Exciting Life of CPA's

Overheard This Week

2012-02-03T12:34:00.000-08:00

At Home

Daniel: Molly's poop is weird when we feed her chicken and rice.

Over IM

Bekah: Hey, do you know that restaurant FoxFire or something like that? The one that's one Imperial and the 91 with the big flame on top of the roof?

Daniel: Yeah.

Bekah: I hear it's supposed to be a cougar hotspot on Friday and Saturday nights. Can we got there so I can use you as cougar bait and see if that's true?

Daniel: ...

At Work

Bekah: Ouch...ouch...ouch.

Boss: What's wrong?

Bekah: We did max weight clean and jerks at the gym this morning and my legs are protesting any further movement for the rest of the day.

Boss: You did max weight clean and jerks. While wearing sparkly pink nail polish. That's...ummm...

Bekah: I think the word you are looking for is "awesome."

P.S. Because Kelly asked so sweetly, I will be posting the food I've been eating during the Whole 30 Challenge on Saturdays. Possibly with recipes. Possibly not as some of my recipes are simply "toss stuff in the oven and cook it 'til it won't kill you."

Updates

2012-02-01T15:44:00.000-08:00

I need to pack more snacks to eat at work during this Whole 30 Challenge so that I don't spend 15 minutes telling myself to step away from the day old donuts sitting in an empty cubicle near me. Or maybe I'm hungry because of the workout this morning instead of the different food? Burpees and walking lunges while holding a 45 pound barbell over your head will definitely kick up the ol' appetite.

Is it possible to have a sugar withdrawal headache? If so, then I have one. If not, would someone please explain why, after Office Services ergonom-ified my cubicle, my shoulders are still tight and I have a headache.

Oh never mind. The headache might be from the overhead walking lunges.

Two of my favorite yoga instructors are pregnant. I should do yoga more often...

We are in that beautiful lull in the corporate accounting world where we have the work of finalizing the trial balance done and the auditors haven't shown up yet to ask questions. It is a wonderful thing. A wonderful thing that will be wrecked in a week and a half when the auditors show up.

My father is better and he will be released to go back to work in a few weeks where he will most likely do everything the doctors tell him not to do.

I am in the midst of a bit of an emotional upheaval where my father and his wife are concerned. I answered some of her questions with a brutal honesty that I do not regret, but desperately wish was not necessary. Because of that, I call my father and wait for an angry outburst when he learns it is me on the phone. It hasn't happened yet.

Daniel is going back to Guam soon and conveniently won't be around for Valentine's Day. He thought he would get off easy this year, but I'm making him take me out this weekend instead. I told him to come up with something romantic and he said we were going to buy him new pants for work.

If that's not the definition of romance, I don't know what is.

Whole 30 Challenge

2012-01-30T13:20:00.000-08:00

Obviously I don't have enough to complain about in life because I've decided to do a Whole 30 Challenge to make my life just a tad more miserable.

During the week I follow Paleo pretty well. On the weekend I follow "eat whatever sounds good and can be found at the grocery store on my way home from the gym Saturday morning" in a very impressive way. Impressive in it's absolute non-Paleo-ishness.

And I wonder why I always feel like junk Sunday and Monday.

So I'm doing a Whole 30 Challenge. 30 days of strict Paleo. Initially I said I was going to do it through February but even with it being a Leap Year this year, that would only be 29 days and nobody's heard of a Whole 29 Challenge.

I put my awesome math skills to use, I am an accountant after all, and realized that I would need to start the Whole 30 Challenge on January 31st. Which is tomorrow. Which means I have one night left to eat giant bars of dark chocolate and tubs of coconut milk ice cream before I start. Which means I will be a bloated, cranky mess tomorrow.

Yay!

Daniel is so excited!

So excited to go to Guam where he can avoid my sugar withdrawal temper tantrums.

In the spirit of Whole 30-ness, I present this flowchart that Kelly shared with me on Facebook. It pretty much lays out my life for the next 30 days.

Source
Click to make the image bigger so you can read my favorite line "Corn is a grain, knucklehead."

Polite and Respectful

2012-01-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

We have a relatively new staff working in my department. When he started, he was a polite, respectful, go-getter ready to learn and prove himself as a hard worker who was up for any challenge.

And then they made him work for me.

And now he's none of those things.

Well, he's still hard working and I frequently have to tell him to leave on Fridays when he tries to work past 5:30.

Don't believe me? See for yourselves.

Staff: Are you wearing a Snuggie?

Bekah: Excuse me?? What are you doing over here? Did you wander down to my high real estate cubicle near the window to insult me? Go back to you dark corner and finish working.

Staff: It totally looks like you're wearing a Snuggie and I can't wait to tell everyone!

Bekah: Just wait until I tell my mother-in-law that the cashmere wrap she bought me looks like a Snuggie.

OK, maybe it's my fault that he isn't polite and respectful any more.

Retreat!

2012-01-25T09:21:00.000-08:00

I'm back! I had a "vacation" from work yesterday in the form of a migraine that left me curled up in bed refusing aspirin from Daniel who couldn't think of anything else to make me feel better that didn't involve a brain transplant.

Last week at work all of the investment analysts and partners in my department came to Irvine for a "retreat." They came from all the weird corners of the world where they work on a day to day basis. These are the people who spend their days shaking hands, kissing babies, and trying to not get shot by angry mafia guys in seedy back offices in Russia. They make the deals that keep us in business. They bring in the money. They make the big bucks. They have the glamorous jobs.

We yell at them for not giving us receipts with their expense reports. We are not in the least bit glamorous.

When the retreat started on Tuesday, it became clear that I was a crowd favorite. Mostly because there are only three women in our department and one of them couldn't make it to dinner the first night and the other is pretty much in charge of the department which makes her everyone's boss.

I won the popularity contest by default. Whatever. I'll take what I can get.

The week before the retreat, one of my senior managers kept reminding us that we were to use every opportunity with the investment analysts/partners to build our business network and talk to them about all things private equity related.

That was a great thought...in theory. In reality, these guys didn't want to talk about work at all. They wanted to talk about anything but work because their lives are completely consumed by work 24/7.

So I wound up talking to them about their travels and vacations and families and movies and all manner of trivial things that would likely get me in trouble for not making the most of my business networking opportunity.

But it was because of my unconventional business networking that I heard one of the best stories of the retreat. A story that I will share with you.

One of the first investments our department made in Russia was a microbrewery, which sounds like a phenomenal idea because Russians like to drink but apparently they prefer to drink vodka. This posed a rather large problem for our investment team and the management of the microbrewery.

Then they hatched a plan. A plan that would save the day and bring the name of their microbrew to the tips of the tongues of Russians everywhere.

They hired models from Iceland, flew them into Moscow and St. Petersberg. The models were paid to go to bars and clubs all over the city, flirt with men and ask them to buy them that specific microbrew from the bar. If the bar didn't carry that microbrew, the men would demand that the bartenders buy some and stock it in the bar at all times.

A few weeks later, the models flew home and bars all over Russia carried the microbrew.

I might have taken some literary liberties with this conversation

2012-01-20T09:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I donated blood.

Yesterday I felt like being a grown up with my post about donating blood. Well, a grown up that wants to beat work with a lead pipe.

Today I feel like being an emotional pre-teen on the verge of major body image issues. Here's why!

Before you donate blood, the nurses ask you a series of basic questions, take your temp and jab your finger with a rusty nail, squeeze out a trickle of blood and test how much iron is in your blood. I think I need a tetanus shot and it's quite possible that my excessive leafy green intake is turning me into Iron Girl.

Then it came to the dreaded "what's your height and weight" question.

Nurse: How much do you weigh?
Bekah: Uhhhh....blah, blah, blah....uhhhh....
Nurse: No way! You weigh that much? Really?? You look thinner. Are you sure???
Bekah: I want to punch you in the face right now.
Nurse: How tall are you? I just can't believe that's what you weigh. You don't look it.
Bekah: I'm 5'8", jerkface.
Nurse: Oh, then that's OK.
Bekah: Where do you live? I'm going to have my dog poop all over your yard every day for the rest of my life.

I've been working out fairly regularly for a year now. Sometimes I am super careful about my diet and sometimes I'm not. Over the course of the year, my bodyfat percentage has dropped a whopping 8 percent. My weight has changed 1 pound.

1. Stupid. Pound.

How is that even possible? Why has my weight not gone down? Why do I have ridiculously tiny nurses telling me that I'm built like a brick (and not in a good "she's a briiiiiickkkk...houuuuuse" sort of way)?

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Stellaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

I'm trying very hard to not let that conversation get to me. Weight is just a number. I fit into my clothes better...the same clothes I was wearing 6 years ago when I graduated college. I am healthier and stronger than I've ever been. I'm smarter about what I eat (most of the time). Heck, I just got my best time ever on a 5K when I finished in less than 29 minutes.

I'm trying to not let it get the best of me. But I'm afraid I'm failing at the moment.

Today

2012-01-19T13:46:00.000-08:00

Today I donated blood and might have teared up a little bit thinking about how many blood donors helped my father a few weeks ago which might have made the nurse concerned that I was going to faint or puke or demand to have the needle taken out of my arm so I could run back to the safety of my cubicle with my red blood cells safely stored in my body but instead turned into a 30 minute long discussion between me and three nurses about how important it is to take care of your health from a young age and to give back to other people, even if it is something as simple as donating blood.

Longest sentence ever.

I refused to sign up for the raffle that would give one lucky blood donor a $100 gas card. I didn't want to be rewarded for donating blood. The past actions of other donors who unknowingly helped my father was reward enough.

I did take the coupon for a free Flamebroiler bowl because Daniel loves that place.

Except then I noticed it was a coupon for a mini bowl and Daniel doesn't eat anything that comes in a "mini bowl" so I am going to use it and I guess I did just wind up rewarding myself.

Dang it!

Speaking of Daniel, he has worked for the past eleven days straight and will likely work both Saturday and Sunday this weekend, bringing his total up to 14 days and counting.

I despise Busy Season for how tired it makes my husband.

Busy Season should be taken out back and beaten with a lead pipe until it screams "Uncle" and promises to give us back our sanity and lost weekends.

But with my luck, Busy Season would get a transfusion of my donated blood, regain enough strength to sue me for aggravated assault and then I would wind up in the slammer where they don't let you donate blood or eat Flamebroiler.

Guess I better come up with a new plan.

Hate Mail

2012-01-17T09:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the day off so I cleaned the house, poked the dog while she tried to nap and watched a shameful amount of Gossip Girl episodes on Netflix.

Go ahead and judge me. I deserve it.

To make up for my terrible taste in television, I decided to bring the trash cans back in from the curb so Daniel didn't have to do it when he got home at 10:00pm.

Go ahead and give me a "best wife of the year" award. I deserve it. Probably.

Most likely not.

Molly and I went out to the front curb and were greeted by three girls who live in our neighborhood. I greeted them. Molly jumped all over their knee caps and tried to convince them to take her home and feed her junk food.

After the girls doted on Molly and dashed her hopes of a cushy life surrounded by pre-teen bliss, one of the girls said "you have something at your front door."

What I found was shocking.

My first experience with hate mail. Ever.

Hide your babies...they shouldn't be exposed to this.

Do not copy poem!
Angels are red.
Dodgers are blue.
BOO to the Dodgers
and the Dodgers fans to.

Oh the humanity!!!

Baseball fury claims yet another neighborhood.

Although, I guess I should be impressed that at least one of those little miscreants was paying attention to the "do not plagiarize other people's work" part of their English class.

Why Women Need Fat

2012-01-12T21:41:00.000-08:00

Fat.

I have a love/hate relationship with fat. Fat in ice cream? Delicious. Fat in ice cream that lands on my thighs and makes my jeans tight? Demonic.

That's why the title of Dr. Lassek and Dr. Gaulin's book, Why Women Need Fat, caught my eye. I need fat? Really? So my bubble butt is a good thing?

Yes and no. Throughout the book, the good doctors explain why women require a higher body fat percentage than men and why the shift to "healthier low fat" food has actually made us fatter instead of thinner and sicker instead of healthier. And Dr. Gaulin, who is an anthropology professor, adds commentary here and there to show how women's bodies and diets have changed from ancient Mesopotamia, Denmark in the 1600's and today here in the good ol' U S of A.

All in all, I enjoyed this book although it did get a little technical at times. If you have the time, give it a read and feel a little bit better about your thunder thighs. If you don't have thunder thighs, then please come to my house and tell me all of your secrets. If you only have a little time, check out the discussions on BlogHer about Why Women Need Fat.

I was compensated to review this book for BlogHer, but the thoughts and opinions in the review are my own.

I think I better bake some cookies

2012-01-12T12:20:00.000-08:00

I'm having an unexpected and delayed reaction to my father's hospitalization and all of the resulting emotional and physical stress.

I told Daniel that he could never get sick. Ever. I'm not joking. If he gets a cold, I'm demanding a refund.

I agreed to eat some weird honey that my MIL gave me that is made by a weird bee that lives in a weird tree in Australia because it supposedly has an antibacterial quality that helps people avoid getting ulcers. The honey, that is. Although I'm sure the bees and trees are perfectly wonderful in their own way.

I cry at random things.

I have no appetite and have to make myself eat, but I could down a dozen oatmeal scotchies in about 2 minutes flat if they were in front of me. Or within 20 miles of my current location.

I wake up in the middle of the night thinking that I heard the ventilator alarm go off.

So this is my motto for today.

source

And this will likely be my motto for tomorrow after I eat an entire batch of Paleo chocolate chip cookies by myself.

I need a tutu. Sorry, no source because I stole it from a friend on Facebook.

Why I Can't Go To Virginia

2012-01-11T12:20:00.000-08:00

It was Monday night and we were running on precious little sleep while hanging out in our father's CICU room so we could hijack his television and watch something other than the pre-Iowa caucus news that was running non-stop in the waiting room.

Don't worry. He was sedated. I'm sure he didn't mind watching Family Guy and The Big Bang Theory.

I needed caffeine to get me through the rest of the evening and since the coffee shop in the hospital was closed, I went to a vending machine.

The day before, my sister had shown me how to get to the room that had both Pepsi and Coke vending machines. But then I forgot how to get there because I'm terrible with directions and people kept telling me things like "It's on the east side of the hospital" or "head south from the elevators."

Apparently I'm the only person on the planet who can't tell north from a bug's arse.

So I went to the only place that sold caffeine and wouldn't require rescue dogs to track me down later.

It only had a Coke machine.

I told my sister that was the reason I bought the Diet Coke and I was so deliriously exhausted that I would suffer through drinking the whole bottle.

I fibbed.

I prefer Diet Coke.

Have I mentioned yet that my sister works for Pepsi?

And that this picture somehow made its way to her boss and now I've been banned from setting foot in Virginia because her boss will hunt me down and kick my tail all around their shiny Pepsi plant?

