Five Rant Friday -- 2.14.14

Happy Valentine's Day, my friends! 

A few weeks ago, I decided that instead of my regular Friday Confession (I use the term "regular" loosely, considering I don't think I've written one in about a year, but that is neither here nor there), I was going to take the opportunity to hijack the "Five Things Friday!" trend and put my own little pessimistic and curmudgeonly spin on it. Enter: Five Rant Friday, where I take the opportunity to air my superficial grievances of the week with the world wide web. So, without further ado...

Five Rant Friday

~*~ Valentine's Day Edition ~*~

1.) I mentioned awhile back that, after three YEARS of curiosity, I made a New Year's Goal to bite the bullet and try Group Power (GP) at my gym. Well, despite my strong track-record of making goals and promptly refusing to commit to them, I actually did accomplish this one on January 16th and, of course, I totally loved it. GP is very similar to the blog-ubiquitous Body Pump, in that is a 60-minute class using a bar and clip-in weights of varying sizes, and each muscle group is worked for the length of one song.

 

I know that these group lifting classes are considered sissy-weights by most "hardcore" gym rats/fitness buffs, mostly because they're high-rep/low-weight and it spawns poor form. I can definitely see how there are some valid criticisms there. For THIS Cardio Queen, however, GP was exactly what I needed to start strength training -- sure, I've done the Jillian workouts with my baby dumbbells at home, but I've always suspected that my form isn't that great and that I'm not motivated enough to push myself to a limit that will actually change my body. I'm lucky in that my instructor is a Form Czar, and is constantly hawkeyeing around the fitness studio studying us and yelling, "ELBOWS! ELBOWS!" while I'm squatting and "THE ONLY TIME YOU SHOULD BE ON YOUR KNEES IS IF YOU'RE GETTING PAID!" during the tricep-pushup track. So if you're going to tell me about how terrible GP and Bodypump are, please note: while I'm really thrilled that you love to pick things up and put them down, spare me your rant for the time being -- I'll probably be too busy admiring my baby biceps in the mirror to hear you, anyway.

WTF, IOC?!

2.)  The Olympics are obviously very near and dear to my heart (and spawned a post that made my dad cry) -- which is why this year's Spectacle in Sochi makes me so indescribably angry on a multitude of levels. Here you have people who have given every minute of every day, a lot of sweat, probably some blood and countless tears to reach the pinnacle of sportsmanship and athleticism, and the IOC has sent them to a place that is, by all accounts, Shanty Town. I find Russian history and culture to be positively fascinating and have been very fortunate to interact with a lot of individuals who are products of the former USSR (sidebar: if you ever need a Wikipedia rabbit hole, look up the dissolution of the Soviet Union. You'll look up and six hours will be gone, guaranteed). As a whole, the Russian people are good, kind and compassionate folks. Which is why it also annoys me that an entire populace is forced to stand by while the rest of the world makes jokes and generalizations at their expense, with no one giving a rat's ass about what is going to happen in their community once the rings disappear and the torch goes out. Think of it this way: if the government couldn't even go out of its way to put up a facade for the international community (I'm looking at you, Beijing), what in the hell do you think the people who live each and every day of their lives there are going to have to deal with?! I don't have an answer or really a point to this rant other than that it makes me really confused; I'm so full of happiness for the athletes and the sense of nationalism on display at the Olympics but also so disgusted with the IOC for not ensuring that they awarded the Games to a community that had the infrastructure to maximize the opportunity to the benefit of its people. /endrant

3.) The rampant use of the word "epic" where it isn't warranted is going to drive me to drink.

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4.) I haven't had any professional diagnosis or anything, but I'm 95% sure that I have either severely bruised or outright fractured my coccyx (also known as my tailbone). When I was about 10, I was sneaking downstairs after my bedtime to eat some cookies and slipped, hitting every single step with my ass on the way down. Thank God it was still August, because I can't even imagine the ridicule I would have faced for having to sit on a rubber doughnut at school (fifth graders can be so cruel). This feels similar -- a constant dull ache at the base of my lumbar spine that gets worse when sitting for extended periods of time and the occasional whimper when I do squats at Group Power -- the kicker is that I have absolutely no idea how I could have literally broken my ass, aside from a possible stress injury, which I didn't even know was possible. Before any of you get all sassy, this started BEFORE I added GP to my routine and therefore was not caused by my new-found love of clean-and-press. Either way, Dr. Google has informed me that coccyx injuries are one of those annoying maladies where it basically comes down to pain tolerance, so why waste medical premiums on xrays in the country's most expensive market when the most they can tell me is, "yup, it's fractured. Don't do things that hurt. Bye!"? I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing and add it to the ever-growing list my personal physician is so lucky to get handed every six months.

