Let's Just Order In

For the past week I've been on vacation at my family's beach house in Sea Isle City. Whenever I'm here, any thoughts I have of eating well usually go right out the window. We eat hot dogs on the beach, my dad makes pancakes every weekend morning, pizza and cheese steaks are ordered with frequency. Since we don't cook that much, the groceries we do have tend to stick around for a while.

After sneaking into the pool at the hotel down the street the other day, my mom, sister and I came home looking for a snack and I was struck by the contents of our kitchen. Some of the standouts were as follows:

- Three jars of peanut butter of various consistencies
- Three half full containers of cream cheese
- Approximately seven boxes of crackers, all open
- A jar of ginger spread and two unopened jars of mint jelly
- Two bottles of Italian dressing, both with about a tablespoon left
- A can Keystone Light, a can of Natty Light and a bottle of some sort of blue wine cooler
- A head of iceberg lettuce with a large brown slimy spot
- One cubic inch of mozzarella cheese wrapped in about two feet of Saran wrap
- Two half full bags of crab chips
- Five bottles of syrup, four opened
- An assortment of small plastic cups with lids containing dressings and dips that accompanied salads and sandwiches long since digested and forgotten
- A container of marshmallow fluff that was described and "grainy" ...which has not deterred anyone from eating it or putting it back in the cabinet when they finish eating their spoonful

Needless to say I'm pretty sad to be leaving.

I'm Back...and Sore

In addition to being a negligent blogger lately I've also been slacking on going to the gym. But last night I finally went to kickboxing class again and tonight I feel compelled to write about it.

So I was finally able to get to a class on time, which was great; unfortunately it was with my least favorite instructor. There are so many reasons I dislike him that it's difficult to get them down in an organized manner, but I'm willing to try:

1) He looks like an albino rat

2) He has a creepy blond moustache

3) He is way too enthusiastic about teaching this class, punctuating every shouted phrase with

a piercing, drawn-out "WOOOOOO!!!!!"

4) He abbreviates the phrase "No pain, no gain" into just "no pain," and I don't think this is just

his take on it, I actually don't think he knows the whole saying

5) He'll count down on whatever we're doing and then add extra sets just when we're finishing,

i.e. "Just five more squats, five, four, three, two, one, nine, eight, seven..." I don't mind doing

25 of anything, just don't tell me I only have to do 15 and spring the extras on me just when I

think I'm done

6) It seems like he only has us do certain things so he can show off how well he can do them, like

kicks in a direction that I can barely look in, let alone get my leg flail to

All of this, combined with his general hyper-zeal for cardio kickboxing puts me in an ornery mood as soon as I enter the fitness studio and hear the first beats of a Celine Dion ballad dance remix. I am rarely the sullen girl in the corner glaring at people- but ten minutes into the warm-up there I am, rolling my eyes and muttering "shut UP" while looking around for someone to make eye contact with so I can shake my head and make a "what is with this guy" face.

So why do I keep going back? One, like it or not it's a good work out and two, I keep hoping when we do kicks and he comes around with the target pad that one day I'll miss and give him a Nike to the Adam's apple.

I have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy

I must not be as cultured as I have always liked to think I am because while reading the below review of "The Love Guru" by Joe Morgenstern in the Wall Street Journal this morning, all I could do was giggle and think to myself "I can't WAIT to see that!"

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121391259991589875.html

'The Love Guru'
Compared to "The Love Guru," "Get Smart" is "Citizen Kane." Mike Myers, as a blissed-out self-help charlatan named Guru Pitka, gets to ride a bejeweled elephant and an electric carpet and talk with a funny Indian accent. But his character, and a ramshackle plot about a lovelorn hockey star (played by Romany Malco) are only crude pretexts for crotch humor, toilet humor, sexual outuendo and a merciless succession of scenes involving flatulence, urination and a dislikable dwarf. This from Paramount, the studio of Cecil B. DeMille, W.C. Fields, "Sunset Boulevard," "Rear Window," "Psycho" and the road pictures of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. The road taken by "The Love Guru" could hardly be lower, and leads nowhere.