Resolutions

2012-01-10T17:11:00.000-08:00

“No, I don’t think you need to come. It doesn’t sound that serious and it will just be an in-and-out trip.”

That was me tempting fate a few weeks ago when I learned my father was in the hospital and Daniel offered to make the trip back to Kansas City with me.

Nobody thought it was as serious as it was when I booked my flight.

Fate kicked us up and down the block.

Saturday he was sick and bleeding internally, but awake and talking to us and in a good mood.

Sunday I arrived at the hospital early enough to catch his doctor on rounds and learn that he was being transferred to a hospital in Kansas City. My heart sank a little. His condition was worse than the little country hospital could handle and the doctors were finally admitting that to themselves. They were going to send him to a larger hospital. The same hospital that my uncle was transferred to nine years ago. The same hospital my uncle died in a few hours after he was transferred.

My heart sank a lot, actually. But he was still talking and laughing and dozing a little from the morphine shot he had just received.

“Get the nurse” was the last coherent thing he said that day.

After he coded and was revived, he was in shock (I hope) and asking the doctors to help him because he was dying.

I called my momma in hysterics because that’s what people do when they stand in a cold hospital hallway and watch something like that and need to be calmed down enough to make a 45 minute drive into the city.

The doctors in Kansas City spent six hours trying to stabilize him. We were told by three different doctors that he might not live. My grandmother cried once…only once. She’s a strong woman. I didn’t cry. I’m not strong enough to stop when I start.

He had a procedure to slow down the bleeding so he could be stabilized. Eight hours after we arrived, we finally saw him. Lying sedated in a CICU bed and on a ventilator. He never looked more like my grandfather than he did in that bed.

Monday he had surgery and was finally declared “stable but critical.” Tuesday they removed the vent. Wednesday he was moved out of ICU and I started breathing again. Thursday I flew home and went straight to work because I couldn’t stand the thought of being home by myself. Friday I went back to work. Saturday and Sunday I slept.

Now it’s Tuesday and I am getting around to my Resolutions. I won’t call them New Year Resolutions because I’m going to make sure they stick around longer than a year.

I resolve to never take aspirin again unless I just can’t find another solution to stop the pain.

I resolve to take care of my body. For me, for Daniel and for our future children.

I resolve to do everything I can to make sure my children don’t go through a similar situation when I am 60 years old.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

2011-12-29T13:02:00.000-08:00

Looks like we will be spending New Year's in freezy-breezy Kansas City instead of the Happiest Place on Earth.

My father was admitted to the hospital for a health problem that has reared it's ugly head again and again over the past few years. Add in a new thing and you've got a recipe for a real stinker of a New Year's Eve party for the poor guy.

So while I freeze my tookus off trying to convince my father that he should maybe consider taking better care of himself, I'm gonna need you to party it up for me!

And, Mom, this does not, I repeat DOES NOT, require a trip to Ybor City, but feel free to go if you really want.

See you next year!

Internet Poll

2011-12-28T08:50:00.000-08:00

Good morning, fair Blogger Readers!

I took this picture of Molly last night while she was pouting in the floor at Daniel's feet. Daniel and I each have our theory as to why she was pouting. Which do you think is right?

A) She doesn't feel well after someone's aunt fed her approximately 4 pounds of chicken jerky on Christmas Day.

B) She is concerned over the ramifications of North Korea's new leadership.

C) She feels unloved and unwanted and quick turn on the heater because obviously she's freezing to death and no I don't care if it's 75 degrees outside!!

A - Bekah. B - Molly. C - Daniel.

Happy...Merry...Whatever

2011-12-23T14:10:00.000-08:00

I'm a little tired of the Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas debate. So I'll just say that I hope you have a fabulous weekend no matter where you are, what you are doing, or what you may or may not be celebrating.

Don't bicker about the little things. Bicker about whether fudge is better with or without nuts. That is much more important than world politics.

Enjoy spending time with family. Or enjoy not spending time with family.

Have a blast opening presents. Or don't open a single one and relish the fact that you won't be finding wrapping paper in weird places around your house for days.

Eat until you explode and enjoy every morsel of naughty goodness. Or stick to your diet and lord your accomplishments over all the rest of us later.

Whatever you do this weekend, remember this fact of life.

I take terrible pictures...always have...always will.

That's me in the middle. I think my bottle was filled with spiked egg nog that day.

Presently Panic-Stricken

2011-12-21T14:12:00.000-08:00

I finished Daniel's Christmas shopping today.

Replace "I" with "Daniel" and you have my ideal Christmas present.

I don't like to shop under normal circumstances, but when you throw in the pressure of trying to think of a present to give people who have practically everything, need very little, but still expect to get something spectacular and you have me in a perpetual state of panic.

Dear Family: Have I told you how happy I am that we don't do Christmas presents?

SOOOOOOOOOOOO FLAPPIN' HAPPY.

Daniel and I sometimes get each other presents and sometimes we don't, but when we do, we have a rational discussion about what each person wants/needs and then we have irrational discussions about how I think I should get all presents early.

I bake for his extended family and they are thrilled to get biscotti every year. I'm thrilled because I never again have to think of something new to get them.

Daniel's parents are the hard ones to shop for. We quickly decided on the perfect gift for his dad, but then ordered it too late, so it's going to end up as a Chinese New Years present instead of a Christmas present. His mom was another story. We just bought her present today after I harassed Daniel for a month or two about thinking of something. I got so involved in the harassing that I came up with a few ideas of my own.

10 pounds of potato chips

Fruit of the month club membership

Cheese of the month club membership

Potato ricer so my MIL can't tell me that she doesn't know how to make mashed potatoes any more

Yosemite Sam mudflaps for the Hummer

Bigger mousetraps because I have a feeling they are trying to catch an R.O.U.S with a teensy trap

Grandkid

He said "no" to every single one of them and that is why I'm such a Grinch this time of year. It's all because Daniel won't let me buy someone 10 pounds of potato chips.

Relationship Advice - Placemat Edition

2011-12-19T14:08:00.000-08:00

Daniel and I spent last weekend in Fresno with his parents and his mom's family.

Oh, did I mention that Daniel's home?

He is.

Until he leaves again in January and I stage a protest in front of his office wearing a sandwich board that reads "Free the Auditor!" which will confuse everyone who isn't an auditor because people tend to think that the only auditors who exist are IRS auditors and we all know that nobody wants them free to wander the streets, denying deductions at every step.

Moving on.

We spent the weekend in Fresno eating Chinese food. Chinese food in Fresno is several steps below the Chinese food we can get here in LA. It is about a billion steps above the Chinese food available in Ottawa, Kansas though, so at least they've got that going for them.

Saturday evening it was the traditional 10 course meal followed by dessert at Daniel's uncle's house. Dessert was the much anticipated Dream Cake. Turns out Dream Cake is chocolate cake that tastes like cardboard with whipped cream instead of frosting. The whipped cream was good. The cardboard cake wasn't so good, so I didn't have any. My MIL started begging me to make a Dream Cake for the dinner she's hosting next week.

I said yes, but only if I can actually make a Better Dream Cake because I DO NOT serve cardboard chocolate cake.

Sunday morning we went out for dim sum. While we were waiting for the food carts to come by, I glanced down at the placemat in front of me.

It was the typical Chinese Zodiac placemat that you can, in fact, find in a Chinese restaurant in Ottawa, Kansas.

Daniel is a Rabbit, the luckiest of zodiac symbols.

I am a Sheep or a Goat, depending on which placemat you have. I am not the luckiest of zodiac symbols, but maybe this means I could eat a tin can if I tried really hard?

According to this placemat, Sheep and Rabbits are the best pairing, aside from the obvious "those would be some weird looking kids" issue.

I've never felt more validated in my marriage.

Or concerned for our future children's faces and body hair situations.

Tale of the Tape

2011-12-16T16:02:00.000-08:00

Remember when I was dumb and hurt my back doing a billion deadlifts?

I took things easy and let the muscle in my back heal up. Or so I thought. Part of Tuesday's workout was to row 500 meters. Five times. With some other things in the middle.

The first few rounds felt great but then they started to not feel so great in that same darn spot. I finished the workout anyway because I'm a lunatic.

My deadlift loving chiropractor saw me and had me do some stretches to loosen up the muscle in my back, but it wasn't quite enough to relax and straighten out my back. I talked to the trainer who owns the gym and she said that when she hurt her back, it took 8 to 9 months for her to really heal. Ugh.

While I wait for an eternity of muscle healing, I decided to go back to my deadlift loving chiropractor.

Deadlift loving chiropractor: Well, you have that torn muscle that keeps spasming, which is causing the pain. And that is pulling your sacrum out of alignment which is causing more pain and stiffness.

Bekah: My sacrum. My butt is out of alignment. That's just weird enough to be the kind of thing that happens to me.

Deadlift loving chiropractor: Yeah, I'm starting to realize that.

Bekah: Is there anything else we can try?

Deadlift loving chiropractor: There's always the alien tape.

Bekah: Alien tape?? Sign me up!!

It's actually SpiderTech Tape that athletes use to help stabilize their joints and relieve muscle pain. Honestly, I wasn't sure if it would work, but within a few hours of putting it on, I felt amazingly better.

Even if it does sort of look like an alien is snaking up my back with it's creepy crawly tentacles.

Procrastination at it's worst

2011-12-14T10:50:00.000-08:00

My MIL's family is getting together in Fresno this weekend to celebrate Christmas. They usually do it a little early to accommodate all of the other family plans they have on Christmas Eve/Day.

I think it's great. It shows that they can share. And be respectful of other people's family commitments beyond themselves.

Last year I made biscotti for each family as the gift from Daniel and I. The biscotti was, surprisingly, a hit, so I decided that I would bake again this year to save me the trauma of going Christmas shopping.

I like to bake even now that I'm not eating grains and can't eat any of the things I normally bake. Baking is fun. Baking is calming. Baking makes the house smell amazing.

But I've come to realize that baking is only fun and calming when you have a clue what you want to bake.

I'm stuck.

I can't decide.

I'm procrastinating.

Thank goodness I took Friday off of work to spend time with Daniel when he gets home. Now he gets to spend the day watching me furiously bake because I haven't done one darn thing to get ready.

I need recipe ideas and a shopping list...ASAP!!

Prescription Woes

2011-12-12T13:59:00.000-08:00

My company's medical insurance uses a mail pharmacy system where you send the company a copy of your prescription and a week or so later a nondescript box with medicine in it is delivered to your house from Las Vegas.

It’s not seedy at all.

Several weeks ago, I went to the doctor and had her write me a new prescription because my refills had run out. She whipped out her little pad, scribbled something completely illegible that I hoped the seedy mail order company could read so I wouldn’t die unexpectedly, and I stuck the piece of paper in my purse.

Then I cleaned out my purse and accidentally threw the piece of paper away.

Then I freaked out.

Then I called the seedy mail order company and asked them to call my doctor’s office and request that a copy be sent to them directly. They said sure, but two weeks later I still didn’t have my nondescript box filled with medicine based on a prescription they could hopefully read.

I called the seedy mail order company back and was told that they couldn’t get a copy because they have to initiate calls for prescriptions through their automated system and their system wasn’t letting them call because they had called once before and been told no.

At this point, I was getting dangerously close to needing my refills, so I decided to bypass the seedy mail order company and take a copy of the prescription to a Rite Aid down the street from my house.

I called my doctor and asked them to send a copy of the prescription to the Rite Aid. They said sure. Saturday I went to Rite Aid and asked for my medicine. They said they didn’t have any medicine for me, but Christmas ornaments were on sale and maybe I would want some of those instead?

Being the Scrooge that I am, I left with no medicine, no ornaments and in a terrible mood with thoughts of dead sugar plum fairies dancing through my head.

This morning I called my doctor’s office and told them what happened at Rite Aid. They said “nope, we faxed the prescription to them, it must be their fault.” I asked what fax number they used and it turns out they were using the pharmacy’s phone number instead of the fax number.

Right about then is when I started to bang my head on my desk a few times and asked them to resend the prescription to Rite Aid. They said they couldn’t because they have an automated system that wouldn’t let them fax a prescription twice.

What the heck is up with these bossy automated systems??

The only thing I could do at that point was to drive up to the doctor’s office during my lunch break and pick up a copy of the prescription myself.

Grudgingly, I agreed to get there no later than 11:45 to pick up that lousy piece of paper.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have a problem making that trip during my lunch break. But it is raining today and people in LA are incapable of keeping control of their overpriced and oversized vehicles in the rain.

A drive that would normally take 20 minutes took 45 and I was almost side swiped three times because people changed lanes too fast and hydroplaned. At 11:59 I pulled up to the doctor’s office and sprinted inside to the receptionist’s desk. I breathlessly told her who I was and why I was there and she said…

“Oh, we don’t give patients copies of their prescriptions.”

And then I punched her in the head.

Not really. But I wanted to.

Finally, a nurse came up and said “Oh, this is for you.” while she pulled a piece of paper off the desk that was sitting mere millimeters from the receptionist’s fingers.

I put the piece of paper in my purse, darted through the rain and drove back to work.

I sure hope I don’t decide to clean out my purse between now and 6:30pm when I get to Rite Aid to have this darn prescription filled.

When he's gone

2011-12-08T12:53:00.000-08:00

I've realized this week that when Daniel is out of town, I feel more homesick than normal. He's my grounding force here in California. He's the reason it...sort of...feels like home. Without him and his "but I grew up here and I've never lived anywhere that is more than 20 miles from the house I grew up in and what would I do in Kansas??" mentality, I would not be living in California. I would have hightailed my redneck hiney back to the Midwest where I feel at home.

Southern California doesn't really feel like home to me. It's just too different from Kansas. I can go to Texas or Missouri and feel at home. They are similar enough to Kansas. So Cal...ummm...I'm surprised they share a space on the same planet, quite honestly.

So when Daniel's gone, I get mopey and listen to country music all day at work and think about ways to convince him to move.

Molly said she wanted to move to Texas. Yes she did! I swear! It's a shame you weren't around to hear it for yourself.

This week has been no exception.

Until I was driving home last night and saw this.

Yes. That is a car with a giant pink ape strapped on its roof.
Yes. It is as amazing as you think.
Yes. I need to wash my windshield.

Then I spent the rest of the night cracking up whenever I thought of that giant pink ape rolling down a giant LA freeway.

Not So Wordless Wednesday

2011-12-07T16:59:00.000-08:00

I'm fairly certain that I am incapable of doing a Wordless Wednesday. People think I started a blog for a "creative outlet" or to "enhance my writing skills". No. I started a blog because I could just write the inane things that pop into my head instead of directing a constant stream of conversation at my family and friends until they scream "please, please, please just shut up!"