5.) The reason I have to keep exercising even with a broken butt is because my colleagues are all in on some twisted scheme to get me fat. They've somehow deduced that, since the marathon, I have not met a baked good that I did not immediately shove into my pie-hole. I was on a solid cookie kick through Christmas, but eventually hit a point where the mere thought of a Nestle morsel made me gag. Then it was on to cake and, though our love affair was brief, it was memorable. I've since moved on to "breakfast bread," starting with when my friend passed on some Amish Friendship Bread starter and progressing into me going ham on a load of my mother-in-law's amazing oatmeal something or other bread. Regardless of the varietal, if I don't get my carb-tooth under control, I'm going to be busting a lot more than my butt at the gym.

"...but I WANT it." -- My three-year old niece, who really GETS me.

TL;DR: Group lifting classes might be for sissies but my middle finger is just as strong as yours; the Olympics are somehow managing to both inspire and depress me at the same time; the term "epic" doesn't mean what you think it does; I'm 99% sure that I broke my ass and my coworkers' method of fixing it is to make it wider. The end.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! 

Upon the conclusion of this week's #99bottles beer chat, hosted by the venerable Gary Dzen of the Boston Globe and in which we drank and discussed Oskar Blues' Scotch Ale Old Chub, Andrew informed me that he's jealous of my ranting platform (all six of you), and asked for the opportunity to guest rant. Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I would indulge him. So here you go:

Special Bonus Guest Rant:

Hi. Handsome Andrew here. Here's what I'm honked off about this week: Valentine's Day. Dear single people, I know this is a bullshit Hallmark holiday and it was all made up to sell cards and chocolate and waah waah waah. Stop posting about it on Facebook. You know what Valentine's Day is? Valentine's Day is a good excuse to spend more money on a bottle of wine than I would on a normal night and to have a better dinner than I can justify most of the time. If you're sad about being single, see a therapist but quit complaining to the world at large about how its designed to make you feel bad. Insert Andy Rooney picture here.

 It's my blog and I can do what I want. So here's a picture of beer instead of Andy Rooney.

See why I love him? 

This concludes this week's edition of Five Rant Friday. I'm Caitlin Rooney, and tune in next week for more of my wrath.

Five Rant Friday 1.31.14

The internet is full of people ripping off other people's ideas; I'm actually pretty sure that's why Al Gore invented it in the first place. If you've spent five minutes in the insanity that is "the lifestyle blog world," then you've probably heard of Five Things Friday, which is when bloggers take the opportunity to write about five completely random things that strike their fancy, which is different from what they write about every other day because guys, these are NUMBERED! In the words of my favorite curmudgeon, "computers make it easier to do a lot of things, but most of the things they make it easier to do don't need to be done." -- Andy Rooney.

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Not one to miss out on a bandwagon (GO BRONCOS!), I have decided to channel Mr. Rooney and put my own little spin on this trend. Enter: Five Rant Friday. I'll probably still do Friday Confessional when I actually come up with something more interesting than, "I think Zac Efron is hot and that makes me feel like a perv," but in the meantime, here are five of the grievances I have with the world this week: 

Five Rant Friday

 

1.) Maybe I missed the memo, but when did it become a novelty for exiting riders to thank their public transit operator? I've ALWAYS made it a point to say a quick, "good morning!" or, "hi!" to my bus/T/taxi driver as I enter his or her vehicle, and a well-timed, "thank you!" as I depart. It takes, like, half a second of my day and costs nothing but two vibrations of my vocal cords, but lately I've noticed that by the drivers' reactions, you'd think these poor people had hit the freakin' appreciation lottery. Seriously, twice this week alone, I've been given the most enthusiastic, "Thank YOU and have a great night, dear!"s of my entire life from T drivers. I started observing other people as they entered and exited the train, and maybe -- MAYBE -- two out of every 15 passengers acknowledged the driver at all. I understand that we're all living in a 24/7 world, but are we really so disconnected that a simple, "hello" or "thank you" is viewed as a major coup by the recipient?

