The Ashley Project.

I've been pushing all sorts of personal limits over the past 10 weeks, working with a personal trainer for the first time. The results have been totally awesome -- physically and, probably more importantly, psychologically.

As part of The Ashley Project, I agreed to chronicle about my experiences on the Second City Fitness blog. Today, Jeff (my trainer), weighs in on last week's half marathon. (Don't worry: I'll get my turn tomorrow.)

Want to know more? Click here to read what's up. In Chicago and want to get the scoop on SCF? Check out their website or follow them on Facebook.

The bright side

Who: Me
What: Wallowing-by-text message with The Modern Gal about the 10 miles of awfulness.
When: Yesterday.
Where: My laundry-covered sofa.
Why: Because that's how I roll.
How: Behold...

And that, my lovelies, is why it pays to have BFFs who always look on the bright side -- even when it comes to chafing. After all: They help you defunk your sulking and make you laugh.

Yay for friends! And yay for a good running metaphor.

P.S. YEOWW! Let my red, swollen, painful chin be a reminder to pay attention to Good Form Running, especially when you're tired.

P.P.S. And thus ends my bad-run wallowing. The self-imposed time limit has expired.

Ennui.

Watch. Laugh. Repeat.

 

I first time I watched poor Henri contemplate his existential angst, I laughed so hard I cried.

Somebody I used to know

Holy shit, this song is gorgeous. The lyrics almost make me wish I was nursing a break up. (Yes, I typed that.)



Enjoy.

Ear Worms

I'm still mulling over a super-introspective running post, so for the time being, I thought I'd let you listen to some of the songs I've been loving recently.

First up: Old Enough, by The Raconteurs, featuring Ricky Skaggs and Ashley Monroe:




Continuing the Ashley Monroe theme (don't you just love her old-timey voice?) here's the Pistol Annies singing Hell on Heels.




Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons:




And last, but God knows, not least: Alison Krauss & Union Station's Lie Awake, which is a track on their newest album. Which, P.S. you should listen to RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND.

Speaking of....

Speaking of books, the super-awesome Nicole over at Nicole is Better just posted about her experience plowing through the entire Harry Potter series (for the first time) in the last two weeks.

An excerpt from her post:

The upside of this is that Harry Potter makes your heart feel good. The downside is that you’ll quickly realize how boring your stupid ordinary life is, and you’ll be very sad when the books are over and no one around you is making cars fly or spontaneously morphing into a dog. See also: cooking dinner by bewitching knives to chop the ingredients, disappearing from one place and immediately appearing in another, regrowing broken bones, and fighting dragons. Nothing gives you street cred like fighting a fucking dragon.

Damn, I have a girl-crush on her. Anyway. Read it. Remember the books. Peace out.

Made to kick some ass.

There's a great blog post up on Jezebel about body image, weight loss, healthy, lady mags and society that is so amazing it just begs to be shared.

As someone who's struggled with weight and body image for the better part of my life, and is now trying to accept that it's not about how look, but I feel, I love the idea that exercise and eating right isn't about conforming to some size-six ideal that we think we should be. (Because, er, size six ain't never gonna happen with these hips.) Instead, it's about growing strong, and being strong, so we can do the things we love. Regardless of our size.

This paragraph is just full of awesomeness:

Your body was made for so much more than being looked at, deprived of food, and enjoyed by others. Your body was made for kicking some ass.


And so is this part:

Physical fitness doesn't have to be about anyone else but you or about anything else but becoming stronger. It's time we stopped associated exercise with a form of conformity and surrender, because do so is to deprive yourself of the potential that your body offers you.

And this part:

Maybe we should stop letting those things dictate how we see our bodies and start seeing our bodies as instruments of power rather than smorgasbords for others to feast on. Your body isn't a passive painting or a photograph, your body is a tool.

I think that's one of the many reasons why I'm loving yoga. I took a beginners' workshop this summer and have been going at least once a week, almost every week, since June. I'm not the most bendy person in my class, in fact, I'm far from it. But I love the way I feel when I'm doing it. And I love that I can feel myself growing stronger each week, holding tree pose higher or longer than I have, making my way -- wobbly arms and all -- through side plank.

So, amen to Morning Gloria for her post. And here's to all of us being strong. And kick ass.

Love. Love. Love.

Written by Katie at Y our Courageous Life and posted on Kind Over Matter.

Awesome sentiment, don't you think?

Books to live by.

I'm a word nerd. A book addict. A bibliophile. But there's one book that I will always and forever (and once more, just for feeling) give people as a gift.

It's The Alchemist by the amazing Brazilian author Paulo Coelho.