I saw this picture today and was amazed. I have seen several documentaries, movies and photos from the day Pearl Harbor was attacked, but you see so few things that exhibit the strength of the women who were there that day in such an awe inspiring way..

It's been 70 years and there are fewer and fewer people walking with us who remember that day, but that doesn't mean we should forget.

source

They left me in charge again...bad idea

2011-12-05T16:10:00.000-08:00

I've been working on a project at work that required me to reach out to 500+ investors in our fund and ask them to send me their personal banking information on a signed form that allows us to give and take money directly from their account.

Two things.

1 - I'm not sure who decided it was a good idea to put me in charge of this because having so much personal information that I'm responsible for is slowly making me go insane. I kid you not, I wake up in the middle of the night thinking that I left a wire authorization form on my desk for the cleaning crew to see and steal all of the money out of a vice president's Swiss bank account. And it will be all my fault and I will spend the rest of my life in jail without even getting the chance to steal the money myself and live my last few days of freedom on a beach on my own private island.

2 - People are incredibly trusting. They just give me their checking account information over the phone. Me. A complete stranger. Because I said I worked for the right person. Good thing my momma raised me right.

For the past month, I have been gathering all of this information, sending it to our bank, helping the bank perform tests to make sure we will wire money to the correct accounts and resolving any issues that arise.

The last part means that I make a LOT of phone calls to tell people that they do not, in fact, know their own banking information and they should probably talk to their nice banker or money manager and get me the right info or else some other random person will be getting their money on Friday.

Last week I left a message for a senior officer in our London office.

He called me back this morning.

Bekah: Hello, this is Bekah.

Senior Officer: Hello sweetheart, I'm calling with my bank information.

Sweetheart? Cheer-io then, let's get this started!

Bekah: Well, I think I have everything I need. Thank you so much for calling me with this information.

Senior Officer: No, thank you, dear! You have a good day, darling.

Now, under normal circumstances, it would weird me out a little bit to have my boss call me sweetheart, dear and darling in the span of two minutes.

Not unlike that time a partner at my old job gave me a random backrub while I was standing in the doorway of another partner's office talking about boring tax stuff. A low backrub. Like, only Daniel and a trained professional can do a backrub that low without getting the series of moves my mother-in-law taught me used on them.

But this guy...no weirdness what-so-ever after the initial shock passed.

Was it not weird because of the refined British accent? Possibly.

Was it not weird because I grew up in Kansas where everyone called me dear or honey? Most likely.

Either way, I've decided that a British accent will save you from a harassment suit any day of the week.

"I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair"

2011-12-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

All the South Pacific fans sing along with me!

Yes, I’m a show tunes loving nerd, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles around here.

Mmmm…cookies…

Daniel found out a couple of weeks ago that his firm has a shiny new client. A shiny new client in Guam.

I had to look it up on the map because I had no idea where the heck Guam is and I felt much better about my general intelligence and education after finding out that it is a tiny speck in the Pacific Ocean that’s kinda, sorta close to the Philippines. Seriously...who would know where that tiny island is without looking it up?

This is a run-down of how Daniel decided to tell me that he has a shiny new client in Guam and will be travelling there a few times a year.

Daniel: So we got that new client?

Daniel’s Boss: Yep.

Daniel: Guess I better tell Bekah that I’m going to Guam.

Daniel’s Boss and Staff: YOU HAVEN’T TOLD HER YET??

Daniel: Nah, I like to live in the moment.

Later that night.

Daniel: You would want to go back to Japan at some point. Right?

Bekah: Sure, I would love to go to Tokyo or see other parts of the country. Why?

Daniel: Well, I was thinking that it would be a good spot for us to meet since it will be halfway for me.

Bekah: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING THAT JAPAN IS HALFWAY HOME??

Daniel: Oh yeah, I guess I should tell you that we got that new client in Guam and I’ll be going there next month.

Bekah: You better come home with an amazing present for me.

Arrangements were made, the wife and dog were consoled, parental units were informed and soon we found ourselves staring down the barrel of Daniel’s impending departure.

Bekah: I was telling a few people at the gym that you’re going to Guam for two weeks and they said “That’s terrible!! What are you going to do while he’s gone??” and I said “ummm…pretty much the same things I do when he’s home…except without the kissing” and now they think I’m heartless.

Bekah: Oh, by the way, I’m going to use your car while you’re gone.

Daniel: You should have said “count the hours until he comes back.” Instead I get “by the way, I’m stealing your car.”

Bekah: I’m only driving it because sitting in your car will remind me of you and make me feel closer to you while you’re gone.

Daniel: Don't give me that. You just want to save the wear and tear on your car!

Bekah: Nooooo!!!! That’s not true.

Bekah: It’s because your car uses less gas than mine.

P.S. If things keep going this way, I’m going to need to get Daniel a present when he comes home instead of the other way around.

P.P.S. Brace yourselves for two weeks of "I can't believe Daniel up and left me for two weeks and the dog is so cranky and sad that he's gone that she keeps waking me up at 2am to play" posts.

Tales from a Texas Thanksgiving - Volume 3

2011-11-30T16:40:00.000-08:00

We cooked, baked and ate good food. We elbowed our way through crowds and ate even more good food. We got stuck in traffic and separated from the lead car with the one and only person who knew how to get home.

We realized too late that I had turned left down a one-way street when I should have kept going straight.

“No problem”, I said with hope in my heart and a song on my lips. “We’ll just go around the block and get back on the street we should be on.”

Hope left me and my song turned to quiet but furious cursing when, half an hour later, I was still stuck on the wrong street because all of the cross-streets I wanted to turn on were closed due to pedestrians and we were slowly but surely heading away from the highway entrance ramp that would take us home.

We became delirious from the traffic and police officers who thought it would be less confusing to direct traffic. Except they directed traffic exactly opposite from the stop lights and I kinda-sorta-almost ran one over while I was on the phone with Daniel saying “stop calling and asking me if we’re on the highway yet because we aren’t and you asking that is depressing me!!”

We became so delirious in fact, that my MIL started telling us the moves she learned in a self-defense class in case we were attacked. Sitting in our car. Surrounded by witnesses and police officers.

“All you need to do is poke them in the eyes, kick them in the ball with your knee, smash your foot down on their feet and run away.”

And then my aunt said:

“Only kick them in one ball? That takes some skill!”

And then my mom started hyperventilating because people kept saying “ball.”

And then my MIL said:

“Yep just kick them in the ball with your knee!”

And then my aunt said:

“But you have to make sure that you do it hard enough to really hurt them otherwise you’ll just make them mad and then you’re really in trouble.”

And then my mom stopped breathing.

And then my MIL said:

“Kick them really hard in the ball!”

And then my aunt texted the instructions to my cousin with no explanation at all and we all had a good time laughing when my cousin texted back "WHHHHAAAAAAATTTTT???"

And then my mom started breathing again just so she could hyperventilate again.

And then I said a silent prayer that my MIL would stop saying “ball” already because you can hear your tiny MIL say that once or twice before you want to rip your ears off.

And then my uncle called and gave us an alternate route to get home and while he was on the phone giving us instructions, we saw the entrance sign for the freeway we wanted to take and everyone started screaming…

“Turn!!! Turn!! Don’t miss it!! Turn now!! YAY!! WE MADE IT ON THE FREEWAY”

But to my uncle it just sounded like several cats were in a bag getting beaten with a lead pipe and he kept saying “hello??” and sounding like he was starting to worry for our sanity.

Finally we made it back to my grandparent’s house. We all stumbled in the house, collapsed into chairs and started fighting over who could get to the wine bottles first.

Fin

Tales from a Texas Thanksgiving - Volume 2

2011-11-29T15:46:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Day was a day full of food, family and conversation. Friday was a day full of food, site seeing and traffic.

We started the day off splitting into the classic “boys versus girls” teams to do some shopping. The guys went to Bass Pro Shop and the gals went to the Shops at La Cantera to drool over stuff that even Santa can’t afford.

After a few purchases and a lot of drooling, we met up with the guys for a quick lunch where Daniel announced “Oh yeah, I bought a Kimber.”

And shortly after that, I regained my breath and sanity again and said “Fine, but good luck getting that gun back into California. Don’t come crying to me when airport security has you locked in a deep dark dungeon somewhere.”

He didn’t, in fact, buy the gun but he most certainly was coveting it as it sat all shiny and new in a gun case.

Somehow, I managed to not buy every See’s Candy cinnamon lollipop sitting on the cart mere feet from me. I’m not sure how that happened exactly, but my rear end is thankful.

Finally we elbowed our way out of the Black Friday shopping crowds and jumped in our cars to head downtown to the relative calm of the Alamo.

Except the tiny Alamo was packed and as far from calm as I had ever seen it. Heck, there was even a Fire Department Band on a stage next to a giant tree that, as luck would have it, was going to be lit later that night after the parade on the Riverwalk.

Can we pick days to be tourists or what?? It was easily the busiest day on the Riverwalk all year and we actually had to wait in line to get into the Alamo. That never happens!

We elbowed our way, reverently of course, through the crowds at the Alamo and made our way to the Riverwalk where we elbowed our way, not so reverently, through the crowds of gawkers.

Daniel saw ducks…he was happy.
My FIL got gelato…he was happy.
Mom bought approximately 2 tons of fudge for my grandparents…they were happy.

Once our elbows were bruised beyond recognition from bouncing off little old ladies’ heads, we decided to head over to Mi Tierra for a Tex-Mex supper. It was DEEE-LIIII-CIOUS. We sent pictures of us eating to my cousin in Florida because it is her favorite restaurant in San Antonio and we are mean and evil people.

And because we were drinking margaritas and everything is funnier with margaritas.

Sufficiently stuffed, we waddled back to our cars to get home. Except to get home, we had to drive through Downtown San Antonio which is full of one way streets and half of those streets were closed off for all of the pedestrians watching the parade and tree lighting. The traffic was terrible. LA levels of terrible-itude and that’s pretty much unheard of for San Antonio.

Finally we were nearing the end of the traffic and one way streets and were about to get on the highway. And that is the exact moment when I got separated from our lead car that was driven by my uncle who just happened to be the only person in both cars who knew where he was going. And then I sorta made a wrong turn, but I’m prepared to swear in court that it was all Daniel’s fault. That man will never learn how to give “girl directions.”

Take this as an example. Wednesday when we were driving to my grandparent's house, he said “what’s the number of your grandmother’s house” and I said “I don’t know, just look for the house with all the frogs in the front yard” and he kept saying “GIVE ME A NUMBER!!” while my mom and I said “no need…there it is…I see all the frogs” and that’s the moment when Daniel lost his will to live.

I was going to tell you the story of us getting lost now, but it would just get too long and my fingers hurt from typing, so I’m going to tell you that one tomorrow.

Preferably after I’ve had a margarita.

Tales from a Texas Thanksgiving - Volume 1

2011-11-28T13:14:00.000-08:00

Just in case anyone was wondering...no, I did not die from a pumpkin pie overdose. Although things did get pretty dicey there for a few seconds when I was lifting a 20 pound cooked turkey out of the roaster.

Daniel and I went to Texas for Thanksgiving to see some of my family and we decided to take his parents along with us.

I'll give that a minute to sink in.

I travelled out of state for the first time with my in-laws. To see my family. Most of whom they had never met before. And I wasn't drunk the entire time! Even though people kept trying to spike my coffee with Kahlua.

My MIL (mother-in-law) was very excited for the trip and wanted to know months in advance what we were going to do, what we were going to eat and where we were going to stay. It drove her bat poop crazy that we didn't plan all of that until the weekend before Thanksgiving, but that's just how my family rolls. We don't over-plan trips, especially when they are trips to see family. It is fully expected that a large portion of time will be spent, in no particular order, eating, cooking, cleaning and talking.

My FIL didn't seem to care what we did as long as there was food involved. He could be happy in an ice hut in Siberia as long as there was a TV and someone to hand him food in regular intervals.

I'm fairly certain that is why my grandfather liked my FIL so much. My FIL is the mini Chinese version of my grandfather!

We all flew into town on Wednesday and started baking desserts while my grandfather showed off the x-rays from his back surgery and compared medications with my FIL.

Thursday the house was full with family and groceries and pots and pans and casserole dishes and one of the most adorable toddlers to ever toddle around my grandmother's kitchen. The garage was turned into a makeshift sauna by the turkey roaster. Wine bottles were open and flowing freely.

We talked our way through a late lunch, the resulting food coma, and the evening raids on the apple and pumpkin pies.

It was a good day. Until my grandmother ate a picked jalapeno pepper slice thinking it was pickled okra and came dangerously close to breathing enough fire to finish cooking the turkey in record time. We spent the rest of the day trying to get Daniel to eat one, but he refused. What a wimp!

Finally, we made shopping and site seeing plans for the next day and went our separate ways to collapse in blobby piles of turkey and mashed potatoes.

When we arrived at our hotel, the front desk clerk asked if we wanted any pie or, heck, how about an entire Thanksgiving dinner? Daniel and I quickly declined because we were fairly certain that if we lifted up our shirts, you could see the outlines of green beans, turkey legs and Honeybaked Ham slices in our stomachs.

My MIL, after a little consideration, decided to take a roll as a midnight snack.

My FIL, after a split second to decide between a white or wheat roll, picked up an entire turkey dinner with a roll and a piece of pie as a midnight snack. I'm not quite sure how he doesn't weigh 300 pounds, but that was the happiest I had seen him all day long.

All was right with the world as Daniel and I, connoisseurs of fine American television, settled in to watch marathons of Storage Wars and American Hoggers.

Tomorrow...history and self-defense lessons.

It was surprisingly unhelpful

2011-11-21T13:41:00.000-08:00

Saturday night Daniel and I went to the LA Auto Show to start the long and painful process of picking out my new car.

While we were driving to the LA Convention Center, I told Daniel that he was going to have to take me out for "make-up supper" because I was pretty sure we would spend the whole time fighting and he would need to bribe his way back into my good graces. Then Daniel mentioned another kind of making up we could do and wiggled his eyebrows around and probably shocked my mother all the way in Florida even though she couldn't hear.

And now she can read about it and is most likely passed out in the floor.

Moving on.

We arrived, paid our fee and walked into the building. I started making my way to the main conference hall when I was suddenly tugged off to an area that looked like it was full of women waiting for their husbands to come out of the restroom, but it was actually an area full of women waiting for their husbands to stop drooling over the Porsche's.

I don't trust my husband enough to let him in there alone. Don't judge me. There are SALES PEOPLE crawling all over the place!

In your dreams, dude.

Finally, I pulled him away from the cars we will never be rich enough to afford and we made our way to the more reasonably priced autos.

Like the Honda CR-V.

Bekah: What about this one? It's cute.

Daniel: No. We already have a sedan.

Bekah: But this is an SUV.

Daniel: No, it's a sedan posing as an SUV. Get serious.

It was going to be a long night...