2.) I've been hearing murmurs (ok, more like enraged shouts, which is much more appropriate) that The Mindy Project is on the chopping block for Fox. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, TV PEOPLE IN CHARGE?! The part I really don't understand is how at least once or twice a week someone says, "omg do you watch Mindy? I just started and OMG LOLZ4DAYZ!" 1) DUH, of COURSE I watch Mindy; if I had a patronus it would be in her form and 2) I will bet any amount of money that if you are into dudes, you've spent time on The Googley looking up those magnificent photos of Sir Castellano and trying to figure out how you can scam one for your own home. ::crickets:: soo... just just me then? In the event that Ms. Kaling herself has stumbled upon this blog (perhaps because I incessantly tweet at her in a rabid attempt to become bffs), you're free to take that idea and run with it for merchandizing purposes. You can repay me by providing me with the original cowboy hat portrait, please and thanks. Coffee soon?

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3.) Speaking of coffee, I've been having this total first-world problem lately, wherein I can't seem to find the right amount of coffee to satisfy my morning caffeine needs without making me look like a hoot owl at 11pm. What's that saying? One isn't enough; two is too many and three isn't enough? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that relates to alcohol (or wives?) but I'm going to appropriate it for my little coffee crisis. Did I really just ramble about coffee? God, my life is so hard and complicated. I should get a gold star for existing in this horrid, horrid world. 

4.) "{verb} all of the {noun}" (see: "Feel all of the feels!" "Eat all of the foods!" "Do all of the things!") This has been cropping up all over the place and I cringe every single time I see it (including the few occasions on which I've used it because it's becoming the vernacular and hey, I'm only human). People seem to think it's cute or twee or something, but the cold, hard truth is that it's simply a lazy mode of expression. Maybe Danny grabbing Mindy and threatening to join the Mile High Club evoked an emotional response so complex that you're having trouble putting it into words -- and that's fine -- but SAY that. Going with, "DANNY MINDY OMG ALL OF THE FEELS!" is just a half-assed way of saying you don't care enough about it to try to sum it up. If you're sixteen or a software engineer or something, fine; if you're attempting to call yourself a legitimate writer, just park your ass in a chair, grab a thesaurus and stop this nonsense right now.

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5.) For the past month, half of my Facebook feed has consisted of people's FitBit statistics. Do you know what I care about even less than your calorie intake or how many steps you took today? HOW MANY TIMES YOU ROLLED OVER LAST NIGHT. Granted, I don't have one, and I'm guilty of posting gratuitous humble-brag shots of my Polar calorie burn on Instagram after a particularly good workout, but there's something really disturbing about posting the minutiae of your daily habits, via a set of colorful graphics and numbers, for the world to see (bitching about posting daily stuff no one cares about on facebook via a personal blog: irony done right). A corollary to this rant: people whose Instagram account is linked to Facebook. If I wanted to see all your artsy, filtered skies, your kid's snot rocket or comparison graphics of your weight before and after you ate breakfast, I would follow you on Instagram, BECAUSE THAT IS WHY IT EXISTS. Ugh.

TL;DR -- Say thank you to your bus drivers; watch the Mindy Project; I'm a spoiled, privileged brat with a caffeine addiction; people who post their Fitbit stats on Facebook are creepy and Instagram isn't much better, and FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, grab a damned thesaurus and stop verbing all of the nouns!

This concludes this week's edition of Five Rant Friday. I'm Caitlin Rooney, and tune in next week for more of my wrath.

Snowpocalype: A Survival Guide

Greetings from the frigid Northeast!

Unless you've been living under a rock (or live abroad, in the case of the onslaught of Russian readers/spambots that my stats inform me are viewing this blog), you probably know that most of the continental United States has been trapped in the clutches of the ominously-named "Polar Vortex" for the past three weeks or so. For most, this has meant near-record lows for temperature as well as the constant threat of "winter weather events."

Or, as we here in New England like to call it, "winter."*

I have a huge amount of family and friends spread across this great nation of ours, including several who either currently reside in, or are originally from, The South. One of my best friends packed up her shit and moved to Tampa practically before her high school graduation cap hit the ground, and two-thirds of my immediate family are residents of the Lone Star State (one brother is in San Antonio with his family; the rest are in Waco while my sister attends Baylor). There are several more across the country, but they all share a Yankee heritage and have flown the coop simply to avoid this phenomenon called "snow."

