling what i will refer to as an epic headache. i had been sick with what i thought was the flu the week prior, but over the weekend had rallied and was feeling pretty good. i was even able to go out for a little 3 mile run on sunday and although my body felt weak, i felt amazing for just getting over a 102.5 temp on wednesday, thursday and friday. but by monday night, the epic headache had descended upon me with a vengeance.

breaking the rules.

when in the midst of sleep training twin toddlers and wanting to do it right, it's good to sometimes forget the rules...

try to forget that the american academy of pediatrics says to let your baby (or babies) "cry it out", and go to your crying 22 month old daughter, who, for whatever reason on this particular night, does not want to go "night night". and when she calls out "mama! mama!", f*ck the rules and go to her.