Daniel realizes that he likes Cadillac Escalades.
Bekah realizes that Daniel is insane.

Bekah realizes that Fiats are the cutest things on the planet.
Daniel realizes that Bekah is insane.

See that white tennis shoe in the bottom left? That's Daniel
about to kick someone out of his dream SUV...
Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8.

Really ugly Mercedes SUV that Daniel thinks we need because it is great for off-roading.
In Orange County.

The ginormous Mercedes SUV(?)...bus(?)...van(?) that I thought we should get until
I found out how much it costs.

Daniel: I like this Land Rover.
Bekah: I don't like the ugly wrap-around back window thingy.
Daniel: THINGY?? I'm going to pretend I don't know you.

I sat in this car and realized that, for the first time ever, a car was making me feel fat.
My head was 2 inches from the ceiling and I kept knocking my elbow on the door.

I think this would be a great idea. It has 4 doors AND I could turn on the
lights and sirens to get through traffic quicker.

What Goes Around Comes Back Around and Lands on Daniel

2011-11-18T08:57:00.000-08:00

I was an exceptionally bright toddler. Or so my mother says.

Want to know why?

Because when I was a toddler, I would toddle around the house carrying toy blocks and looking for a place to hide my prized possession. Turns out, my favorite hiding place was my father's work boots, which I thought was perfect because who would want to go looking for a prized possession in there, but my father thought was not-so-perfect when he jammed his feet in his boots early in the morning and landed on hard plastic block.

I never once put blocks in my mother's shoes. Only my father's. Come to think of it, my mother is right...I was freakin' brilliant!

In the years since, I have heard that what you did to your parents as a child will be brought back to haunt you in various terrifying ways when you have children.

This week, we learned that it is true.

Wednesday night Daniel came home from a long day of slaving over a fiery furnace of a laptop and plowing through a mountain of audit workpapers. He walked through the door, greeted Molly in his usual loving way and then said...

"Hello my darling wife! I am so happy to see you after 12 long hours of separation. Your beauty increases by the second!"

No, that's not quite right. It was more like this.

"Why did you put a sticker in my briefcase?"

I proclaimed my innocence to little avail. Daniel was convinced I was the culprit.

Finally, I took the Thor sticker from him to look at it and realized that there was a long row of tiny teeth marks on the sticker. Tiny Molly sized teeth marks.

The only explanation we can think of is that Molly, during her nightly snoops through Daniel's briefcase, dropped the sticker in there after picking it up on a walk.

Would you believe that Daniel was highly irritated when he thought I was the one who put the sticker in his briefcase, but when he found out that it was Molly, suddenly it was the cutest thing to ever happen in the history of domesticated dogs?

The End of an Era

2011-11-17T15:39:00.000-08:00

My clutch repair took so long that I am officially declaring it an “era”. But! It is fixed. And it has been working for a whopping 6 days now, so I am no longer worried that posting about it will jinx my mechanic, my car, my left foot that works the clutch or my engine skillet.

Yeah, so the engine skillet isn’t really involved, but it’s just so much fun to say.

Here are some earlier posts about when my clutch died and the first few days that my car was in the shop. I take my car to a great BMW certified shop that is close to work but not so close to home. I’ve taken my car there for years and never had an issue, but they lost their Mini guy a few weeks before my clutch took it’s last shuddering breath. Mini mechanics know all of the intricacies of working on Mini Coopers. BMW mechanics do not. This is a very important distinction to make.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth and curses and beers, my mechanic called to tell me last Thursday that my car was fixed. With joy in my heart and a song on my lips, I drove the rental car to the shop and dreamed of commuting 1.5 hours a day in a car that didn’t smell like stale cigarettes.

I fired up the engine and headed home, reveling in how much looser the clutch was. Then I got off the freeway and all hell broke loose.

Seriously. Something broke.

I found myself stopped at a stoplight and unable to get my car out of neutral and into first gear. Now, I know that I can get my car to move from a dead stop in third gear (don’t ask why I know that) so I was desperately trying to shove the stick thingy into first, second or third gear.

It wasn’t meant to be.

It was meant to be for the darn light to change and a BMW to almost rear end me.

Irony in the form of a BMW bearing down on your broken Mini after BMW mechanics have spent a week trying to fix your boken Mini is highly overrated in my humble opinion.

I might have started cursing. Finally, I managed to strong arm the darn thing into gear.

Repeat that situation one more time at an intersection on the way home and at our driveway when the garage door wouldn’t open fast enough.

Phone calls were made to Daniel to explain the situation and ask him to drive the car when he got home to make sure I wasn’t crazy.

Dogs were cuddled.

Chocolate was eaten.

Scotch was drunk.

Daniel finally arrived, hopped in the car and we settled in for what I assumed would be a very quick drive while he realized that I was right and something was wrong.

Except my car worked.

I swore on all that was holy that it hadn’t been fine an hour ago.

Daniel asked me if I just wasn’t missing the timing on my shifts and grinding the gears.

I threatened to punch him if he asked me that ever again because 'are you kidding me, I've been driving a manual for almost 18 years!!'.

The dog wondered why Daniel hadn’t come in the house to carry her around and tell her how soft and cute she is.

But then! Vindication was mine when four minutes into the drive, Daniel started having trouble shifting too.

He finally agreed that something was wrong with the car and that I would need to drive it back to the mechanic’s shop in the morning.

That’s when I started ugly crying and insisting that there was no way I was driving that demon possessed car because I was scared of it and he would have to drive it or get it towed because I was just going to steal his car.

We settled on having it towed first thing Friday morning.

My mechanic rattled off some car stuff about why it wasn’t working that I didn't even bother trying to understand. Then he told me that he would pay for the tow, labor and parts to fix it and you better believe I understood that part.

Friday evening I picked up my car again and drove home. I’m fairly certain I didn’t breathe the entire time, but I didn’t have a bit of trouble.

I still haven’t had a bit of trouble with it.

We are still going to the LA Auto Show this weekend to pick out my next car.

Practicing for Thanksgiving

2011-11-14T17:50:00.000-08:00

Sunday afternoon/evening is my cooking time and it’s getting a tad out of control. Between my breakfast, lunch and suppers and Daniel's suppers, there is a ridiculous amount of cooking involved. All said, I much prefer to cook my own food than spend the money to eat out and not know what exactly I’m eating.

Except for those three or four hours on Sunday afternoon while I’m actually cooking my own food.

Then I would prefer to just eat McDonald’s for every meal.

This Sunday felt like a warm-up run for Thanksgiving. Heck, I even did it with one oven because, as my mother reminded me, not everyone has two giant ovens to bake with.

Broiled chicken breasts for Daniel.

Giant pot of collard greens for me. Daniel won't touch them.

Grilled filets for my salads.

Oven roasted turnips, beets and broccoli. Don't tell Daniel
that I slipped the turnips into his mashed potatoes.

Winter squash soup for my lunches.

Not pictured because I got busy and forgot to take pictures: mashed potatoes and steamed cauliflower for Daniel and spinach fritatta for my breakfasts.

Bring it, Thanksgiving!! I’m as ready as I will ever be.

That You're Awesome?

2011-11-14T15:16:00.000-08:00

A month or so ago, Daniel was trying to figure out what to get me as a Christmas present. After watching me read an e-book on my tiny iPhone screen, he decided to be a pro-eyesight type of husband and buy me a Kindle, which has a significantly larger reading screen.

Then he made the mistake of telling me of his plan and now he has to deal with me asking if he’s ordered it yet because the new ones were supposed to be pre-ordered back in October. Or so Amazon says and I always believe everything I read on the Internet.

As a result, the following happened yesterday.

Bekah: I’ve learned something about myself.

Daniel: That you’re awesome?

Bekah: Don’t be silly, I’ve known that for years. No, I realized that I’m terrible at waiting to get gifts.

Daniel: Is this Greek for “I want my Kindle now!!”?

Bekah: Yep! Gimmee!!!

Daniel: Well, I don’t like waiting either, but I’m waiting for a new suspension.

Bekah: Eh.

Daniel: OK, enough about me, I guess.

Bekah: Yep. Let’s get back to me and how much I hate waiting. Did you order it yet?

Later that day…

Daniel: My goal is to retire at 63 and then you and I are going to disappear in Europe for a few months.

Bekah: Did you forget that I hate waiting? Why are you tempting me with a European tour that’s going to happen in 30 years? And how did you pick 63?

Daniel: Because it’s less than 65.

Bekah: OK. Should I start budgeting for peanut butter and Ramen noodle suppers for the next 20 years?

Daniel: Don’t be silly. I moved up my retirement date from 55 because I thought that was a little aggressive.

Bekah: Yeah. Just a tad since our as yet unborn children will still be in college when you turn 55. So we need to win the lottery, right?

Daniel: No. You need to have faith!

Apparently I need faith and patience. I’ll pray for faith, but I can’t pray for patience because I’m scared God will give me all sorts of things to try my patience and I’ll turn completely gray headed and lose all my marbles and Daniel will never buy me that darn Kindle if he thinks I’m crazy.

I think I’ll bake cookies instead.

Thank you

2011-11-11T13:08:00.000-08:00

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die.

G.K. Chesterton

Thank you to all veterans for the past, present and future sacrifices you endure to ensure we can go on about our days in peace and comfort.

My uncle and grandfather at my great-grandfather's grave. Veterans of three foreign wars.

My uncle in Vietnam...rest in peace.

Random Tuesday

2011-11-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

Apparently I fell back a day and not just an hour with the time change because it's Wednesday. I'm slapping myself on my head now...no need for you all to come and do it for me.

My car is still broken. It is in pieces in my mechanic's shop and hopefully they will put all the pieces back together again today.

I should name my car Humpty Dumpty.

A coworker and I worked until 7pm last night but then our bosses chased us out of the building because they don't like us working so late. I feel like I say it all the time, but I really do have awesome bosses and I'm ever so thankful for that.

Daniel is finally getting over his cold, but not before he infected two of his staff. One of them is getting married on Friday. Whoops.

Molly refuses to get out of bed in the mornings because it is too cold outside. This morning it was 67 degrees in the house and 49 degrees outside, but as far as she was concerned, we were hanging out on a polar ice cap and her tongue would freeze to the pavement when she tried to eat dead worms off the sidewalk and the risk of that was too great to get out of bed.

One of my coworkers brought in his kids' Halloween candy because he doesn't want them eating that much sugar. Obviously he doesn't care two hoots if we all get fat.

I shouldn't talk. I made banana crumb muffins and made my coworkers eat all of them because I wanted to bake, but didn't want the temptation at home.

I fell off the "no grain" wagon with a deafening and bone-crushing thump. Over the next two weeks, I will be slowly climbing back on. Ugh. I wouldn't put myself through the two week detox if I didn't feel so much better without them. Darn cookies for tasting so good!

Did you know there was such a thing as Canstruction? I didn't until we got roped into competing in a Canstruction contest for my company's food drive. Thoughts on what we should build? Where do people find all of those cans in specific colors?

The Weekend...a Tale of Tow Trucks and Viruses

2011-11-07T13:40:00.000-08:00

I love my car. I really do. It's cute, it gets me around town and, most importantly, I paid cash for that sucker when I bought it and five years without a car payment is beautiful!

But now, my car is giving me fits. First it was the catalytic converter. Then it was the engine skillet. Now it's the clutch.

Ugh.

Thursday morning I drove into work and the clutch was acting funky. I have no other way to explain it, mostly because I'm a girl who thinks there should be things like engine skillets. When I got into work, I called my mechanic and asked if I could bring the car in on Friday so they could fix the clutch. The mechanic said "sure thing!" and we both went on our merry ways.

My merry way ended abruptly in a grocery store parking lot where my clutch took it's last shuddering breath and left me stranded with nothing to console myself but the box of NyQuil I had just purchased to ease Daniel's cold. The cold I gave him. Whoops.

I'm pretty sure that exact moment was the start of my mechanic's merry way as he saw dollar signs dancing gleefully before his eyes.

AAA was called. The tow truck arrived. The tow truck driver expertly pushed my car out of the parking spot, drug it up on the flat bed of his truck and drove me 18 miles to my mechanic's shop. It is ridiculously expensive to be towed over the 7 miles allotted by So Cal AAA.

When we arrived at the mechanic's shop, one lone mechanic was still there. He planned for his night to include beer and video games while hiding out from his girlfriend. Instead, his night involved pushing my car around the lot, giving me a beer and telling me that he had never seen a clutch fail like that before.

Daniel arrived 10 minutes later to pick me up and found me slouched in the mechanic's couch, slamming back a beer and bemoaning the fate of our checking account.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

He took me home anyway.

Mostly because I threatened to hold his NyQuil hostage.

Friday started bleakly with a call from my mechanic saying that they wouldn't have my car finished on Friday, but most likely it would be finished on Monday and would I like to have a rental car for the weekend?

"Nah, that's OK. I will just make my sick husband drive me around."

Daniel is plotting his revenge...I'm sure of it.

Just Ignore Me

2011-11-02T09:29:00.000-07:00

Through instant-message earlier this week.

Bekah: Ugh…my throat hurts. I know I need to cook tonight so you have food to eat for supper, but I don’t think I will.

Daniel: That’s OK. I still have two chicken breasts left over. They are kind of small, but it should be fine.

Bekah: Ummmm…sooooo….I sort of put one of those chicken breasts on my salad for lunch today.

Daniel: …silence...

Bekah: Crap! I just guilted myself into cooking. I’ll broil chicken for you, but that’s it.

Daniel: …even more silence...

Bekah: Forget this entire conversation happened!

Daniel: It’s OK, I can just pick something up for dinner.

Bekah: No!! I will cook since I ate your food that I didn’t think you would eat because it was a tiny shrunken chicken breast and you like chicken breasts that are mutant-huge.

Daniel: …confused silence...

Bekah: See how much I love you? Even though you’re going to go to Guam for work and leave me at home while you frolic on beaches?

Daniel: …stunned silence...

Bekah: For the record, frolicking involves skipping, so I’m going to need evidence that you skipped on a beach in Guam. Preferably video. At sunset.

Daniel: …the dreaded 'how can I kill my wife and frame the neighbor's gardener for it because she won't let me have my own gardener to frame' silence...

I have a feeling Daniel would happily forget this entire conversation happened if it was at all humanly possible.

Happy Halloween Hangover!

2011-11-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

Daniel and I bought 8 bags of candy and one chicken costume to prepare for Halloween.

The only way I could get her to stay still long enough for a picture was to
have Daniel feed her black beans from his burrito.

By 8:00pm we had to shutter up the windows, batten down the hatches and give the dog a Xanax because we were out of candy.

You read that right. 8 bags of candy lasted 2 hours. 2 HOURS!! I thought for sure we would make it until 9:00pm. Nope. We live in a neighborhood plagued with greedy little kids and even greedier not-so-little-kids.