A lot of people are giving our Southern friends a hard time because an entire major metropolitan city was brought to a standstill by approximately two inches of snow. This isn't cool, guys. Some of the stuff being said and, more obnoxiously, written, is downright mean. And while I'm as guilty as anyone else of giving the side-eye to the entire situation, it was based not on the actions of (most) individuals, but on the inability for the city and state infrastructure to weather such an event (see what I did there?). To my Yankee brethren, remember how the entire Northeast shut down for Nemo last February? Sure, that was two-three feet of white stuff, but impact-wise, there isn't much difference between two feet in Boston and two inches in Atlanta. We operate annually with snow removal budgets and know from experience to never trust a snow/rain line on the doppler -- but would we know that if we didn't live with it all the time? Of course not, just the same way that I don't know how to deal with 110 degrees and 100% humidity or an actual intense hurricane (which, coincidentally, took down what is arguably the most important city IN THE WORLD last year, as well as an entire coastline that still isn't back to normal). Cool it with the personal attacks already.

That being said, I feel that, as someone with almost 30 years of experience with this situation (and a lover of bad weather), I am qualified to give advice regarding how to survive in a Snowpocalypse, regardless of whether said incident brings 2 inches or 20. Should you find yourself in an impending "snow situation," here are some tips that I've found work for me and most people I know who deal with it on a regular basis. 

How to Survive a Snowpocalypse

A few basic rules:
Rule 1: If there is even a single flake falling somewhere in a 100-mile radius, you could get snow and should act accordingly.
Rule 2: Never, ever, EVER trust a meteorologist attempting to predict a snowstorm, especially if he or she uses the phrase, "rain/snow line." This is the weather equivalent of throwing one's hands up in the air and declaring, "HELL IF I KNOW! I just get paid to stand here and talk about the unpredictability of Mother Nature." While you can't control how your city/state/municipality prepares for a snowpocalypse, if there is even the remotest possibility of snow in the forecast, the suggestions below will help if you get slammed.

Preparation:
First off, you need to make sure you're properly prepared for a snow storm. This includes, but is not limited to, stocking up on a few essential items:

Seriously, though -- get yourself a bag of rock salt; a shovel; a good pair of mittens (those are the kind WITHOUT separate fingers -- they look stupid as hell but trust me, they're warmer than gloves); some long underwear (I actually think fleece-lined running tights work best); a pair of boots (order online if you have to. LL Bean: not just for monogrammed dog beds anymore!), and one of these handy little do-dads.

Source

Another pro tip? Prior to the predicted storm, take five seconds and pull your windshield wipers up as though you were going to clean the glass; this way, when the snow is over, you can just flip them back down, turn them on and watch as your windshield magically appears with very little effort on your part).

Like so.

Most importantly, IF YOU HAVE OIL HEAT, make sure that you have enough oil for the next few days. Now is also a good time to locate your flashlights, candles, blankets, etc., in the event you lose power. I also like to round up my board games and books, because nothing screams "BORING" like sitting in the dark for several hours with nothing to do but stare at each other.

Lastly, you want to be sure you're properly fortified with rations, because the absolute LAST THING IN THE WORLD you want to be doing during a snowstorm is sleeping on the floor of your local supermarket with a bunch of random strangers. For some reason that I assume dates back to World War II, there is this pervasive rumor that once a single snowflake falls, the human body magically switches over and is only able to convert bread, milk and water into fuel. Perhaps I've been doing it wrong, but I usually stock up on the important, shelf-stable food groups (wine, cans of soup, wine, EZ Cheez, crackers, beans, beer, wine) at the beginning of the winter, and I've managed to survive on this planet for almost 30 years, so that's something.

Don't be this person.

But what if I've ignored this advice and listened to the weather man, only to find out the storm *is* going to hit so I immediately went to the store three hours before the storm to get my bread and milk and now, after being trapped in Aisle 4 for five hours, my options are to brave the roads or sleep next to the feminine hygiene products?

::Sigh:: You ignored the first rule. Luckily for you, if Northerners didn't learn to drive in the snow, our entire economy would shut down for six months out of the year. So here are some tips:

- Understand the concept of black ice. First up, a clarification: black ice isn't actually black; it's just called that because it's so thin that it isn't visible over pavement.More importantly, it is slippery as hell. Before you even set foot out the door, heed this advice when it comes to ice: just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. What it *does* mean is that if you aren't extremely careful, you're going to find yourself either in a ditch or (literally) on your ass.

