Since you have been wondering

The above cartoon is my way of breaking the news. I am no longer Goldilocks. I am Wilma.

My hair has been driving me nuts, that much we know. It's fair, really. I mean, look at me:



Why I thought dying it red would ameliorate the situation, we do not, though it does seem to have brightened my mood (or perhaps caused a demonic possession, can't quite be sure):


This blog should be called "The poorly photographed adventures of Amy: experiments with food and her hair". Then again, maybe not.

Woe is me: three tragedies

1) Someone decided that, while the above hairstyle is cute for toddlers, it is not cute for twenty-somethings. Evidently, adult females should enjoy the feeling of having hair in their faces, but I hate it. I much prefer my spout.

2) The man who authored the book that convinced me that man can live on (mostly) salad alone has a new book coming out next week, and it costs one million dollars. But I want it. So much.

3) I am still ill.

Still sick. Body and Soul.

Due to being insanely bored and having a soft spot for Edward Gorey, I took this quiz at Zillah's behest. Incidentally, I think this quiz was very accurate because my favorite Cabbage Patch doll (my favorite among twenty or so) was named Quentin, as is my favorite UFC fighter, Quentin Jackson (this is NOT a joke, he is just a bundle of talent and charisma!). Also, last night I had this strangely satisfying dream involving chicken fat...



You will sink in a mire. You like to think you're normal, but deep down you really just want to strip off your clothes and roll around in chicken fat.
Take this quiz!








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Sick in not bed. And a cookie.

I was going to label this post Sick In Bed, but then realized that, as I am sitting in front of a computer and have been for three solid days, it would be an inaccurate title. The truth is that I'm sick in front of the computer, because the typing of dental reports waits for no man.

I am very bored, but my lungs won't take up oxygen, so my options are limited. I think I have consumption.

I blame the sickness on a combination of three contributory factors:
1) Running
2) Running when the smog is so thick you cant see the very-proximal mountains
3) Not vegetables

Despite my conclusion, I am eager to get well so I can shuffle once more. Missing a week of training is not wise for a person who is supposed to run a marathon in 99 days, but I have no choice. Further despite my conclusion, I decided that, having eaten naught but hot and sour soup yesterday (my sick food of choice; you really should try it) I should try out a new chocolate chip cookie recipe. You see, I have been searching for a great one (or at least a good one) for awhile, but have come up with nothin'. But yesterday the sickness-prolonging gods smiled on me and my efforts were handsomely rewarded:


Any perceived inadequacy is the fault of the camera (or, possibly, camera-woman) not the cookie. The cookie was terrific. I got the recipe out of VwaV but then de-veganized it by trading in the shortening for butter and adding an egg. Yes, I feel guilty, but at least I landed a good cookie recipe. And, lucky duck, so did you:

1 C butter at room temperature
1 1/4 C sugar
1 TBS molasses
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 1/4 C all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 C semisweet chocolate chips

preheat oven to 350
cream the butter and sugar until fluffy
add molasses and vanilla
add the flour, baking soda and salt, mix well
(At this point, I discovered that I had not cookie dough, but a substance that more closely resembled gravel, so I added an egg. Presumably you could just add the egg when you are creaming things, but I wanted to authentically represent what I actually made)
add chocolate chips (Guittard is the only acceptable brand, if you have a brain)
create dough balls using an ice cream scoop, if handy, or a teaspoon, if not
place 2" apart on a baking sheet
bake 12 minutes

Voila. Great cookies. Let me know if you make them and like them.

Speaking of great cookies, I will cry until Thanksgiving because I missed the season to make these.

Do it in the name of all that is good and funny

Vote here! This is a story about my actual friend. He will be horrified beyond belief if he wins this contest, so please vote to help make it happen. If you really believe in doing the right thing, feel free to post about this on your blogs and pressure your readers to vote for Alex, too. It would just mean so much to me if he won. If any of you actually do post about this on your blogs, please comment and let me know so I can make it worth your while. Maybe I will send you something really great.

I am really not kidding. Please vote for Alex.

Salad

I have recently finished reading Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto, in which he imparts a few gleanings from seemingly millions of hours of research for a mere $13.95. His recommendations were insightful, believable and, importantly, well-written. I loved it.