Around 7:00pm our doorbell rang for the 40-billionth time and I answered it holding Molly in one hand and a few pieces of candy in another.

What I saw was a tiny pirate lass, blonde curls shining in the glow of our porch light, who was accompanied by her grandparents. With a little prompting of "what do you say?", she bravely lifted one little arm, brandished a tiny sword in the air and yelled "ARRRGHHHH! Trick or Treat!" in her best pirate voice.

I think we might have run out of candy by 8:00pm because I gave her like 400 pieces and offered to give her Molly too because she was just so darn cute that I lost all sense and sensibility, but she was kept looking at me like I was crazy and said "Is that a duck?" while pointing at Molly.

The 14 year old wearing an Angry Birds t-shirt as a costume got one measly, smashed Fun Sized Twix. Honestly, if you are going to work the system for that long, at least put a little effort into it.

Molly had a rough night. She is not a fan of her chicken costume, so Daniel finally rescued her from it after an hour or so.

Even after that, we kept losing her and had to search the house to find her. Turns out that in addition to not liking poultry outfits, she also does not like it when hoardes of small children show up and ring the doorbell over and over and over and over and over again until you finally appear and toss sugar in their general direction.

Her final hiding place was behind the laundry baskets in our closet.
What a pitiful sight...

How did you fare last night?

Happy Halloween

2011-10-31T09:02:00.000-07:00

I had a bit of a pumpkin frenzy this weekend. My CSA box had a sugar pie pumpkin in it last Friday.

I killed it...Michael Myers' style.

I am the laziest pumpkin carver on the planet.

Then I ripped out its seeds, toasted them and turned them into Sweet and Spicy Pumpkin Seeds.

Then I roasted the shelled out remains and turned them into Pumpkin Ginger Soup.

Then Daniel took me to Halloween Horror nights and scared the pumpkin frenzy right out of me.

Then I made Sweet Potato Samosas for the Halloween Iron Chef contest at work with home-made spiced applesauce.

We will be eating leftover Halloween candy for the rest of the week because I'm tired of cooking.

Paleo Pumpkin Bread

2011-10-28T09:17:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest things, hands down, about sticking to my new grain free "diet" is the disturbing lack of baked goods. I don't miss sandwich bread. I don't even miss pasta. But Lord have mercy, there are times when I find myself about two seconds away from giving Molly to the first person who will bring me a brownie.

Coworkers and friends have become concerned for their personal safety when I am on a cookie bender and have offered to bring in pre-made gluten free treats from the grocery store. But, that goes against my "anti-processed food" stance, so it's a no-go.

I've simply got to stop making rules for myself.

Then, one day while searching the Internet, I stumbled across the wonderful website, Elana's Pantry. Elana and one of her sons have celiac disease and Elana follows not just a gluten free diet, but a grain free diet. Score!

And she loves to bake. Double Score!

And she has recipes for chocolate chip cookies. Be still my beating heart!!

Last night I tried out her Paleo Pumpkin Bread recipe and was happily surprised. If you decide to make it, don't expect to get an exact replica of the pumpkin bread of your youth.

The recipe calls for a mini loaf pan and that is the key to actually getting
pumpkin bread instead of pumpkin crackers. .

This version is not as sweet, a little denser and has a definite "eggy" flavor that is an odd twist on the original. But! It is every bit as moist and pumpkin-y and spicy as the pumpkin bread my momma makes.

Final verdict - A very good and satisfying substitute, but definitely a substitute.

Next up to try...Almond Joy Bars!

Funny you should mention that...

2011-10-27T12:59:00.000-07:00

I despise the sound of joints cracking. Knuckles, necks, backs, ankles...you name it and I will want to puke if I hear you crack it.

It makes my pilgrimages to my deadlift loving chiropractor's office rather difficult because it is bad enough when someone else cracks, but when my own joints betray me and crack, it is as if the world has ended.

Apocalypse by way of chiropractic adjustment.

When I was in public accounting, the staff on my audit teams always knew that they had to wait until I left the room to crack their knuckles. It was a veritable opera of joint cracking when I left the audit room to talk to the client.

One of my senior managers has a habit of cracking his knuckles when you talk to him. It's a subconscious habit, but when I am in long meetings with him, he leaves me cringing on the edge of my seat until I can run away to the peace and non-cracking quiet of my cubicle.

Yesterday was one of those meetings and I had finally had enough.

Bekah: Oh-mi-gosh, please stop cracking your knuckles because I can't concentrate.

Senior Manager: Sorry, I didn't even realize. Why?

Bekah: It's just the sound. Every time I hear it, I think of bones breaking and then I want to puke.

Senior Manager: crack...crack...crack....crack...

Bekah: I never should have told you this.

Senior Manager: Nope. I have the emotional maturity of a 8 year old.

Bekah: Lovely.

Senior Manager: Why does it bother you so much?

Bekah: Well, I think I'll blame my dad...

Senior Manager: Why? Did he give you at home adjustments? Threaten to break your kneecaps? It's not like he tore off a thumb or anything...

Bekah: Funny you should mention that...he didn't tear off a thumb, but he cut one off. His. Not mine.

Senior Manager: Seriously?

Bekah: Seriously. Then they tried to build him a new one, but it didn't work out well, so they cut it off again.

Senior Manager: You're lying. You are making this up. There is no way this story is true. Is your dad's name Lee Majors?

My entire department knows about this story now and they have all decided to avoid hospitals in Missouri. And the Midwest in general. I've officially terrified them.

Random Tuesday

2011-10-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

My deadlift loving chiropractor has started work to “level my hips”. I’m starting to think that unlevel hips are preferable to this pain and weird off-balance feeling. Don’t you think unlevel hips would give me a little extra “hippy-hippy-shake” thing when walking that Daniel would appreciate?

Saturday morning Daniel went to work and I ran errands. Molly decided she wanted to run errands with me and jumped into the driver’s seat as if she is a commuting pro.

I now feel like a giant chump for all those times I lifted Molly into the car because she acted like she couldn’t jump in on her own.

Drive on, Jeeves.

Saturday evening we took Molly to the dog park where she barked at a few mutts, tackled a pug and ran around in circles. At least she wasn’t one of the dogs that kept rolling in poop.

She got a bath that night. Just in case.

My cousin sent me this picture of her daughter. Why is it acceptable to look like this mid-meal when you are 12 months old but not when you are 32 years old?

I think they cleaned her with a garden hose after this...

Daniel and I met up with a few of his clients and co-workers to watch the Cirque du Soleil show IRIS at the Kodak Theater on Sunday. I learned two things: kobe beef burgers are fan-frickin-tastic and Cirque du Soleil shows freak me out. It is two hours of watching an acrobat’s acid trip.

It is possible to cook collard greens without bacon grease. It is impossible to make collard greens taste good without bacon grease.

I’m addicted to Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child mystery novels, particularly the novels with Special Agent Pendergast as the main character.

Kansas State is ranked #8 in the BCS standings. I’m practicing my “Hahahaha…suck it…my football team is ranked higher than your football team” victory dance to show Daniel.

Daniel is practicing ignoring me. If that was a sport he would be ranked #1 in the BCS standings.

Threats

2011-10-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

I have found myself in an odd predicament over the past week. I tweaked my back at the gym a few weeks ago. Since then there have been multiple trips to the chiropractor to un-tweak my back resulting in me spending a ton of money and resolving to stick with it so I can be healthier. All good things and yet I cannot keep myself away from the gym, the source of my tweak.

When did this happen?? This overwhelming need to work out? This burning desire to drip sweat and lift weights and run around sleepy suburban blocks at 6am?

I barely recognize myself.

Every night I set the alarm clock for 5:20am with every expectation of going to the gym for the 6:00am class.

Every morning I wake up stiff. Not a mild muscle soreness stiff. A "holy moly mother of Batman I think muscles are trying to rip themselves off my bones and skip town" sort of stiff

Bekah: Ouch…ouch…ouch…

Daniel: You shouldn’t go to the gym.

Bekah: Ouch…I’m fine….yeeeeoooooowwwwwiiiiiiitch.

Daniel: If you go to the gym, I’m going to tell your mom.

Bekah: Please. She lives all the way in Florida and I’m bigger and meaner than her. What’s she going to do about it?

Daniel: Fine. I’ll call my mother.

Bekah: Hah! I’m much bigger than her. I ain’t scared. What is she gonna do to me?

Daniel: She will make you drink gross soup.

Bekah: Fine. I won’t go.

Why she likes Daniel better

2011-10-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I made a purchase.

A chicken-y sort of purchase for Molly.

Specifically a chicken costume for Molly to wear for Halloween.

Don't judge me!! This is what happens when you hit 32 and don't have real kids to dress up!

Although, if it helps, I’m prepared to blame the purchase on the fact that I spent most of the past three weeks helping our tax staff prepare tax returns for a few of our funds and I was suffering from PTTSD – Post Traumatic Tax Stress Disorder.

By the way, our property tax bill came in the mail yesterday. I will not be responsible for my actions for MONTHS after seeing that.

This morning I drug Molly from her cozy spot on her fuzzy blanket to put the chicken costume on her. She let me put it on, sniffed the legs a few times and shook a few times to see if it would come off.

Then she pulled out the big guns. She ran for Daniel and begged for help.

I think the demon eyes add a "little something special" to the overall look. Don't you?

She’s lucky he is such a sucker and took it off her before I could pose her in the backyard for better pictures.

Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off on a search for an ostrich egg and a box filled with hay so I can stage a few photos this weekend while Daniel is having his soul sucked out through his eyeballs (more commonly known as watching college football).

Curvy Girl

2011-10-20T13:22:00.000-07:00

I am a curvy girl.

Not to be confused with a scurvy girl because that would require me to be a British sailor fighting pirates on the high seas. Avast, matey!

So last week I did a billion deadlifts and tweaked my back. Happily, a chiropractor also goes to my gym and does a billion deadlifts with me in the wee hours of the morning. So after a few days of tweakiness, I realized that my back issue was not going to resolve itself and I called my favorite deadlifting chiropractor and asked to come in on Monday.

Teri took x-rays of my neck, which has been x-rayed several times before because it's pretty darn wonky, and my lower back to see what was going on with the tweak.

Wednesday, I went back to Teri's office and she showed me the x-rays.

Bekah: Hey cool, I can see the hooks from my bra!

Teri: Yep. But let's focus. See these? These are the iliac crests of your hips.

Bekah: I love how skinny I look in x-rays! Why can't I carry these around as pictures?

Teri: As you can see, your iliac crests aren't level. In fact, they are pretty darn unlevel, I'm surprised you haven't had problems lifting before. Oh and has anyone ever told you that you have scoliosis?

Bekah: What??? No. This means I'm deformed? Fix me!! Hurry and fix me before I start to look like Quasimodo!!!

Teri: Oh for heaven's sake, calm down.

I'm pretty sure she's going to fire me eventually because of all the stupid stuff I say and the ridiculous questions I ask, but for the next few weeks, I'll be making three trips a week to Teri's office to get stretched, adjusted, thumped, twisted, iced and stretched some more.

Too much awesomeness for one person to handle

2011-10-19T10:07:00.000-07:00

I have a problem.

My problem comes in the form of a Sur La Table gift card, which most people wouldn't see as a problem, but it is a problem for me because every time I set foot in that store I want to buy one of everything and the amount of the gift card is a tad short for that kind of a shopping spree.

How do I decide? How on Earth do I narrow down a store of baking and kitchen gadgets, which just happens to be the closest to Heaven I can get on this side of the Pearly Gates, into one reasonable purchase?

This is what I'm considering. Feel free to throw in your two cents, but in the spirit of full disclosure, you need to know that it is very likely that I will ignore all suggestions and make an impulse purchase at 2am.

A brownie pan that makes every piece an edge piece in all of it's
crusty goodness.

I don't even need to explain why I must buy this sign. It is amazing!

A pan that makes cute cupcakes that can be filled.
Adorable, but I'm not sure how much I would use it.

A power juicer which is something I've been considering since
The Great Juice Cleanse of 2011.

A red ice cream machine for obvious reasons.

A roasting pan large enough to handle a Thanksgiving turkey.
I would actually get good use out of this one since I married a carnivore

Happy Friday from the old folks

2011-10-14T09:31:00.000-07:00

Daniel and I have been staggering around the house like septuagenarians this week.

He tweaked his neck/upper back rolling in jiu-jitsu last Saturday and by the time he woke up Monday morning, he couldn't bend his neck enough to look at his toes or from side to side. I don't want to think about how many people he enraged by cutting them off on the freeway while driving to work that morning.

Two trips to the chiropractor and multiple stretching and icing sessions at home have helped some, but not enough to allow him to compete in the tournament this weekend.

He's not happy.

Tuesday I did like 500 too many deadlifts in my Crossfit class and tweaked my lower back. As long as I stood ramrod straight, I was fine, but I kind of wanted to cry and curse and demand to be fed ice cream by fairies and unicorns because of the sharp pains I felt when I bent forward. Wednesday I went to yoga and that helped to stretch everything out. Thursday I went back to Crossfit and that helped in no way what-so-ever.

I can be a stupid person sometimes.

Today I'm resting. So I can run a 5k tomorrow.

I can be a ridiculously stupid person sometimes.

Molly has been observing our suffering (Daniel) and stupidity (me) with her standard aloofness. I can't say that I blame her much.

This is Molly's 'aloof' face. It's also her 'when are you going to stop
taking pictures and feed me' face.

How is your Friday?

Of Farmers and Dairy Queens

2011-10-13T09:53:00.000-07:00

Overheard at a meeting last week when we were introducing ourselves to the new chief operating office who is now responsible for my department.

Senior Manager: How about if, in addition to the basic info, you also tell us a unique skill or talent you have that you think nobody else in the room has.

Co-workers: muttering skills about changing brake pads, heli-skiing and avoiding changing a single diaper even after having four kids.

That last one is pretty impressive, although slightly less impressive than the fact that his wife hasn’t murdered him in his sleep yet.

Bekah: In an effort to solidify your perception of me as a hayseed chewing redneck, I will share a talent that I am positive will be foreign to you all…I was a Dairy Queen.

Everyone else: You mean you worked at Dairy Queen? You know how to serve ice cream? That’s your skill? You can do the little swirly thing on top of a DQ cone?

Bekah: No. I WAS a Dairy Queen. I competed in the National FFA Dairy Competition.

Everyone else: Whaaaaaaaat?

Bekah: It was our nickname…the Dairy Queens.

Everyone else: What the heck is FFA?

Bekah: Sigh. Future Farmers of America. And no, obviously I did not grow up to be a farmer so don’t even go there. We participated in a competition around the production and pasteurization of dairy products and I also did a little cattle judging. Want to know the signs of a healthy udder?

Everyone else: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? How the heck did you end up here?