- DRIVE. SLOWLY. I can't overemphasize this enough -- you might be cruising along, thinking "wow these roads look so clean I don't understand what all of the fuss was abo-- SCREEECH!!!!" Remember that black ice we just talked about? Now you can admire it up close, because you're going to be waiting awhile for that tow truck.

- Turn INTO the skid. I speak from thirteen years of experience when I say that there are few things in the world more nerve-wracking than losing your traction on a sheet of ice or packed snow and feeling the back end of your car slide out from underneath you. Generally speaking, you want to steer into the skid, which defies common sense but works. Here is a video demonstration:



Congratulations!
You are now prepared for a snow storm. Now grab your stash of Blizzard Wine and a loved one, heat yourself up a can of soup and settle in for a marathon-viewing of whatever Netflix show suits your fancy

I'd go with the back shelf, rather than the front.

Go get 'em, Tiger.

*cue the Russian readers laughing. I don't blame them.

The Surprise Long Weekend

This whole short week thing is really throwing me off. I actually wasn't expecting a long weekend until halfway through the day Sunday, when my boss sent me an email saying, "since I won't see you tomorrow, put this on the list for Tuesday." I'm very fortunate in that my company draws time off from a single earned bank, and I've banked an embarrassing amount of time over the past few years (I tend to take more long weekends and fewer full-week vacations). So, when I get offered a day off to reflect on the words of MLK and clean my house, I take it!

Back to Friday. Normally, I'd be sprinting out of work at 5 to the gym and getting my zen on -- my favorite instructor just added a Friday night vinyasa-and-meditation class that ends with a 15-minute savasana, complete with warm towels and soothing music with a lot of lutes, so I've been frequenting that every chance I get. Unfortunately, I was forced to miss this week's class due to another much-anticipated event: the winter Bruce in the USA show.

BRUUUUCE

For those who don't know, Bruce in the USA is, indeed, a Springsteen cover band. They're pretty good in their own right, but for me, the best part about their shows is watching the insanity that is Andrew and his friends having a good time. For some perspective, their Boston show last winter coincided with Blizzard Nemo, in which we received two feet of snow and there were literally people skiing the streets of Boston. Combine the aftereffects of a good Blizzard Party (I feel horrendously sorry for those of you who haven't had the opportunity to experience such an event), a driving ban, a brunch that began and ended with mulled mead and the prospect of a Bruce cover band on the horizon, and you get this:

Yep. That's a keg being carried by four guys down the middle of the road. In a blizzard. Which is technically not an okay thing to do, but when there's a driving ban and the manager of the packie says it's fine, then it's really best to just go with it.

So, those were my Friday night plans. Given that it's still Drynuary, I had a particularly unique perspective from which to enjoy this show, and it did not disappoint. To sum it up in haiku form:

We made a small sign.

The band played "Trapped" just for us.

Many high-fives were had.

For some reason, Cambridge doesn't have the archaic rules that Boston does regarding concerts ending by 11, so I was surprised to not end up in bed until just after 1am. I had been hoping to get in a 9-miler early Saturday morning, but it was raining and cold and if I'm being totally honest, I was still incredibly sore from Thursday night's Group Power class and just couldn't get on board with the idea of making my poor legs move for an hour and a half. Instead, I housed a cup of coffee and then Andrew and I set off for Coolidge Corner, where he got a haircut, I got a tin of cashews and we headed to the Coolidge Corner Theater to view some of last year's Sundance Shorts.

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Maybe I'm just not "artsy" enough, but I didn't really get the appeal of most of the films. The one about cat sex was funny and incredibly awkward, and the one depicting a jazz band's rehearsal definitely brought back memories of high school wind ensemble (we'll get to that sometime in the future), but neither one of them really screamed, "THIS IS GOOD, PRIZE-WORTHY ART!" Then there was one about an old guy describing a series of pictures he took over an extended period of time in a gritty little fishing town, but he lost me after the third monotonous iteration of, "of course, David didn't get to see this, for he was, of course, drowned at sea." {SPOILER ALERT}. There was one animated winner that involved a severed foot and a journey down a windy path which I initially thought was about the Holocaust, but then there was some random stick figure porn thrown in so I'm pretty sure I was way off the mark there. Oh well.

I DID like the heavy-handed parable about commercialism and its impact on the environment, as well as a claymation-type short about antique Irish furniture. The latter reminded me of my grandparents, who have countless little representations of thatched Irish houses adorning their home which I always admired but did not, in fact, realize were our family's ACTUAL HOUSES until my Papa told Andrew on his first visit to their house. No one ever tells the women anything.