The cover contains, in brief, everything you will read inside: Eat Food, Not too Much, Mostly Plants. When I finished the whole thing, I swore to diverge even more from what Pollan calls Nutritionism, or the belief that any food's benefit can be calculated in the sum of its nutrient parts (at least the nutrient parts of which we are aware). He encourages, nay, implores us, to eat food, for cryin' out loud, and to free ourselves from the belief that Omega-3 infused pop-tarts will make us heart-healthy. He offers suggestions: don't eat something that contains ingredients you can't pronounce, eat meals at a table (desks don't count), and shop the periphery of the supermarket, where food your great-grandmother would recognize as food resides.

But there I was on Thursday afternoon, deep in the belly of the supermarket's center aisles. I was on a dark errand, but I had no choice. I swear. They made me do it. Before I could cry out, beg to bring a salad that involved leaves, insist that I hadn't lived in Utah long enough for this moment to be real, I found myself lamely saying "Sure, I'll bring a Jello salad to Brother Clawson's funeral. I'd be happy to."

Jello. It has it's appeal (it's sweet! and jiggly! and fluorescent!), but it's not a food my great grandmother would recognize, and, despite my most heroic efforts, I cannot pronounce Dimethylpolysiloxane on the first try (although I'm sure glad they threw some in, since it evidently prevents foaming). Oh, well. If a funeral gathering of Salt Lake City old timers want eight servings (at least!) of Jello salad, I must oblige.

Too tired last night from my six-mile shuffle, I woke up at seven thirty on this fine Saturday morning to begin constructing. I shredded carrots, drained a coupla cans of crushed pineapple. I will admit to childlike glee as I poured water into the Jello powder, turning it other-worldly orange, and to small satisfaction as the addition of ice cubes delivered the promised quick-setting jello. I watched it go from powder, to fluid, to gum in moments flat.

Here's how she turned out:
I know it's not the best picture you've ever seen, but I didn't dare take it out of the fridge; I only have an hour and a half before the funeral and it's definitely not road-worthy.

In case you ever get conned into making a Jello salad (or if you secretly like it and want to make and eat the whole pan yourself for dinner...c'mon, you know it's pretty good tasting...) and your grandmother isn't as helpful as mine was (she was a real dream and gave me every Jello salad tip in the book, including directions for this creation, and assured me that anything I made would be acceptable, bar none, because that's just how Jello salad is) you can go here (where Jellosalad is one word!) for tips.

Tag. I'm it.

I have never been tagged before, but there has to be a first time for everything. Ryan's sister, who introduced us, tagged me and I guess I owe her one.

Here is a lot of boring information, in the name of VD.

How long have you been together? Almost two years
How long did you date? Fifteen minutes
How old is he? 27
Who said "I love you" first? Me
Who is taller? Ryan
Who sings better? Ryan sings more often, that's all I'll say
Who is smarter? Depends
Who does the laundry? Me. I am so uptight about it it's like I'm either kidding or mentally ill.
Who does the dishes? We both do, but since I am more bored I do them more often
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? We take turns.
Who pays the bills? Me, kinda. I'm not that good at it.
Who mows the lawn? Lawn?
Who cooks dinner? Me
Who is more stubborn? I think that'd be a tie
Who asked who out? Out?
Who proposed? Ryan, two weeks after our first real kiss
Who is more sensitive? To our great detriment and benefit, we are both highly sensitive people.
Who has more friends? Me by a long shot, but his are crazier. I should blog about his friends more, come to think of it.
Who has more siblings? Ryan. He has three times as many brothers and twice as many sisters.

Reach for the stars

So there I was, ten minutes early for my gym-yoga class (it's not the real thing, but it's cheap) . Sitting there in the pleasantly dark quiet room I had a good stretch and contemplated the recent misery that was a four mile run I had just barely completed. Hamstrings, quads, can I really endure this? Calves, glutes, really, I just don't see it happening.

The doors opened, and he walked in like he owned the place: Gym-yoga man. He gave me a long-enough-to-be-mildly-awkward look and an almost-too-genuine-to-be-real smile, then whooshed his mat down in his usual spot, right at the front of the room, right in the center. He took off his shirt, revealing a lithe, sinewy torso and had a seat.