Bekah: Yeah…I have no idea. It’s a fluke really. I blame Daniel. But if you ever drink milk that tastes a little funny, bring it to me and I can tell you what defect has occurred.

Everyone else: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

Bekah: Geesh, people. It’s not that hard to understand. You taste the milk. The milk tastes a little funny. You determine if it is a defect like oxidization or if the cow got into a patch of wild garlic. Heck, we competed against a team from California, so at least someone in this darn state understands what I’m talking about.

Everyone else: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

Bekah: Oh for heaven’s sake. You guys act like you didn’t realize that milk comes from cows.

Everyone else: Hey, we know milk comes from cows, just like steak.

Bekah: You realize those two things come from two different breed types…right?

Everyone else: Sure. Steak comes from bulls and milk comes from steers. Or cows? No, it can't be cows, they are all cows. It must be steers.

Bekah: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??? You people are hopeless.

Blessings and Hollers

2011-10-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

One of my dear great-aunts, the sister of my maternal grandmother, passed away yesterday. She is at peace now and those of us left behind will mourn the dear woman who meant so much to us.

My maternal grandmother is sad but resolved. She knows there is nothing she can do but pray and be with her family, so that is what she will do and she will do it with every fiber of her being.

Yesterday, I called my paternal grandmother to make sure she knew what was happening and to see how she was doing. The second she answered the phone I knew she had been crying, but stopped to put on a brave face when she saw it was my number on caller ID.

She was crying from sadness over my great-aunt, who was a dear friend for more years than she can count, and pain from falling last week and injuring her elbow, shoulder and wrist.

She ended the call by saying “Well, when you are 79 years old, things like this happen and you are never the same. Whoever said this was my ‘golden age’ should be dumped head first in a holler.”

I've spent the past few days thinking of my grandmothers. They are such tough, spunky old gals who have seen so much in their lives. They are matriarchs of their families who were/are adored by their husbands and fiercely loved by their children and grandchildren.

Throughout my childhood I don’t think I fully appreciated how wonderful it was to have both sides of my family so united for so many years before I came along. My grandparents loved, laughed and cried together long before my parents’ marriage officially joined their families. They walked through life together and have a deep respect for each other. The birth of mutual grandchildren didn’t join them…they were joined long before that.

Now they are once again joined in their sadness and my heart breaks for them.

GG and Granny - I love you both. I hope to one day be half the woman you are.

Bless this family.

May the Batter be with you

2011-10-10T11:41:00.000-07:00

When I was in Texas, I went shopping at the Pottery Barn/Williams Sonoma outlet store with my aunt and cousins. While we were wandering around, my cousin spotted Star Wars pancake molds that her sons would love. Love and adore and cherish as their most prized possessions.

I’ll never understand boys’ fascination with Star Wars.

But in an effort to firmly seal my status as “favorite aunt even though I’m more of a cousin than an aunt”, I bought the pancake molds for the boys.

A few days after I returned home, I made a big mistake.

Huge.

Epic.

You might even call it…egregious.

While we were snuggled on the bed watching TV and ignoring the dog’s pleas for attention because heaven forbid she go more than 10 seconds without being pet, I told Daniel about buying the pancake molds.

Abruptly he jerked his shoulder out from under my head and, with a voice as cold as ice, said “And you didn’t think to buy ME a set?”

Well, no. I didn’t. Because he’s not 7. And he doesn’t even eat pancakes that often. And because I will never understand boys’ fascination with Star Wars.

That was not an acceptable excuse and there existed a rift between us big enough to swallow a VW bug. A rift that could only be remedied with one thing.

Star Wars Pancake Molds.

Saturday I made pancakes with the marriage saving pancake molds. They were quite yummy, but it was a little tricky getting the Storm Trooper out without the bottom half of his mask sticking to the mold.

Daniel was happy.

Darth and Yoda on the same plate without a hint of fighting droids or light sabers.

Molly was indignant that she didn’t get any bacon.

This is what Molly looks like when she is indignant. Or tired. Or bored.
Or at pretty much any moment when she isn't eating or running around like a hellion.

I was stuck cooking and doing dishes. For those of you unfamiliar with the phrase, this is what is commonly known as “the short end of the stick.”

From the events of the past few weeks and this weekend, I have learned a valuable lesson. Should you ever find yourself on the verge of a marital rift, get thee to a Williams Sonoma and buy pancake molds with a swiftness not known to mankind.

Trust me. It will work every time.

Until you mention that you are going to buy the new box set of all six Star Wars movies on blu-ray for a friend…

For Mom

2011-10-07T08:46:00.000-07:00

For my mother, without whom I would, quite literally, be nothing, I present...

The Mini Giraffe!

Amazing DirectTV commercial that started it all.

The "Russian Breeders of Petite Lap Giraffes" that provided the giraffe for the commercial.

source

P.S. Daniel saw this website and came home convinced that lap giraffes are real.

P.P.S. He wants to order one.

P.P.P.S. I want someone to verify that Daniel actually graduated from a prestigious, over-priced private college and he didn't just fake the diploma hanging in his parent's house because, seriously, how on Earth could he think that was true??

Play that funky music white girl

2011-10-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve been in a funk lately; a weird mood with no explanation. Not mad, not sad, not deliriously ecstatic…just bleh.

Work is good. Busy, but not overwhelming.

Daniel is good. Busy at work too, but not so busy that he can’t attempt to break his toe at jiu jitsu. He blames the “other guy”. As in “my toe might look funky after that other guy had me pinned, but you should see what HE looks like after I got through with him.”

Molly is bossy and neurotic and demanding and developing a debilitating addiction to sunbathing that will result in a painful detox as our rainy season will start soon.

Speaking of Molly, we finally identified the cause of her allergic outbreaks…dried day lilies. We have several day lily plants in the back yard that bloomed beautifully in the late summer and dropped their dried up little beauties amongst the groundcover. Molly daintily climbs into the groundcover, carefully picks up dried flowers and then runs through the yard like a banshee’s after her until she can find a safe spot to eat her delicacy.

Seriously, you would think those dried flowers are the caviar of the dog world with how much hunting she does for them. She is like a pig with truffles. Only cuter. And without all the dirt and funky pig smells.

All this to say that I have no real reason to be in a funk.

Maybe I just need something exciting to happen?

I’m getting my hair cut on Saturday and that always put me in a good mood.

Except for that time when I asked for a bob and left with a sore eye from getting poked, not once, but twice with a comb directly in my poor little green eyeball and with the hair on one side of my head significantly shorter than the other.

Next weekend Daniel has another jiu jitsu tournament and those always produce nervous excitement as I wait to see if he will be bruised or broken or just scuffed up a little.

The weekend after that Daniel and I are going to Universal Studio’s Halloween Horror Nights so I can scream like a 12 year old girl and Daniel can push me into the cold, clammy grasp of every highly costumed out of work actor portraying a serial killer he can find. He loves doing that.

But I’m afraid that these won’t provide enough excitement, so I’ve decided to win the lottery because what could be more exciting then unexpected money that I can spend on things like gigantic houses, Italian sports cars and mini giraffes?

I guess this means I should start buying tickets.

A baby to bet on

2011-10-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Daniel and I went to a baby shower for our wedding planner extraordinaire, Brandi.

First, can I just say that she is the cutest little pregnant person with her mustard yellow jacket and high heels?

Brandi’s baby shower was at the adorably quaint San Clemente Casino which was the first indication that we were going to a baby shower like none other. And then we found out that it’s not a casino any more (but it used to be) so we didn’t have to worry about losing a paycheck at the craps table while waiting to play a typical baby shower game.

And then it gets even better because there were no typical baby shower games. Nope. Not our Brandi. She didn’t make us stare into diapers filled with melted candy bars trying to identify the “poop.” She had a cartoonist and a magician who was amazing and did tricks that even Daniel couldn’t figure out. That’s saying quite a bit since his sole joy in life is to explain magic tricks to me and take all of the magic out of them.

And then!!! There was the open bar, the cake from the same bakery that made our big wedding shindig cake, the adorable decorations and a bass drum we all signed instead of a guest book.

Brandi and her husband are officially the coolest couple on the planet.

The best part…

We had a mini-reunion with all of the amazing people who made our big wedding shindig so fan-frickin-tastic. I’ve been having wedding withdrawals, not because I miss the planning but because I miss the people, and this was the perfect cure.

I can’t wait to see them all again…and hopefully it’s soon!

Waging War with help from Amy Kalafa's Lunch Wars

2011-09-29T20:34:00.000-07:00

Over the past several months, I have slowly made changes to my own diet: less processed food, more organic food, less unhealthy fats and sugars, more fruits and vegetables. A huge part of my decision to alter the way I eat and pay more attention to what exactly goes into my body is driven by our desire to have children soon. I want to be healthy for my future kids, myself and Daniel.

I know how to make changes in my own diet. But how on Earth would you make changes in the diet of your school aged child when there are several hours, and one key meal, of the day when you aren't around to supervise?

I'll tell you.

Open up Amy Kalafa's book Lunch Wars - How to Start a School Food Revolution and Win the Battle for Our Children's Health.

There are so many books out there that tell you why you need to make a change in your diet. How to make a change in your diet. How to cook food...what food to cook...what food to avoid...etc, etc, etc.

Lunch Wars starts out with the science and reason behind why everyone, children in particular, should avoid overly processed, high fat and sugar-loaded foods. But then it goes about 20 steps further and actually explains how Amy Kalafa and many other "angry moms" around the country have actually made changes to the food available in the schools their children attend.

Changes such as removing soda from vending machines or adding vegetarian meal options every day or replacing the "impulse purchase" items placed right in front of the cashier booths from the typical chips and candy bars to fresh, locally grown fruit.

With Lunch Wars, Amy gives you a detailed plan to help gather support in your community; suggestions on how to pitch proposals to school boards; researching local farms with the ability to provide seasonal produce to the school kitchens; and everything in between.

I can say, without a doubt, that this book made me think about how important it is to not only have an understanding of how you children are being educated in school, but also how they are being fed in school. Food is fuel...fuel for kids' growing genius brains that will soak in all of that wonderful knowledge.

Want to hear what everyone else thinks about Lunch Wars? Check out the Lunch Wars discussions on the BlogHer Book Club pages.

Disclosure - This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club, but the views and opinions expressed are my own.

Random Thursday

2011-09-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

I looked online to see what will be included in my CSA box tomorrow and I'm getting beets. I'm a little freaked out about that. What the heck do I do with a beet? When I signed up for the CSA deliveries and was able to exclude things from my deliveries, I almost put beets on the exclusion list, but changed my mind at the last second. I really haven't given them a chance and they are supposed to be healthy and trying different seasonal fruits and vegetables is supposed to be a good thing, so I'm going to give it a whirl.

If you don't hear from me on Monday, come find me as I might be the victim of self-inflicted beet poisoning.

Daniel has agreed to give up his Superhero status to my cousin's husband for one month. I told Daniel the story of my cousin's husband nearly running over a two year old who had wandered out in the road but he didn't and then he ran back out into the road to save her from other cars and Daniel was all "well...yeah...he kinda wins with that story..."

Brent = Batman and Daniel = Robin. Only without the weird homosexual undertones.

Then I told Daniel the story about my uncle getting hit by a car in the church parking lot and Daniel re-enacted the incident as if he had been there. It included this:

Uncle looking into the heavens while pointing a finger and holding a casserole dish

"What the heck, Dude?!?! I'm just walking to the car after church, carrying a half-eaten casserole and you let somebody run me over? That's just rude. Rude. All those years of preaching and this is the thanks I get??"

Someone in my office is organizing an Iron Chef-esque contest and my co-workers have decided that I should participate so they don't have to. I'm currently ignoring all of them.

Before I left for work this morning I discovered a bug bite on the top of Molly's head. I had no idea what kind of a bug bit her or when, so I did what any rational dog owner would do. I chased her around the house until she slowed down enough for me to catch her, picked her up and pushed on the bump a few times to see if she acted like it hurt.

Then I called Daniel and told him and he said "I'm already halfway to work, what do you want me to do about it?" and I responded with "Fix it." which is ridiculously helpful and not at all what he wanted to hear.

Then I pushed on Molly's bump one more time for good measure and gave her a new chew bone because if she's going to die alone from a viper/tarantula/hissing cockroach bite, she might as well go out with a new chew bone.

Oddly, she wasn't upset to see me leave.

Happy Anniversary!

2011-09-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

Thank you for teaching me so much in such a short time.

Thank you for the security and stability you provide; I would be a basketcase without it.

Thank you for not stressing me out to the point of wanting to snatch my head bald.

Thank you for eating all the cookies, cupcakes and brownies I bake and don’t want to eat myself.

Thank you for giving me enough spare time to have hobbies again.

Thank you for inspiring me to go to the Irvine Animal Shelter where I found Molly.

Gratuitous picture of Molly.

Most importantly…thanks for the paycheck every two weeks!

Happy one year anniversary, work! I hope we have many more happy years together in our future. Or at least until I’m fully vested in the retirement plan you so generously fund.

A Normal Saturday in Crazyville

2011-09-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

While I was talking my way through Texas, Daniel was busy signing up to compete in a jiu-jitsu tournament. A tournament that took place this past weekend. Yes. He signed up to compete in a tournament with only one week to prepare.

Because he’s cool like that.

He decided to use an international tournament filled with multitudes of jiu-jitsu schools participating to prepare for the local jiu-jitsu tournament for his school next month.

Because he’s crazy like that.

Saturday morning we woke up bright and early to get Daniel ready for the tournament. I made sure he had enough Gatorade packed for the day. Molly made sure he was properly stretched out before the tournament.

Molly: No, no, no. That is all wrong. Just look at that pitiful form.

Molly: THIS is how you stretch out your legs. And your abs. And your triple chins.

When Daniel was stretched out to everyone’s liking, we jumped in the car and headed out to CSU Dominguez Hills for the tournament. We arrived, signed in and found Daniel’s cousin who was there to help cheer him on. I found a place to sit among all of the other observers and waited for the fun to start.

Unfortunately, I still have no clue what’s going on in a jiu-jitsu match, but I can tell when things are really bad and none of those things happened to Daniel.

Yay Daniel!!

He didn’t win, but he looked much more relaxed than he has in previous matches and that was worth the experience of being in the tournament. Well, he looked as relaxed as a person can look when someone is trying to twist their arm off.

After Daniel’s match, we stayed and watched the black belts compete. I learned a little more, Daniel became much more excited for his next tournament, and Daniel and his cousin maintained some semblance of “nah, it’s OK, we see our heroes every day” cool-headedness when one of the top ranked fighters in the world unexpectedly wandered out onto the mat to compete in one of the black belt weight classes.

The day ended with Molly guilting us for leaving her on the weekend and getting nothing but a bath for her trouble, lots and lots of football games, and a pizza eaten almost entirely by my super-hero.