It's not my favorite book by him. (That honor goes to Veronika Decides to Die.) But I can't help but feel like it's one of those books that sticks with you and finds a way of being pulled off your shelf when you need it the most. The ideas of following a journey, personal legends and the decisions that come with marching through life _ not just as a passive participant but as an actor _ are just so, so poignant. And powerful.

Some of my favorite quotes come from this book:

"When you want something, all the world conspires in helping you to achieve it."

"He had worked for an entire year to make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was becoming less important. Maybe because that wasn't really his dream."

"We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it's our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand."

"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself."

I love this book so much I made my friend Sebastian, who is currently kicking it in New York City for a few weeks, buy it immediately. Or else face bodily harm.


As you can see from this picture he sent me today, he wisely obliged.

So, tell me my dear blog peeps... What about you? What's your favorite book to give people? Why?

He's a walking man.

Meet new friend Matt. He's all kinds of lovely. And smart. And awesome -- after all, he loves to play with the Macy Mutt.

Oh yeah, and he's spending the next nine months walking across the country. You read that right. Nine months. One very, very long cross-country trek.

He left Rockaway Beach, N.Y. on Saturday and expects to wind up at Rockaway Beach, Ore. when 2011 rolls around.

Now, you might think Matt's a wee bit nuts to try this. (Ok, you might be a wee bit right. But let's not get all judgey on the boy. Glass houses and all, right?) But sane or not, you've got to admit: this is kind of neat. And brave. And scary. And exciting. And crazy. And ... And...

So why the hell is he doing this? He admits to a need for adventure and some reinvention of his life. But there's more to it than that. I'll let him explain, from his FAQ:

There’s also no obstacle to stopping and exploring things when you’re walking. When I’m driving, I find myself saying “Oh, I should have stopped there” as I go flying by something that looks interesting. The idea of having to impede your progress, turn the car around, and find a place to park is such a mental barrier to exploring when you’re driving. Even on a bike there’s a hesitancy to stop and climb off the saddle to go check something out. But it’s easy when you’re walking. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing; you just walk in a different direction for a little and have a look around.

But perhaps the thing I find most important about walking is how connected it makes me feel to the space I’m passing through. I think it’s because walking is the way we experience our homes. We walk to the fridge, we walk to bed, we walk around the yard. We walk to the copy machine, we walk to the coffee machine, we walk around the grocery store. So this is that same familiar stride, that most basic form of locomotion we know so well, but through vast, immense, unknown places. It’s a way to live a continuous line across the country as if it were my home.

I’m very drawn to the simplicity of this whole pursuit. Each day I’ll wake up, pack all my possessions back in my cart, and walk a little farther. That’s it. That’s the extent of my world. I’m just walkin’. I think everyone dreams about such a simple existence from time to time, when the worries and pressures of modern life start to accumulate. This is my chance to live that dream for a while, and see how the reality compares to the fantasy.

He outlines the logistics on his blog: what's in his cart (A LOT), where he'll sleep (he's got camping gear but he's also hoping to rely on the kindness of strangers), how long he'll walk each day (far enough to make my fat ass go "ugh.") etc. But the coolest thing on his Web site is turning out to be the pictures of what he sees and the people he's encountered. While I'm sure this journey won't be all puppies and bunnies and roses and compassion of strangers -- in fact, I know there will be a lot of hardship and some dangerous situations -- he's off to a good start so far.

In Boonton, N.J., the pastor at a local Presbyterian (yay!) church, let him come in out of the rain and made him tea and soup. She even brought him the Haggadah, since it's Passover! (10-to-1 he becomes part of a Holy Week sermon. Just saying. I know my preachers.) The next day, the owner of a hardware store refused to let him pay for the supplies he was buying.

I know these stories abound in the communities along the Appalachian Trail, where it takes folks about six months to thru-hike from Georgia to Maine. But this is far from that area and Matt is far from a sight folks are used to seeing. It's been so refreshing to see the kindness of strangers as they interact with him. I know he's just starting, but I can't wait to see what happens.

So, if you live along his route and happen to see a scruffy looking dude pushing a modified jogging stroller with a sign that says "We may never meet again" do me a favor: Buy him some coffee, let him shower and rest his feet. And let him repay you with the awesome stories of his journey. You'll be glad you did.

Lidolicious

Confession time: I have a friend crush.

Yup, a crush on a friend who is just so fabulous that he's simply impossible not to love. Lido's a modern-day renaissance man: a knock-you-over good photographer (check out his blog), a chef, a journalist, an artist, a guy who knows more about philosophy and dance than I'll ever know and is a 100 percent great friend and human being. (Years ago he even let me mangle his toes once on the dance floor. Rest assured it was a mistake he never made again. He also once let me sleep in the back of his Outback during a weekend-long jam band and bluegrass concert. Also a mistake he never made again.)