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My favorite short was the one called "K.I.T.," which I only liked because it was essentially the story of my life. The protagonist is a neurotic, socially-awkward, generally attractive female in her late 20s who finds herself word-vomiting to her neighborhood grocery cashier who appears to be some sort of hipster-cum-catlady. The protagonist's odd little diatribe ends up in her inviting the cashier to hang out sometime, which segues into the two of them sitting at a cafe table and making even more awkward small talk. The protagonist then goes home and gives her boyfriend a play-by-play of the friend-date, ultimately talking herself into believing that the cashier was offended by her attempts to make conversation and leading her to issue another invitation to hang out so that she can make things right by talking her feelings to death. In an attempt to apologize for any offense she might have committed during their previous meeting, she continues to backhand compliment the cashier, who is clearly thinking, "what the hell is this woman talking about?" while wearing overalls and a cape. This cycle continues until the protagonist slowly drives both herself and her boyfriend insane, and by the end Andrew was poking me in the ribs with his elbow while I tried to suppress the kind of giggles that only a mirror can induce.

Here I am on an awkward friend date in 2004. Thankfully, my experience was better and now I'm in her wedding party.

Of course, as soon as the lights went up, I started worrying that my giggles had offended the guy sitting in front of me. Also, it figured that my favorites were the ones that didn't actually win anything. See? Story. of. my. life.

The rest of my weekend was pretty quiet. Saturday night we ordered in and had a screening of the Season One finale of Veronica Mars (Andrew wanted to watch the series before the movie comes out since, as a proud Kickstarter Backer, I plan on going to the first possible showing in my tshirt, and he wanted to know what he got himself into) -- and I was amazed because Andrew actually figured out the stunning conclusion before I did when I initially watched it, and that NEVER happens!

Sunday I went food shopping and then took a quick 5-miler just to shake out my legs and tack at least a FEW miles onto my week, since I'm considering doing a half in a few weeks just to keep myself honest. I made it home with 10 minutes to spare before the AFC Championship which, as you all know by now, my beloved Patriots lost by a margin of 10 points, which I actually think is impressive considering the offense made it onto the field approximately -3 times during the first half. I had a friendly bet going with my pal Tiffany over at Snack, Snark, Bark, so she can expect a shipment of New England's finest craft beers to arrive sometime next week. Lucky for her, Andrew and I are local beer aficionados and as such, she can look forward to more than a six of Sam Boston and two Harpoon IPAs. ;)

These are actually Tiffany's local beers, not mine. Don't they look tantalizing?

Damn you, Brady

Obladi, Oblada....

I know, I know... two posts in one week? Will wonders never cease?!

Must be a new year or something.

I know my last few posts were a little... introspective. People who know me in real life might not realize that blogging does not come easily to me; I'm one of those people who talks incessantly yet never really has anything to say. I'm sure that this usually comes across as narcissistic, but really it's more of a nervous habit than anything else. I overshare some aspects of my life simply to avoid talking about others. Privacy is a luxury in my (large, invasive) family, and one on which I place a premium.

But I digress.

Over the past several months, a lot has gone on in my life. I do hope to go into some of these in greater detail in future posts but, since I am entirely unpredictable with my blogging and who knows when that mood will strike my fancy, here's a list of short bullets to get you up to speed:

- I turned 29 back in October. We celebrated by going to Wine Riot at the Park Plaza Hotel, then catching the last few innings of the Sox during the World Series. Several people gave me the whole, "whoaaaa last one before the big three-oh!" schtick but, really, being 29 is a lot like being 28, only with slightly less wine and slightly more eye cream.

The vendors were sampling more than the patrons, trust me -- thus the blurriness!

- As you probably saw, I ran the Manchester City Marathon on November 3rd. It is one of (if not the singular) biggest accomplishments of my life thus far. I trained for four months and three days to get to that finish line, and while it wasn't always (or ever) pretty, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't remember some aspect of the whole debacle and smile.

SO GOOD TO SEE YOU DO YOU HAVE MORE FOOD FOR ME?

- One fact that I conveniently left out, but which you might have caught here, is that Andrew also ran the marathon. He kicked my ass by almost 23 minutes, which I'll pretend not to find annoying, considering he managed to throw his back out THE MORNING OF THE RACE and still finished not only smiling, but with perfect posture. To cap off the whole schmaltzy, "my boyfriend is perfect" theme, his first words once he could breathe were to ask how far behind him I was, and then when they lied and said "right behind you!," he refused to leave the finish line -- foregoing the heat blanket, snacks and massages located in the Finisher's Tent -- until I ambled my way down Elm Street for fear of missing me. You can all go vomit now; I'll wait.