Boys versus Girls: Work Edition

2011-09-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

Earlier this morning, the administrative assistant for our department walked by with a long box in her hands and caught the attention of every female in a 30 foot radius.

Why?

Because it was a long floral delivery box.

We all immediately started speculating who the flowers were for and why they were getting the delivery.

Was it Laura's brand new fiance showing how happy he is that she's sporting the sparkly new diamond he gave her on Sunday?

Was it Heather's husband sending a present to cheer her up after the long hours she had to work this week?

Was it my super-hero sending pre-"I'm sorry for making you sit through a jiu-jitsu tournament on Saturday on the off chance that I will need a ride home because I twisted my ankle and it now resembles a bony eggplant?"

Nope.

The flowers were for my senior manager. My male senior manager.

From his wife who forgot their anniversary and thought she would be nice and send flowers to his office to apologize.

My female cohorts and I thought it was sweet to send your husband flowers at work. Husbands never get the flowery displays of affection at work.

My senior manager doesn't think it is nice. Mostly because all of the other men in our department keep laughing at him. And calling him Posey. Or Rosie. Or Sweetie-pie-honey-bunch.

His wife better come up with another apologetic gesture that doesn't involve flora.

Naturally, I hopped on IM to tell Daniel all about it.

Bekah: I'm going to do that to you on our anniversary.

Daniel: No. Wait. We have two...which one do you mean? You wouldn't do that to me twice, would you?

Bekah: No silly. Flowers delivered to the office in April and a singing candygram in May.

Then Daniel signed off IM and I can't find him. Obviously the excitement was just too much for him to bear.

In Ol' San Antone

2011-09-20T09:47:00.000-07:00

I flew home from San Antonio on Sunday night and boy are my arms tired...from lifting margarita glasses over the weekend. Ba-dum-bum-ching!!

It was a bit of a whirlwind trip involving health scares, shopping and babies. And Tex-Mex food. Drool.

Catching up with my family was wonderful. Crying in the airport and having not one, but two security personnel ask me if I was going to be OK was not so wonderful, but it was nice to know the TSA cared. Although it was probably motivated less by concern for my well-being than a desperate plea to avoid comforting a grown woman sobbing like a toddler in the full body scanner.

I'm pretty sure that's why they let me go through the metal detector instead of the scanner. Fear of emotional collapses works wonders for establishing personal privacy boundaries.

I drank coffee and chatted with G.G. Drank booze and chatted with Gpa. Played with kids and chatted with my aunt and uncle. Shopped at the gigantic outlet mall in San Marcos and chatted with my cousins. It was pretty much heaven for my caffeine/retail therapy dependent, talkative self.

Lucy demonstrating her "old man who forgot his dentures" impersonation.
Don't let her fool ya. She's got teeth and she's not afraid to use them!

Josie and Lucy waiting to get their grub on at Cracker Barrel.
You can't handle the cuteness!!

Story time before bed with Jack, Joel and James.
I have no shame in admitting that I want a pair of pajamas just like James'.
Only bigger.

Josie and Lucy rockin' their Sunday finest and hair bows.
Josie: Sigh. If only my adoring fans would let me have a moment of peace.
Lucy: You can't handle the cuteness!!

Grown up stuff

2011-09-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I like to think of us buying real furniture as one of our many steps to becoming grown ups.

Go to college and get jobs - check
Getting married - check
Buying house - check
Buying furniture - check
Not killing the dog due to neglect - check

Last Saturday the delivery guys showed up early to deliver our new bedroom set. Normally it would be a great thing to have them arrive early because we had several errands to run that were all on hold until the furniture was delivered.

Except I had just gotten out of the shower and was only wearing a towel and a smile.

Daniel made me hide in the closet until I was appropriately dressed.

According to Daniel, a sparkling smile isn't an appropriate ensemble when large delivery men are involved. Whatever, babe...

While the delivery guys were putting together the furniture, Daniel started to freak out.

Daniel: Whoa. The bed is big. Really big. Maybe too big.

Bekah: It's fine, you just aren't used to seeing furniture in the room.

Daniel: No, it's too big. It's too dark too. What have we done??

Bekah: Go in the other room. You don't get to watch any more.

Daniel: But...but...

Bekah: Out! And take the dog with you because she keeps trying to smell that poor guy's shoe and I'm fairly certain she's going to get smashed.

Finally the assembly was done and we reveled in our grown-up-edness.

Bekah: Umm...the bed's taller now. I think I need to take a running leap to get in.

Gigantic sleigh bed and two matching nightstands. Please ignore
the ugly lamp in the corner.

Daniel: How big of a TV can I fit on this?

This is when we realized that we REALLY need to put stuff on the walls soon.
Can you say "blank and boring"?

Molly: Hey. Why did you buy a bed that I can't hide under??

No new furniture for Molly. Poor thing.

I think we have a little more growing up to do still.

Don't ever take us shopping

2011-09-14T13:11:00.000-07:00

Daniel and I recently bought our first grown up furniture for the house...our bedroom set!

Pictures coming tomorrow. I promise.

Since we made our first furniture purchase with relative ease and without cursing, yelling, biting or holding-your-breath-until-you-turn-blue-and-get-your-way, we decided to look at more furniture last weekend.

It was too soon.

Apparently, we can successfully shop for furniture in small doses with weeks, possibly months, between each dose. This is how it went.

Daniel: I like this coffee table.

Bekah: Oh. When did you start liking "ugly"?

Daniel: ....unintelligible muttering...

Bekah: Hey, can we buy this picture of the horse biting another horse?

Daniel: No.

Bekah: How about this big silver airplane?

Daniel: No.

Bekah: What about this cute pig and the turkey that looks like it could poke out an eye. Maybe not the turkey.

Daniel: No.

Bekah: You're just saying no because I wouldn't let you buy the ugly coffee table, aren't you?

Daniel: ...more muttering...

Bekah: Trust me, it was for your own good. Will you buy me a latte?

Daniel: No.

Bekah: Now you're just being mean.

Fake it 'til you make it

2011-09-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

It’s tomato season. Do you know what that means? It means that I get, literally, pounds of tomatoes in my CSA box of fruit loot. Pounds.

A mere 12 months ago, I would not have touched a tomato to save my soul from the eternal hellfires of damnation.

They were that gross. Just ask my family; they will be sure to remember my willful aversion to tomatoes.

Ketchup = awesome sauce. Tomato soup = the perfect meal when paired with grilled cheese sandwiches. Pasta with tomato sauce = manna from the heavens.

Unadulterated tomatoes = certain death.

In last Friday’s fruit loot I got three pounds of heirloom tomatoes and a box of cherry tomatoes. While I set the heirlooms aside to ripen more so they could be turned into tomato sauce, I pondered the fate of those darn cherry tomatoes.

They are so cute! Why do they have to be so gross and squirty when you bite into them??

I gave up pondering and went to the Internets for assistance. I ran across a post on Smitten Kitchen’s website for slow roasted tomatoes. I decided to put on my big girl pants and try it out.

This is how it works. Cut your cherry tomatoes in half and lay them out on a sheet pan with the cut-side up. Drizzle with olive oil and a little salt and pepper. Bake at 225 degrees for three hours.

Yes, three hours.

An hour into baking and before I realized that it's really stupid to bake things for
three hours when it is 100 degrees outside.

The result?

Absolutely delicious “fake” sundried tomatoes.

You can either eat them right away, or put them in an airtight container with enough olive oil to keep them covered and they will last much longer.

Give me another 30 years of recipes like this and I just might turn into a tomato lover.

What I Did Instead

2011-09-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I debated with myself all day long about whether I should write a 9-11 post. I decided that I wouldn't. There is absolutely nothing I can say that hasn't been said more eloquently by others.

Yes, it affected me deeply, but it affected other people in ways that I cannot imagine. I was in Los Angeles watching it unfold on TV. They were in New York...on the island of Manhattan...in office buildings downtown...in the Pentagon...in a field in Pennsylvania.

It simply is not my story to tell and, honestly, nobody cares what I was doing. I wasn't there.

Instead of writing, I kissed my darling husband goodbye as he boarded a direct flight to Washington, DC.

Instead, I told myself all day long that there was no reason to worry that my husband was on a cross-country flight.

Instead, I baked figs with honey. They are delicious. They would be even more delicious warmed up and served over ice cream.

Instead, I watched The Kennedy's miniseries and snuggled with Molly.

Molly did this all day. She was blissfully unaware.

"So You're Basically Calling Me a Whale"

2011-09-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

My gym started a seven week fat loss competition this Wednesday. I’ve got a few jiggly places that could stand to be less jiggly, so I decided to join.

And then they told me that the first step in the competition is to get a hydrostatic body fat test. Ummm. Ok, why not? I signed up for the test since we got a giant discount, before/after tests and the company came to us with a giant trailer containing a dunk tank.

Wednesday night was the night. The night I learned how much of my jiggly body is fat and how much is jiggly muscles.

Muscles can be jiggly, right? What if they are super-relaxed?

Lie to me and tell me it’s possible.

They said to wear a swimsuit (hahahaha…yeah right) or clothes that are form fitting and would not trap air bubbles because air is your enemy for this test.

How can anything where air is the enemy be a good thing??

I immediately started to regret my decision to participate and tried to slip out the side door, but I had already been spied by 10 people who were also anxiously awaiting their air-is-the-enemy body fat test.

I am not a fan of water. Don’t get me wrong, I love a nice hot shower that steams up every flat surface within 30 feet, but I don’t like swimming and putting my face under water. I am a spastic swimmer. I am convinced that I will suddenly stop floating and sink like a rock to the bottom. I have terrible breath control and always wind up trying to take a breath before my nose and mouth are completely free of the water. Basically, I look like a giant flailing and gasping beast when you put me in water.

It ain’t pretty.

So there I was; standing in a room full of people while wearing spandex pants and a sports bra and waiting to be dunked in a tank full of overly chlorinated water.

It was the realization of my worst nightmare.

Daniel’s cousin, who is also participating in the fat loss competition and was there for the test, tried to calm my fears by telling me how the test works and what it was like in the tank.

Daniel’s cousin: Have you seen those shows on the Discovery channel where they take marine animals out of the ocean, put them on a stretcher and dunk them in a shallow tank of water so they can do tests? It’s kind of like that.

Bekah: So I’m like a whale. You’re calling me a whale. Gee thanks. That’s a great thing to tell a woman before a fat test.

Daniel’s cousin: What? No…I mean…ummmm…don’t tell Daniel I said that.

Oh silly boy. I’m telling EVERYONE what you said.

This “whale” has 5% of body fat to lose to make it from the low end of average to athletic, so it’s not as bad as I originally thought. The hydrostatic body fat testers swear that with proper diet and continuing to work out at my current level, it is a reasonable goal for 7 weeks.

Do you think a proper diet includes ice cream for supper?

I'm more of a Yogi Bear kind of Yogi

2011-09-07T09:44:00.000-07:00

After much searching, I found a yoga studio near my house that I like. Specifically, I like going to the Level 1-2 yoga class with one instructor because she isn’t the over-the-top yoga person. Sure, she gives us a few drops of essential oils to help us “kick start our chi" at the beginning of class, but she balances that yoga-ish-ness out by playing Elvis and The Beatles during class and making jokes about ensuring you are grabbing your own body parts and not someone else’s. Unless you think the other person is cute, then go right ahead.

It’s a light-hearted class that gives me just what I want: strength training and stretching without the “oneness with the Universe” stuff that always bores me.

Monday I decided to give a new class and instructor a whirl to see what I thought. It was a fairly standard yoga class until the end when we got the special treat (at least I think it was a treat because everyone else was really excited) of restorative savasana poses.

The restorative savasana at the end of the class was supposed to cool your body and free your mind and soul from negative thoughts. It went a little something like this.

Instructor: Lie back with your hands folded on your beautiful stomach and feel your beautiful breath enter and leave your body as you relax into the earth.

Bekah: Oh good. Maybe my hands will muffle the sound of my stomach growling.

Instructor: Relax and let your entire body go.

Bekah: Go where? I’m so hungry. I hope my stomach stops growling. Must think about something else. Great. Now I have to pee. How much longer do I have to lie here?

Five minutes later.

Instructor: Slowly twitch your fingers and toes to bring feeling and warmth back into your body.

Bekah: Lady, I’ve been twitching like a meth addict over here and quietly smashing all the ants that are crawling on me.

Instructor: I bow to your internal light and beauty and thank you. Namaste.

Bekah: Achoo. Sorry.

The real kicker was when I arrived. Before class, the instructor and a student were talking about how the spiders have started coming into their houses now because of the heat. The instructor and student were having an in-depth conversation about what they should do with the spiders since they aren’t particularly comfortable having large, hairy spiders in their houses but “all beings have a place in this world and we need to be considerate of that.”

The instructor said that, after much debate and internal strife, she had her husband scoop up the small tarantula and put it outside because it was headed towards her closet and she didn’t think she could sleep knowing it was in there.

The student agreed and said that she does the same; scooping all kinds of spiders, venomous or harmless, out into the great wilds of her back yard.

I stayed quiet because my input would have been something along the lines of “I think a spider’s place in this world is with its guts smooshed all over the bottom of a shoe” and then they would have kicked me out.

Labor Day is like Groundhog Day around here

2011-09-06T09:20:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone had a great and relaxing Labor Day!

I did yard work on Sunday and was awarded for my efforts with bug bites the size of silver dollars on my foot. That might be an exaggeration, but it also the reason I will give for never again trimming hedges.

Other than that, we had a pretty relaxing weekend. Relaxing, but oddly familiar.

Labor Day last year...

Labor Day this year...

I'm starting to sense a pattern here.

The Unforgivable Sin

2011-09-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

I had the misfortune of hearing this conversation between three of my coworkers today before they left for lunch.

Coworker 1: Ready for lunch? We should get to the cafe early because they are having bbq and it will be busy.

Coworker 2: What kind of bbq?

Coworker 1: I'm not sure. Brazilian maybe?

Coworker 2: Maybe Korean?

Coworker 3: The cafe menu says it's American BBQ. Whatever that means.

And then a little piece of my soul died.

And any shred of my remaining kindness towards California natives jumped ship and started hitchiking back to Kansas.

"Whatever that means"???????

Maybe I'm a little sensitive because I grew up in a town that was known only for it's BBQ joint, Guy and Mae's. If you're within a five hour drive of this place you should go. It's that good. They will teach you just what American BBQ means.

So yes, I might be a little biased, but as far as I'm concerned, these residents of Southern California have just committed an unforgivable sin and they can take it up with The Big Fella and St. Pete when they hit the pearly gates.

I suggest they go bearing a slab of ribs wrapped in newspaper and potato salad.

