The Hamazon

I haven’t run yet in 2012, but I want to — much like I want a luckdragon or tiny geisha feet. I’ve been living at the intersection of Good Intentions and Low Expectations for about a month now. What, it’s warm here.

Every time I want to run, I belly-crawl to the fridge instead — though, happily, not for the usual crap.  The foods I’m eating are healthy, even in Claim Jumper portions.  Butternut squash, quinoa, kale, broccoli, apples, eggs, polenta, Brussels sprouts. Paula Deen would be horrified.

We’ve been doing yoga at home, too — or rather, using our new TV for good, and not just Downton Abbey or Revenge. My next step is to find a Zumba file to download somewhere; I cannot wait to pound on the ceiling of our jerky downstairs neighbors. Hopefully the sound of my wildebeest feet doing sloppy Brazilian dance aerobics will make them and their crappy dog and equally crappy white-guy rap music move far, far away. They are trés gauche.

Besides the odd pizza (Pagliacci’s!) or trip to Super Deli Mart, I’ve been doing okay with portion control and food intake (okay, except for one day last week where I had butter, Brie, and bread for breakfast and lunch — that was an arteries-clogging Wednesday, whoo boy). I probably had a month of wintry, carb-focused depression eating, but snapped out of it like a shot when we had that week of sun. Vitamin D is a miracle worker! We went for walks, ate well, slept good, and kept a low profile. What I wouldn’t give for another week of that. Hopefully before September.

The plan is to walk and do yoga until March 1, then the running begins. I really do enjoy it — well, how I feel afterward, anyway — it’s just difficult to do when you’re carrying a Samoan caboose around. That reminds me of a time an ex said to me, “Goddamn! You just have an ASS.” To which I replied, “Thank you and/or fuck you.” His tone was complimentary but the delivery died a horrible death, as did our relationship a few weeks later. I didn’t cry, but he did. Maybe he cried over the loss of so much ass.

I won’t cry if I lose any of it, though I’m loath to be one of those women with a flat, square behind. Give me Beyoncé or J.Lo any day of the week. Ga-donk is where it’s at.

All these people in front of me are assholes

Yes, I’m aware it’s the 21st century, and NATGEO photos are just a 99-cent app + two camera filters away, and yet this picture is horrible. At least we got the word FUJIYA on the big screen, proving it’s the band we went to see and not just Faceless, Blurry White Guys Wearing T-Shirts In A Band. We saw Fujiya & Miyagi the last time they came to town, and this was just as fun.

Thanks to Nadamucho for getting me on the list! Read my review of the show here.

I prefer apples to candy. Eating apples gives me the feeling I’ve just come back from a hike in the woods (or something equally boring and majestic). Eating candy feels like being in a dingy roller rink with sticky, fuzzy hands.

People I imagine eating big, shiny red apples preternaturally:

Abraham Lincoln
Leslie Knope
Gary Busey
1980′s Michael J. Fox
Master gardeners
Olympians
First-grade teachers

Lucky for us, you can use apples in every goddamn thing imaginable. {Here is where I would list some of those goddamn things. Boring.} Most recently, thanks to my brother, I’ve been sautéing Granny Smiths with Brussels sprouts, scallions, bacon, a squeeze of lemon, a glug of white wine, butter, and S+P. It’s ridiculous. My favorite thing to do with it is mix in quinoa and dump that into a roasted acorn or butternut squash. Top with cheese and inhale with love. Feel superhuman.

Muffin voodoo

I made these apple streusel muffins for a lawyerly breakfast meeting the man had with other lawyerly types. I was over-excited to be tasked with something so Desperate fucking Housewives — “baked goods for your husband’s business meeting to make a good impression” and all that — so I did a test batch the night before. Results: We couldn’t have stopped from eating them, even if we’d tried — or thought about trying — which we never, ever did. What we did to those muffins was obscene. Then I got up early the next morning to make a fresh batch, tweaking the recipe ratios a bit, and I pretty much fucking nailed it (direct quote). That felt really good.

For a good apple streusel muffin recipe, try the one at Purple Foodie. And always make extra streusel topping, always! You won’t ever go wrong with a 60/40 batter-to-topping ratio. You will only make cooler friends and influence bigger people and have a better life overall. Trust.

Wearing your heart on your head

Polynesians aren’t really acclimated for snow. Sure, I grew up in Gig Harbor, but snow just seems like the wrong kind of fun to me. There’s no vitamin side effect or drinks with umbrellas.  I feel anti-snow in my over-sized bones.

Not that it isn’t fluffy and magical and Kid Vacation and whee! It’s just inconvenient to our city of snow-paralyzed citizens. People wonder why Seattleites are bad in this weather.  The answer is twofold: no practice and hills.

However, I’m aiming for the bright side of things this year — thanks to a daily overdose of Vitamin D — so I was grateful for a few snow days this week. I finished a bunch of blog posts, caught up with Artie, started Borgen, and slept in twice. I Tweeted and Facebooked and YouTubed and Pinned. Pho was eaten; crowns were made.

I made this Valentines Day crown for a friend while huffing Fritos on the couch during a Downton Abbey marathon (I switched to kale the next day, I promise — though only because I ran out of Fritos). I’ve already seen both seasons, and a killer Christmas special, but I had to start it over. It’s filled with a stuffy salaciousness that only the British can do.

I love working with paper, so it was a treat having the time to play around with this crown. I’m not a snow person, but I appreciate the time cocoon it creates. That being said, I’m ready for giant ice cream cones in July. There is no Polynesian snow, just coconut drinks and smoky food wrapped in banana leaves.

(I’m struggling to stay present! Obviously.)

Independence Day w/ Will Smith comes to life

Mayor of Awesome

Michael Bolton

Giraffes!!!!!!!!

Building a brand

Black Hole Starter Kit