C3P0 and R2D2

- You might remember from this post that I have just recently (within the past four years) gotten over a truly debilitating fear of the dentist. After I had my last crown placed early this summer, the only work that I really had left to be done was to finally bite the bullet and have my wisdom teeth out. In my post-marathon, "screw fear I can do anything I want!" haze, I finally booked a consult for late November and then made an appointment to have the actual procedure done in late December. As I type this, I am almost three weeks post-op, and I have to admit that I am still feeling pretty bad-ass, considering that I managed to commit to and then do something that basically every sixteen year old in Western Civilization has done. Whatever. Don't steal my moment, bro.

Looking like this was worth it to declare victory over the dreaded Chipmunk Cheek

- Prior to said surgery, I was feeling a little uneasy with the direction my health was headed, both mentally and physically. While I hadn't regressed entirely into "Let's eat an entire pizza and finish it off with an ice cream sundae while lying in bed listening to OneRepublic's 'Stop and Stare' on repeat," territory, I was headed to a dark place. Compound that by living exclusively off of mashed carbohydrates for a week, and by January 3rd I was ready to re-commit fully to the healthy habits I had adopted through the first half of 2013. In the past 17 days, I've gotten back to spinning, running, yoga and even FINALLY tried Group Power at the gym; my diet has been cleaned back up; I've finished two books and I've been writing a page in a journal every night. I'm feeling a lot more "centered," tree-hugger as that might sound, and it's a lot nicer than running around every day feeling like Charlie Brown is my soulmate.

The second-best part of running.

- Lastly, and in that same vein, I had been toying with the idea of going dry for an extended period of time for quite awhile -- not because I have any major issues with alcohol or anything, but because I did feel like it was an overarching theme of my social life, and also because I've wanted to try branching out a bit into new activities and experiences, and I know that I tend to use a glass of wine as a crutch in those situations that make me uncomfortable. Also, at the age of 29, my metabolism isn't quite what it used to be, and I wanted my Sunday mornings back. So, when I had to make it through New Year's Eve sans champagne due to the large amount of anti-inflammatories and antibiotics running through my veins, I came across the concept of Drynuary on The Twitters and decided just to go with it. Today marks 20 days off the hooch, and while I haven't noticed any dramatic revelations or anything, I will say that I have rediscovered my love of mocktails. Soda water, a splash of grenadine and a cherry? Almost as good as the real deal!

Yes, preggos, I AM available to bartend your mocktails

So, that's my past four months in a nutshell. Hope you all have a wild and wonderful weekend!

Lauren Conrad's New Year's Resolutions

Obviously I'm a little behind the times here, but I've never really been big on the whole "New Year's Resolution" debacle anyway. I am, however, a huge proponent of setting overarching themes and goals for each year, so when Lauren Conrad's list of resolutions started circulating across the internet, it did cause me to stop and ponder what my answers to her fill-in-the-blanks would be. I don't think I'll be sharing my entire list of 2014 goals, but suffice to say that the exercise below certainly helped to round some of them out!

A bad habit I’m going to break: There are a few. Most importantly, I'd like to finally (FINALLY!) stop biting my nails. It's gross; it's bad for my teeth; it makes me look like a five-year-old and, most importantly, it's a seriously negative nervous habit. One of my greater goals for 2014 is to Be More Positive, and that extends to finding new ways to deal with stress in a positive manner. The other silly bad habit is staying in bed too long in the morning, and I've already started making strides there -- on New Year's Day, I woke up at 6am because I needed to take an antibiotic. I've been up and out of bed between 6-6:45am each morning since, and it's making a world of difference in my morning routine! (I generally shower at night or at the gym on my lunch break, so I would typically push waking up as far into the 7am hour as possible).

A destination I’d like to visit: Somewhere tropical! That's not likely to happen this year, as we have several weddings to attend in various parts of the country. One of them is in Florida in June though, so depending on global warming and all that, I just might get my infinity pool and pina colada in a coconut after all! We're also planning "just us" trips to NYC in March and DC in September, as well as NJ, Maine and possibly TX for weddings throughout the year.