Basically, he's fabulous. (For the record, he's also engaged to the equally fabulous Jessica, whom I love and wish nothing but the best. Mazel tov!!)

The last time I publicly professed my Lido Love was in September when I was having an existential font-related crisis. But wouldn't you know it? Mr. Marvelous went and out did himself and caused me to fall all madly in friend love with him again. If I didn't love him so much I'd smack him.

So what did he do? Well, it looks like even though he's busy living it up with his lady in Montana and working as media director at a Web site/newspaper, Lido went out and learned to knit.

Yes. Knit.

And because he's Lido, he didn't just decide to knit a scarf. Or a hat. Or pot holders. Or something else nice and basic. Nope. Lido, upon learning that his cousin was going to have a baby, went out, learned to knit and made that munchkin a freaking blanket.


(Ladies, are you swooning yet? If not, well, perhaps you should see a physician.)

He sent me the pictures of his project and after squealing and demanding more details, I asked if I could post the pictures and some of his story for you all to admire.


When I asked him what prompted him to learn to knit, he was as always his humble self:

"I don't know why I started knitting. It was something I tried doing ages ago and never really completed anything. So when my darling little cousin became pregnant I thought why the hell not knit them a blanket. (They are very earthy, locally made, hippie, livin' on the farm, appreciate handmade type folk.) Mostly, I like it because I feel like I'm accomplishing something but I can still sit and zone out, clear my mind, and do something that's nothing like anything else I do during the day."

He also confesses to being unable to stop knitting. It's a plague I know well.


Anyway, now that I've made the boy blush and hopefully not enraged his fiancee by professing to love her betrothed, let me just sum it up by saying OMG! Hats off, Mr. Vizzuitti. You are, as always, totally Lidolicious.

Right folks?

I have seen the mountaintop

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr., I thought I'd post a picture I took during my trip to Memphis this fall. After all the wedding stuff and the obligatory visit to Graceland, some friends and I visited the the National Civil Rights Museum. If you're ever there, you MUST GO. Who cares about the freakin' Peabody Ducks? Go. To. The. Museum.



It's fascinating and chilling, horrifying and informative. And you can see the motel room where King was shot, preserved as it was that day.

And while I'm thinking about it, what wise and powerful words he had. So true today as they were in 1968.

"We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land."

A plug!!

One of my bestest friends in the great big universe (and also, the mother of one of the handful of children who don't scare me to my core) has started a blog! And no, before you wince, it's not a mommy blog either.

Her challenge is to find at least 50 ways to save $100 this year. I don't know about you, but I could certainly use some help saving up an extra $5,000 this year.

In addition to her great blog, she's got a savings list going, listing various ways to save cash and how much each has yielded.

So add her blog feed to your reader. And take notes on what she finds. God knows, I will!!

Graceland! Graceland! Memphis, Tennessee.

One week after hanging out in America's heartland, I hopped on a plane and flew the other way, to Currer Bell's wedding in Memphis.

Aside from the four dozen still-itching bug bites that are all over my legs, it was an amazing weekend. I had a great time with one of my BFFs, watched her marry the man of her dreams, hung out with my favorite-ever peeps, saw another part of the Mississippi River, bought a pair jeans in a state with considerably lower sales tax, watched our friend/officiant hop a 10-foot tall wrought-iron fence in a skirt, and even managed to fit in a few hours of sight-seeing. Oh, and I got my picture taken with Elvis.

It was the etsy-est affair ever. Right down to the boutonnieres made from used paper maps of state that were significant to the couple. And it was totally sweet.

Here's pictures to prove it. Most are mine. A few others are pilfered from the oh-so-amazing Heidi Ryder, who in addition to being a friend of the couple was the wedding photographer. You should check her out, especially if you're in So.Cal., and make sure you look at her blog for great pictures of the Scary Dancing Elvis. (Incidentally, I know Elvis suits are expensive, but if you're going to shell out for one with tight white pants, wouldn't you maybe get them lined? Or wear flesh-colored undies?)

For the Rehearsal Dinner we set up TONS of white lights everywhere and then these paper lanterns.


These next three are from Heidi's collection and show the set up. The dark clouds cleared and the temperature even managed to cool off a bit. We spent hours before getting everything ready, and I think it paid off. It was simple and sophisticated. Oh, and the fooooood. We had AMAZING barbecue from Neely's and someone somewhere made magic banana pudding. I don't have a picture of it, because to stop and take a picture would mean I would have to interrupt eating it. And I had no plans to do that. Not even after my third serving.