A few minutes later, our instructor joined us. She's not a bad instructor, especially for gym-yoga, and has a nice calm voice and face. She walked to the front of the room and began setting herself up for the class. Despite wearing only bike shorts and a tiny camisole, she didn't look provocative--she's just little.

Gym-yoga instructor and Gym-yoga man started talking to each other. She asked "So, you going to do it this year?" He responded "Oh, I'm not sure...I did it last year, or was that the year before?" It soon became clear to me that they were talking about the Salt Lake Marathon, which will be on April 19 this year. It seemed from their conversation (upon which I was unabashedly eavesdropping, don't judge me) that they had both run it before, liked the course, etc. As they continued, I became convinced that they run marathons every fortnight. "Did you do the St. George?" "Oh, yeah, a couple of times. So many hills!" "Uh-huh! But not as bad as Park City, I've done that one twice." It seemed like they weren't even quite sure how many marathons they had run, poor dears.

I was, needless to say, incredulous. These were yoga people. They were nimble and flexible and strong. (Although a triceps push up is easier when you only weight ninety pounds. Just sayin'.) Their bodies were to be respected. But now they were runners too? Marathoners?! Cavalier marathoners?!?! What was this world coming to?

I have thought about them quite a bit since then. I wonder what it would be like to exist in such a body. To think, I like yoga- why not become an instructor? Or, when invited to go for a bike ride, to simply say "Sure!" rather than "Will there be any hills?". To live in a body like that must be (to reveal my own predilections) a piece of cake. Such utility! Such ease! Such fun! Why, it must be heaven!

When I lived in Uganda, strangers looked at my zaftig white face and shamelessly approached me to ask if I would sponsor their children's education. Grown men I had never seen before asked me to buy them sodas. Whenever I went out to eat with a friend, I picked up the tab. If we took a taxi, I picked up that tab, too. And why not? I could afford it. I presume they marveled at my financial nonchalance. Such utility! Such ease! Such fun! Why, they thought, that out-of-breath white woman must be in heaven!

And so I was. It is indeed a pleasure to have something (anything) handed to you on a silver platter. Perhaps part of the fun is that because you didn't even have to work for it, you don't even have to appreciate it. It's just your's; you can have it. For nothing.

I have a friend whose life began in circumstances similar to those I saw in Uganda. Now he is in the US Navy, living in Hawaii with his family. He worked hard, harder than I will ever ever know, moved to America, graduated from college, and continues to work to support his family back home, and his growing family in the US. It wasn't easy, but he did it. It wasn't handed to him, but now he has it. Townhouse, station wagon, leather couches, you name it.

If you will excuse me, I have six miles to jog.

mormonsexposed

So I thought that Axe ad campaign took the cake, until I saw the above even drearier work among my own people. I think sleeping tonight will be easier if I can convince myself that everyone involved was lobotomized, except the one corrupt guy at the top, who will be struck by lightning any minute.

To Do

Some of us love making lists. Books to read, dinners to make, things I hate about myself, whatever. It is always satisfying to see it neatly listed.

Today, as I whiled away my hours on the internet, friend Kelsey sent me this link. I have found myself lately in a bit of a pickle about my insane commitment. Let's face it, was not given any anatomical advantages in the athleticism department, and running a bazillion miles seems like a stupider idea every time I think of it. Oh, sure, I can fantasize about the glamor of finishing the race (nine and a half hours after I started it would be the current projection), feeling my head swell with pride and satisfaction at a job well done. The race itself isn't all that intimidating. It's all the weeks of trudging around frozen Salt Lake at a snail's pace wondering what ever came over me.

So, since divine intervention via Kelsey sent me the idea to list 100 reasons to do something, I figured I would see if I could come up with 100 reasons to run the Newport Marathon. They might not be good reasons. But if I can come up with 100 of them then I think that's something.

Hey, are you bored? Why not read this fun list?