I’m going to work harder at: As I mentioned above, my primary goal for 2014 is to Be More Positive. That's a pretty large undertaking by itself, so I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out a list of relatively simple ways to try and make it happen. Most importantly, I am trying to work harder at re-framing my negative thoughts into positives; for example, when my first reaction is to think, "OMGIHAVENOMONEYWHATISWRONGWITHME?!", I have been pausing to take a deep breath and remind myself that I am current (if not ahead) on all of my bills and, while my checking account might look more barren than the Mojave Desert, it's because I'm being very aggressive with savings and putting money toward my student loans, two practices that will ultimately pay off in the long run (pun intended),

A project I’d like to finish: Two years ago, this would probably have been the goal that scared me most -- I've never been one to set goals, pursue them and then achieve them 100%. I get bored incredibly fast, which has lent itself to literally hundreds of started-but-not-quite-finished projects just in the past five years alone. My perception changed a bit in 2011, when I publicly announced I was going to run a half marathon and then actually did it. In the following years, it has amazed me how many times I've thought, "if I can push myself to follow a training plan religiously for x weeks, I can push myself to finish that scarf I started knitting four weeks ago!" Those sentiments have only been magnified tenfold since completing the full 26.2 in early November. This year, the project I'd like to finish is simple: I want to make our apartment look less "ramshackle chic" and more "two adults inhabit this space." Curtains will be a good start.

A class I’d like to take: We are very fortunate in that we live in The Education Capital of the World, a city with hundreds of classes happening on any given day. I've always said that if I had the means, I would become a professional student -- I love learning THAT much. That said, classes in Boston tend to run on the pricier side; even our community colleges' credit hours can cost a pretty penny. Ideally, I'd love to take a class in creative writing, since that is the one area where I would like to develop more personally; however, we're on a tight budget this year, so I'm going to be a bit more practical and say that I'd like to FINALLY get over myself and take both a strength class at my gym and one other fitness class outside of it. A wine tasting dinner wouldn't hurt, either (you know... to celebrate!).

I’d like to spend more time: Working on the areas of my life that are important to me, particularly my relationships with friends and family.

A food I want to eat more of: I know I should probably say something like "cruciferous vegetables" here, but that would be lying. I'd actually like to eat more cake, but in the interest of self-preservation and of my closet full of pants, I'm going to say fish. I want to eat more salmon, swordfish, shrimp and haddock.

I want to wear more: clothes that match. Is that a real answer?

2014

Greetings and salutations for the first time in 2014!

As you might have noticed, 2013 wasn't really The Year of The Blog for me. To be truthful, there were more than several occasions where I contemplated just hitting the private button and leaving this little internet portal to my soul to collapse upon itself. Why, you ask? A combination of factors, mostly: it's a bit of a timesuck; it's a bastion of rampant narcissism; it's embarrassing to think of people I went to high school with finding it and reading about my thoughts and my weight; I maybe had a glass or two of wine one night and sent the link to some family members (like my dad, who is the actual writer in the family in that he is gainfully employed rearranging words) and, perhaps most importantly, because I had completely lost any interest in or passion for it.

Anyone with a blog knows the pressure it brings -- it's a constant battle between, "give the people what they want!" (mixed, of course, with the awareness that "the people" is a group limited to a very small group of IRL friends and strangers of the Twitter universe) and, "why would I want to put this on the internet? Who cares about it? Does it serve some kind of need aside from my own incessant need to ponder the world, and myself, to within an a hair's breadth of insanity?" These questions have been driving me nuts over the past year. I have a veritable mortuary of posts sitting in my drafts folder, some gasping their last breaths with hope that I'll eventually come back and others that made it two stellar sentences only to be declared dead on arrival. All are a mere finger-click away from disappearing into the Internet Abyss forever.

But enough of that.

As I mentioned, 2013 wasn't the Year of The Blog. It was, however, the Year of a lot of other aspects of my life. The Year of Putting My Foot Down. The Year of South Beach. The Year of Grant Proposals. The Year of My First Marathon. The Year of My Ten-Year High School Reunion. The Year of My Wisdom Teeth.

Though they might not seem like much, those were all very significant events in my life, for a variety of reasons. Essentially, it was a year of both setting and pushing boundaries, which is something I have struggled with for a very long time. I faced some of my biggest fears in 2013, which is more than I can say about 2012 and all that I can hope to continue into 2014.

With that, I bid you all a Happy New Year, and promise to check back in with some regular life updates soon!