Speaking of food _ you might notice a theme with me _ there were the BEST CUPCAKES EVER. There was also some great shrimp & grits. Man, oh man, do I miss Southern cooking. I made up for it when I was there. (Yes, my pants are paying the price.) Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, fried okra, ribs, shrimp, grits, beer, banana pudding. Groan. I'm having food flash backs.)



There were so many great details everywhere you turned. I love these letters Currer Bell made. She says she needs post-wedding activities and promised to make me some. She won't tell me what they're going to spell, though. It's a surprise. I asked her not to send me a set that say "bitch." It'd be accurate, but not the best for decor purposes.



After the wedding and the day-after brunch, some friends and I finally had time to explore. What else to do in Memphis once you've eaten your way through the city? GRACELAND! And the National Civil Rights Museum. We went to Graceland first. While I'm glad I saw it, I'm not sure it was worth the $10 to park and $28 for admission. (Why much kitsch so expensive?) At least it yielded some great pictures.








The museum was, hands down, AMAZING. I could have spent hours there, but they were closing and I had a flight to catch. The final picture is of the Lorraine Motel sigh. (The motel's been turned into the museum.) It's where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated and the room where he died has been preserved. It's creepy and powerful. They didn't allow pictures inside.

Tylenol PM 1, Noodles O

I take my sleep seriously. My friends know I become progressively less pleasant (some might even say a twee bit bitchy) after 10 p.m. I live and die by 300-thread count Egyptian cotton. And I have, on more than one occasion, excused myself from a social gathering so I could take a nap. (What? Like you haven't?)

My coworker and I were emphatically discussing our mutual love of sleep so deep and sound _ the kind where you find yourself in one of those hit-the-pillow-and-don't-move a muscle-for-HOURS states _ that I said if we substituted sex for sleep, some people might get turned on listening to us.

All of this is background to establish the fact that when I'm not sleeping well, I'll do almost anything -- ANYTHING -- in my power to return to my happy sleep place. This includes, but is not limited to, the magnificence that is a hefty dose of Tylenol PM.

Which brings me to last night, around 11:30 p.m., roughly two hours after I first crawled into my lovely new, crisp covers. (Btw, my new sheets are the absolute and total bomb.)

There I am, (possibly snoring) when I hear it. Someone is talking and says: "Oh my god."

I jerk awake and open my eyes to see there, standing by my bed is ... HOLY BEJESUS ... a person.

My sleepy, Tylenol PM-addled brain rapidly begins to process this situation as my heart starts beating in overdrive.

Who is it? Duh. Obviously it's someone that's there to kill me and murder me in my sleep. This someone, appears to be unusually skinny and sort of short. And, why are they speaking? Shouldn't they be taking care of business? Are they as distraught about the chaos of exploded clothes in my bedroom as I am? Is that why they said "Oh my god?" Or are they just some weird sleep-watcher, you know, like Edward in Twilight? Do they want to rob me of my oh-so-valuable collection of Amy Butler fabrics? What if they're here to dognap Macy?

Blink. Blink.

I try to focus my very blind eyes at this mysterious, unmoving figure, while laying VERY VERY STILL so they don't know I'm awake.

Blink. Blink.

Something doesn't make sense. Why would a stranger be standing by my bedroom doorway? Much less judge me on my volume of dirty laundry?

Blink. Blink.

Maybe it's not a person.

Blink. Blink.

Maybe it's ... the dressing table? The door? Whatever. Furniture can't speak.

At this point, I'm as wide awake as a tweeked-out-on Tylenol PM person can be, which doesn't say much, although does explain why I have not done the very logical thing of turning on the lights to see who, in fact, this mass murderer is and what they want with cute little me. (OMG, maybe it's a prince who's come to whisk me away to someplace where I can live with the tiara I so rightly deserve... Maybe it's Publishers Clearinghouse?! EEP?! Is there such thing as a Cheese Fairy? A girl can dream...)

Instead, I do what any other dog-loving, lives alone, single girl would do. I look for the mutt.

Who, at the moment, happens to be spooning with me. Snoring.

Blink. Er... blink?

And only then, as my eyes start to focus on what is, in fact, just my dressing table in the moonlight, do I realize that there can't, realistically, be a crazed, psychopathic killer standing at my bedside wielding a cleaver dripping with blood. Or, even a minor European royal who has come at an inopportune time to bring me gifts of brie and gouda. Because, if there was, my dog _ who can't let someone go up or down the condo building stairs without becoming apoplectic _ would have most assuredly thought to bark.