There will not be a sequel to this scary movie

For anyone who read this post, you might interested (horrified) to know that I received a text message a couple days ago from the antagonist in that story which read "hey...pretty hot out...we should get together again soon."



I will not be responding.

After Two Years of Anticipation...

I got home today from my friend Maleesa's wedding up in the mountains in PA. It was a great time and I am too tired to write too much about it but I just wanted to get it down that it was a beautiful wedding and I had a lot of fun.

The ceremony was scheduled to take place at 5 pm outside by a lake. At 4:40 clouds started to roll in and we heard thunder. At 5 it started to rain but by 5:20 the rain stopped, the sun came out and the ceremony went on as planned.

As we were taking pictures after the ceremony it started to rain again and I'm sure the photographers got some nice shots of the bridesmaids hiking up their dresses and sprinting across the lawn to the club house.

I'd have to say the highlight for me was pulling the father of the bride on to the dance floor to dance with the bridal party after we were all introduced. He did a very dignified version of the pointy finger dance to "Sexy Back" The crowd ate it up. Just got a picture of it so I had to include it in here:

It was great to see old friends and have everyone together to celebrate...and to dance to Love Shack with my college roommates and shout "tiiiiiin roof- rusted" in unison like the old days. A good time was had by all...

Shave and a Bong Hit, Two Bits

I got my hair did today by a 26 year old Italian fellow named Pete, and I think I learned more about him in that 1.5 hours than I've learned about all the people who have ever cut, colored, styled or looked at my hair throughout the course of my entire life. For example, he always wanted to be a barber but was so good at doing women's hair he stuck to that instead. He met Carmen Electra in Atlantic City and said she was so tiny she "only came up to my nipple." His mom just got a Wii. He'd like to have kids before he's 30. He goes to New York Sports Club in downtown Montclair, he got chicken pox when he was nine and his favorite color is matte beige.

The thing that stood out to me the most, however, was how freely he discussed smoking weed with someone he did not know while he was on the clock at work. During the course of our conversation, he referred to smoking no fewer than five times. Case in point, he told me how when he met Carmen Electra he didn't say anything witty or clever because he'd just smoked three blunts and wasn't thinking clearly.

Then he asked what I was doing tonight. I told him probably nothing as I was tired and had to get up really early tomorrow morning (I didn't feel compelled to tell him "I'll probably write on my blog about your gratuitous mentions of recreational drug use while highlighting my hair"). He replied that he'd probably lay low too- finish work, go to the gym, smoke with his 'boys' then make it an early night.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I have a problem with people smoking weed, I'm just surprised that he'd be so open about it with someone he didn't know at all who was one of his clients at work... maybe I look like a stoner and just don't know it...

How I Spent My Memorial Day Vacation

There are those things in life that you worry about happening but rarely do- locking your keys in your car, walking around with your zipper down, sharting in public. But yesterday one of those sort of things happened to me. It wasn't even one I'd actually considered before but it turns out it is something to add to my list of life concerns.

I went to the gym and decided to stop by the bathroom before leaving the locker room. When I turned the lock it seemed loose but I didn't really think anything of it. Then I tried to open the door- no dice. The little lock knob just kept turning and turning. I knew it wouldn't unlock but still I turned it. I heard someone washing their hands and I kept turning the knob hoping they would wonder why and ask if they could get me some help, they apparently weren't worried about the constant turning of the lock and promptly left.

So then I had the decision to make- waiting for someone else to come in and asking them to get someone to help or take advantage of the fact that nobody else was in there and gracelessly crawl under the stall to get out through a door that worked. It only took about thirty seconds to make the choice. I took one last listen for anyone else in the bathroom, got down on my side and tried to keep my face as far from the floor as possible.

After I got out and washed my hands I honestly considered skipping my work out and going home; I figured I'd had enough excitement, but instead I brushed myself off and put the episode behind me.

At least now I know a little more about what type of person I am- one totally willing to slide around on the floor of a public bathroom rather than ask for help...not sure how what type of person that is, but that's me.