100 Reasons to Run the Newport Marathon
1. i said i would
2. i trained for a marathon before but never ran it and felt like a sucker
3. i want to be able to do hard things. really hard.
4. my butt isn't gravity defiant enough. just kidding.
5. i would like an excuse to take a trip to the oregon coast during june
6. because utah is real real hot in june
7. kelsey said she would come and she is pregnant
8. we could go to seattle and see if it is the place where all our dreams will come true
9. it would be a good motivation/excuse to get a camper shell for the truck
10. maybe it would be fun
11. i haven't seen erin flood in many years and i always was quite fond of her
12. i think having a baby naturally is harder than running a marathon, but i still want to do it
13. i am 26, which is the perfect age to run 26 miles. i'll never forget how old i was when i ran my first marathon.
14. maybe i would want to run more marathons
15. like maybe run one in every state
16. so, if i run two a year, i would run my last one when i am fifty one.
17. i think runners have something figured out
18. and i don't know what, which makes it more mystical
19. i get to be in another club, like the "i lived in africa" club i've so enjoyed
20. why not?
21. you chicken?
22. older, fatter people than me have done it
23. they say there is a runner's high, andi want to see for myself
24. it's not going to get any easier
25. everyone will like me more
26. i can tell my kids if i ever have any
27. which i can't do if i'm not pretty sure i can do hard things
28. maybe my family would come to watch me
29. and bring their pompoms
30. my body would get tougher than it has ever been
31. my brain would bet tougher than it has ever been, which is a greater achievement than #30
32. it would be romantic
33. it would be impressive
34. it would be something interesting to blog about. i've been short on those lately.
35. it's a cheap thrill
36. ryan's wife would be a marathoner
37. david and sarah's big sister would be a marathoner
38. jackie and mike's eldest daughter would be a marathoner
39. i'm bad, i'm bad, you know it
40. the only reason not to is getting injured
41. which i can almost definitely prevent
42. i ran six miles the other day, before the training even officially started
43. and it wasn't really that hard
44. i could do it today for a million dollars
45. maybe i need a sponsor
46. or a good cause. i hear that's good for motivation
47. i already registered
48. i bought expensive running shoes
49. my sister lent me her ipod which was real nice
50. my brother came to salt lake to give me a bunch of music to put on the ipod
51. which is to say, my siblings are really supportive
52. you get to drink gatorade
53. which i normally wouldn't
54. i am jealous of people who have already done it
55. so people would be jealous of me. oh wait, that's not actually appealing.
56. i would get better at running
57. i could probably get quite a bit better, actually
58. which isn't saying much, but still
59. my new year's resolution is to be in the best shape of my life
60. it would give me hope about doing that pull up.
61. i ate only fruits and vegetables for six weeks, which seemed impossible
62. i got married, which seemed like more of a challenge
63. i lived in uganda, which seemed more exotic
64. i like runners
65. my therapist is a runner
66. i would like my clients' therapist to be a runner
67. some people say running is their therapy, and heaven knows i need therapy
68. i keep meaning to enjoy time with myself
69. i keep meaning to enjoy the great outdoors
70. there's just something about it
71. i saw the marathon movie and it make me wanna
72. i know lots of people can't because they won't
73. so if i will, i can
74. oregon is lovely in the summer
75. it's a good excuse for a road trip
76. and i love road trips
77. i could wear booty shorts in public without being inappropriate
78. when people found out they would think i was cool
79. pictures on the big day
80. people already think i'm crazy
81. and i wouldn't want to disappoint them
82. perhaps i could put together some sort of marathon costume
83. now i am really excited
84. more spring in my step
85. better circulation
86. exercise is good for me
87. you gotta get strong to be strong
88. some people run for their whole lives
89. and seem to love it
90. i could run with friends one day
91. i could use races as excuses to visit far away friends
92. this marathon would be special
93. there's no time like the present
94. no, really, this is the best possible time. when will i ever have this much flexibility again?
95. i am a housewife with no kids. come on.
96. what if i love it?
97. what if it changes my life?
98. it will impress my crush
99. once you run a marathon, you are a runner. forever. period.
100. and runners are good looking.

Hmm. Not a panacea, but a fun little exercise. You try it. If you're still reading, which I secretly hope you're not because you are real bored if you are.

For a good time

Go here and discover your horrifying likeness.

I did.
So did Ryan.

See how fun? Go ahead. Waste a few minutes. When you see how ugly you look as a Simpson's character, you'll thank me.