And that voice? The one that woke me up in the first place? Um, yeah. It sort of sounds like me.

Fuuuuuuck.

And with that, I went back to sleep.

Moral of the story: Tylenol PM may or may not produce night-talking and shadow-fueled delusions. But damn, if it isn't worth it for some Grade A shut eye.

Oh, Etsy. I heart thee.

I freakin' love Etsy. It's true. I'm an addict. My list of favorite stores is stacking up big-time. Today, during a mid-afternoon break, I decided to buy this.

For the record, my mom is probably reading this now and rolling her eyes. Meanwhile, I'm cackling like a madwoman.


This, of course, begs the question: What's your favorite Etsy store? Send me links so I can add to my stash!

New design.

Hey feed/reader peeps. Click out and check out the redesign. I wish I could take credit for anything in it _ other than the title font _ but it's a free template by the bad-ass folks at Delicious Design Studio.

I'll probably do something with more bells and whistles later and make this a little more funky. But I think it works for now. Especially for the price.

I'm such an inspiration. (Humble, too.)

So, it turns out that I'm an inspiration. Hear that? IN-SPIR-FREAKING-ATION! To someone other that my mom!

It turns out that after I posted my 25 Things list, a former editor decided to turn part of it into a song. Specifically, No. 24: "I love to screw up the curve."

How fucking cool is that? I have inspired poetry, or so The English Professor I briefly dated claimed. But never MUSIC. Much less recorded music that includes LYRICS!

This song is performed by the musical duo "The Great Mystery." And according to their Web site, the song "I Screwed the Curve" is a "modern-day version of the Ramones classic "Rock 'N' Roll High School." Except this time the smart kid wins."

Hell yeah!

You can listen to the song, and its lyrics, here. Both of which, I must say, are completely, totally and utterly jam-packed with awesome.

Bubbalicious

My girl Currer Bell posted a picture of us at a Bubble Wrap party on New Year's Day. It totally made me laugh out loud because I'd kind of forgotten about the fun.


The way it works is that you get all the extra bubble wrap you have that's lying around your house. Lay it down in the middle of a street (preferably one where you're not going to get struck by traffic), gather a group of people and on the count of three, begin jumping up and down until every last popping bubble has burst. It's a total hoot. (Btw, this is equally fun with or without beer.)

We did this in Atlanta when some neighbor folks decided to ring in the New Year by creating our own sound of fireworks.

Should you want to try this at home, I totally recommend it. Just, you know, watch out for cars. Also know that the bigger the bubbles in the bubble wrap, the easier (and more gratifying) it is to pop when you're using your feet.

BTW, that's me in the front.

Hey 2009! Bring it.

My lovely friend has a simply fabulous New Year's tradition that I wanted to pass on. Instead of making random resolutions, she creates an annual fill-in-the-blank to-do list and passes it around to a group of friends. We make our own lists and share among each other and at the end of the year, see what we've accomplished and what we haven't.

I LOVE this tradition and have kept my 2008 list handy on my desk all year, busting it out when I need inspiration.

Now, with her permission, I'm passing it on to you.

In 2009, I will

1. Believe in ...

2. Give up ...

3. Attend ...

4. Invite ...

5. Visit ...

6. Listen to ...

7. Save up for ...

8. Spend more ...

9. Develop a new hobby:

10. Devote a day to ...

11. Taste ...

12. Try ...

Here's how I filled it out. What will you write?

In 2009, I will

1. Believe in ... myself, the strength and instincts that I have.

2. Give up ... the inertia that can interfere with No. 1 and so many other things.

3. Attend ... at least one non-work related museumy lecture.

4. Invite ... more friends (old and new) to spend time together.

5. Visit ... someplace unexpected and fabulous.

6. Listen to ... others more while talking less.

7. Save up for ... the rainy day fund that I really should have.

8. Spend more ... time exploring my city.

9. Develop a new hobby: Turning my quilting and sewing into an Etsy store.

10. Devote a day to ... learning a completely new skill.

11. Taste ... Barbara's home cooking.

12. Try ... to be better in 2009 than I was in 2008.

And for those who are REALLY curious, here's my 2008 list:

In 2008, I will:
1) Take a trip to a big wilderness.
2) Overcome my fear of staying out late.
3) Try Mongolian cuisine.
4) Take a stand on being a pushover.
5) Recommend the most amazing recipe to a friend.
6) Read at least of piece of great literature.
7) Quit ... (redacted for sake of parents.)
8) See a great foreign film.
9) Send a letter to my grandma.
10) Begin taking care of myself as well as I do my dog.
11) Learn to relax.
12) Continue being fabulous.