My momma tried to raise me better than this

2011-08-31T12:23:00.000-07:00

The early days of this blog were filled with my exhausted rants and frustrated plans to escape my life as an auditor working for a public accounting firm. I liked the work and, for the most part, I liked my co-workers and clients, but it was an exhausting job that chewed you up and spit you out like a sunflower seed.

But for every nice client, there were five clients who drove me so bat-poop crazy that I wanted to strangle them with my bare hands but couldn't because murder is considered to be poor customer service. And poor customer service don't pay the bills, baby.

When I left public accounting for the balanced and relaxed world of financial reporting in an investment company, I made no promises to myself about what kind of client I would be now that I was on the other side of the audit table. I couldn't decide if I would take pity on the auditors and be nice or get revenge for my six years of torture at the hands of angry clients and be the Wicked Witch of the West with a cuter nose.

Right now, two of our funds are under audit. The audit senior assigned to our funds is the sweetest little thing you ever did see. She is tiny and adorable and terrified of us, so I have a hard time getting mad at her for asking the same questions over and over again.

I do not, however, have a hard time torturing her.

Auditor: Hi Bekah, I have a few questions on this fund. Do you have time?

Bekah: Sure. Pull up a chair.

See how nice I am?

Auditor: I see in this workpaper that you say all of the guaranteed 8% interest has been paid back to the investors in the fund. Is there something I can see that would verify this statement?

Bekah: Yep. You can see that we've earned a 22% rate of return on this fund, which well exceeds the 8% guaranteed return over investment to our investors. That should prove it out analytically for you.

Auditor: Well...ummm...I need to actually see payments to verify the investors got their money.

Bekah: You want to see each payment we have made to all 60 investors over the past 8 years? That's not going to happen.

And this is where it starts to go downhill.

Auditor: Oh...well....ummm....I need another way then.

Bekah: Just trust me on this one. We paid the guaranteed interest.

Auditor: Haha...ummm...no....I need to see proof.

Bekah: So you're calling me a liar?

Auditor: Wait...what....

Bekah: You're accusing me of stealing money from investors? Of not giving our investors their guaranteed payment?

Auditor: No...what...ummm...

Right about now is when my mother would consider disowning me.

Bekah: Do you think I go to their houses and kick their dogs too?

Auditor: ...blink, blink...

Bekah: Do you think I steal their money and take candy from their babies? Is that what you're trying to say here?

Auditor: ....no, of course not....

Bekah: Because that's sure what it sounds like you are saying.

Auditor: ....I would...never...no....I....I....

Bekah: (bursting into hysterical laughter) Oh man, it is so fun to mess with you. Here. You can prove it out with this and then for the earlier payments you can rely on testing you've done in prior years.

Auditor: Why do you do that to me??

Bekah: Because it's fun. For me. Probably not for you. For you...consider it to be "character building".

And right about then is when she was seriously considering punching me right in the eye, but she can't because that would be poor customer service.

I love not being an auditor any more.

Random Tuesday

2011-08-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

I painted my nails a dark bluish grey color last Friday. Daniel’s not a fan. I am a fan, especially when I’m cranky because then the color matches my mood.

I know Daniel’s not a fan because he looked at them when I got home from the salon. He looked away, looked again, looked away, looked from a different angle and never said a word. He’s pretty much a genius for knowing when to pick his battles.

No, I don't wear my engagement ring every day now. Yes, it's because I'm terrified of
the diamond falling out.

I’m vain enough to probably not get this color again now that I know he doesn’t like it.

I had a 10 minute conversation about hunting with one of my bosses. I can’t decide if he thinks my past life in Kansas is interesting or if he is researching doctors that will treat post-traumatic stress disorder for me.

After our 10 minute talk about killing Bambi’s mom and doves, the international symbol of peace, my boss told me about two people who were mauled by mountain lions in my area. Now I’m researching pre-traumatic stress disorder doctors.

Daniel wisely cancelled the appointment with the travelling knife salesman. I think he was worried that he would come home to find me holding a new knife and feeling a little stabbity.

When I first typed that sentence I wrote “knew knife”. Thoughts? Also, when I read/type the word "knife" I say “kah-nife” in my head. Please don’t give me your thoughts on that one. I already know it’s weird.

The painters are coming on Friday to paint most of the house. I had to hide the paint samples because I was driving myself even more insane than I already am by second guessing my decision.

It’s a miracle Daniel didn’t divorce me before we finally bought the darn paint.

I went to Costco this weekend to stock up on stuff. I was driving my Mini Cooper. The ridiculousness that was me trying to squeeze a million rolls of toilet paper into my tiny car knows no bounds. I can never show my face in that parking lot again.

This morning I was listening to my Country station on Pandora and they played Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On.” I’m not sure what Pandora’s trying to tell me with that.

Change is a good thing. Kale juice is not.

2011-08-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

Pop Quiz: Who thought my Monday morning announcement would be that I’m pregnant?

I’m not and don’t believe everything you see on Facebook. I have very hopeful friends who love to make fun of Daniel.

My “limit processed food” experiment has wrapped up and I will say that I learned a few things, but the jist of it all is that I feel significantly better when I stay away from processed foods. Surprisingly, I also learned that I feel better when I stay away from grains.

Over the past several months, I have been reducing the processed carbs I eat for vanity reasons. I gotta keep the booty under control.

During the week, I would stick to my guns, but on the weekend I would eat whatever I wanted, which left me feeling like a 5’7” slug come Sunday night. It wasn’t a pretty thing…not one bit.

So with my continuous two weeks of unprocessed foods even further reducing my grain intake, I felt significantly better. I didn’t get as tired, I slept better and I wasn’t a fart factory.

Sorry Mom, it had to be said.

And Jessica – this is for you. Cowboys wearing fart measuring underpants!

Do I think I have a gluten allergy? No, I doubt it’s anything that severe. But I have done enough research to know that grains are considered “gut irritants” which basically means they are the Bekah of the plant world.

Do I think I will go completely over the edge and become a health nut who bans all unhealthy food from the house and starts blogging recipes with a total of 12 calories per serving?

Heck no.

I’m craving cinnamon gummy bears way too much for that to ever happen.

But for now it's Goodbye Grains! Hasta la vista Pasta! Vaya con Dios Donuts!

Speaking of cravings...

This weekend I did a juice cleanse which is comprised of fruit and vegetable juices that are specially blended and formulated to give you all the nutrients your body needs while giving you a “reboot”. I did it to kick some cravings, but it obviously didn’t work completely because all I can think about are those darn cinnamon gummy bears.

Oh high fructose corn syrup, cinnamon, Red Dye #40 and giant gummy bears. Why must you be so delicious???

Here is a day’s worth of juices. Surprisingly I wasn’t hungry all day long like I expected. Probably because the darn things look so gross when the sediment settles.

Daniel avoided doing the juice cleanse with me by leaving town.
He's a pretty smart guy.

Is sediment the right word? I have no idea, but seriously, those green drinks were straight up nasty looking. They tasted pretty good though.

I thought my favorite one would be the last drink of the day because it was made of filtered water, raw cashews, coconut milk and vanilla bean. Sadly, I was mistaken. It landed in my stomach like a giant sludgy nut and stayed there all night long. By the third night I couldn’t stand to drink it.

My favorite, surprisingly, was number 5 which was made of parsley, spinach, lemon, ginger and apples.

The upside is that I feel really good, dropped a few pounds and have newly discovered will power to stick with my Food Experiment.

The neutral side is that the Food Experiment updates will likely continue as I figure out what works and makes me happy and what doesn't and makes me toot.

The downside is I now have a deep and burning hatred for parsley which was in all three of the daily “green” drinks. I’ve never much cared for parsley, but now I deeply despise it. So much that if anyone tries to feed parsley to me now, I just might chuck a blunt object at their heads.

So for all those folks who were planning to stop by and make me a four course meal…don’t forget to leave out the parsley!

Want a Great Read for the Weekend? Try Faithful Place by Tana French

2011-08-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

"After only two pages, I knew Frank Mackey was a man with a story to tell and he was the type who would prefer to tell it in the dark, smoky and storied pubs of Dublin I dream of visiting one day."

I was so excited to have the chance to review Faithful Place because I love a good murder mystery novel. Faithful Place doesn't disappoint and I'm considering hitting up Amazon to get Tana French's other "Dublin Murder Squad" books.

You can find my full review here and then wander around BlogHer for other reviews in their Book Club.

Food Experiment Update - Bagels and Cheese and Pull-ups, Oh My!

2011-08-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

I’m still plowing through my two weeks without processed foods and figured that now is as good a time as any to give you an update.

I had some organic swiss cheese on Monday and promptly felt sick. I’ve had this cheese before. I’ve loved this cheese before. And now it hates me. Maybe the cheese heard I was cheating on it with vegetables?

I had half a bagel yesterday and promptly felt…hmmm…how do I put this in a delicate and lady-like way….like a fart factory for the rest of the day.

That was nowhere near lady-like, but neither were the sounds coming from my small intestines. Apparently bagels hate me now too.

Is this a curse of turning 30-ish? Food groups start to hate you? Why couldn’t brussel sprouts start hating me so we could at least have a balanced relationship based on mutual disgust? Why did it have to be bagels?

The world may never know, but I’ve decided that maybe I should avoid those foods in the future if I don’t want to be pukey, gassy and cranky.

Daniel’s never been more attracted to me than he is at this very moment. He is such a lucky man.

Want to know what else I learned this week?

70 pull-ups will do this to your hand.

Pull-ups = ripped holes in skin and thumb amputations.
Ouch.

Pull-ups are evil. The work of the devil probably. I would say that I should start avoiding those too, but look at the newly located muscles in my back that are the result of those cursed pull-ups!

Back muscles courtesy of pull-ups.

There are only a few days left in my experiment, but have no fear, the fun will continue! Look for a big announcement on Monday.

What's Good for the Goose is Generally a Terrible Idea for the Gander

2011-08-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

Last night Daniel and I were asking each other about our respective days and pretending to listen to the other person’s response. Because that’s what caring spouses do. We pretend to listen to the other person’s boring stories about work.

Side note: In case you need reminding, my stories are never boring. Never, ever, ever. Usually they aren’t boring because I throw in fun “facts” to spice up the story a little. Something along the lines of “I was busy figuring out how to reconcile this account when all of the sudden a SWAT team burst through the windows and evacuated the building due to an invasion of rabid monkeys. But I saved the day by luring all the monkeys into a file room with a ream of paper, a flashlight and an overripe banana. I’m pretty sure the governor is going to give me a medal.”

After telling me how one of his audits was going, Daniel mentioned that the son of one of his partners had a summer job working with Cutco, a company with travelling knife salesmen.

Travelling. Knife. Salesmen. I’m not making that part up, but I sure as heck wish I was.

Bekah: Oh, that sounds nice.

Daniel: Yep.

Bekah: Wait. Why do I need to know that?

Daniel: Well, he called me a few weeks ago and I set up an appointment for him to come to the house and do his sales pitch.

Bekah: Ohhh-kay. When?

Daniel: This weekend.

Bekah: This weekend. This weekend when you’re going to be out of town, I’m going to have to listen to a high school kid try to sell me cutlery? What the heck??

Daniel: Well, I’m going to try to reschedule it, but I don’t have his phone number, so just be prepared for him to come by Sunday afternoon.

Bekah: When exactly?

Daniel: I don’t remember that either.

Bekah: …blink, blink...

Daniel: Remember that you love me!

Bekah: …blink, blink...

Daniel: That’s what you say to me when you do stupid stuff like this. It should work for me too.

Bekah: So let me get this straight. You’re going to leave town for the weekend and I am going to be at home being guilted into buying sharp and deadly instruments from your boss’ son.

Daniel: Maybe I better track down this kid’s number and reschedule.

Role Swap - Like Wife Swap Only Totally Different

2011-08-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

Is Wife Swap still on TV? That show was awesome (although I have Keeping up with the Kardashians on DVR, so take my opinion with a grain of salt...maybe a boulder of salt) because it usually left you with a warm fuzzy feeling at the end when the families realized how small changes in their family dynamic can be good for everyone.

And then every once in a while, it ended in a catfight between the two moms who thought the other mom was doing everything wrong and should be sent to mom purgatory. I got all Judgy McJudgerson and was like "I'll NEVER do that stuff when I have kids" which I'm pretty sure will come back to bite me hard in a few years.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't watch it any more.

The point of all this is to say that normally, I'm the annoying one in the family who gets on everyone's nerves. I ask Daniel stupid questions all day and demand that he buy me ridiculous things. I accuse him of all sorts of things that I actually did and forgot about 0.4 seconds after I did it (ummm...yeah...I'm pretty sure I threw away all those receipts you were saving...sorry).

I'm the one who plays with the dog's feet while she's sleeping and gets my feelings hurt when she finally gets annoyed enough to growl at me.

I call my mother and if she doesn't answer the phone I leave her long rambling voicemails accusing her of partying her way across Tampa all weekend.

So yes, normally I am the annoying one. I try to remind everyone that I keep their lives interesting, but as my momma says "Boring is good sometimes too. Try it."

But this week. This week things are a little different. This week Dearest Darling Daniel is driving us nuts.

Sunday he finally noticed that the rain gutter that runs down the side of the house next to his garage door is dented. He whipped his adorable little head around and....

Daniel: When did you run into the rain gutter??

Bekah: I didn't!! I would have told you if I did. Like how I backed out of the garage one day and I wasn't lined up right and caught one of your side mirrors on the wall and bent it backwards a little but it popped right back in place.

Daniel: You didn't tell me about that.

Bekah: Oh. Nevermind.

Daniel: You ran into the rain gutter!!

Bekah: No!!

We may never know. But it wasn't me. I think. I'm pretty sure. Oh shoot...it probably was me.

This morning was the worst though. This morning Daniel realized that he hadn't seen Molly's chew bone in a while and went hunting for it.

He found all of her hiding spots and pulled all of the bones out. All four of them. Molly was in a panic. Her beloved bones were all piled up in the living room floor and her insensitive owner was laughing!! If she could talk, I'm pretty sure it would go something like this.

Molly: You JERK! I spent months finding the perfect spot for those and you just messed it up! Do you have any idea how hard it is to scoot a bone that far under the couch when your legs are short?? So what if one of the spots is under a pair of your shorts on the closet floor? Obviously you don't wear them enough to care if there's a little dog spit on them. This is so unfair!! I'm running away from home and going to my grandperson's house!!!!

She finally crawled in bed and pouted for the rest of the morning.

Pouting of this magnitude hasn't been seen since I was 13.

Daniel's still laughing at her.

He definitely wins the annoying award for this week. I'm sure next week it will be mine again.

Experiment Update #1

2011-08-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

First things first - Check out the new page "Food Experiment" where I will be posting quick little updates as I continue my "stay away from processed foods because I've watched one too many documentaries and now I'm scared to walk into a grocery store" experiment.

Daniel is so excited that he just can't stand it.

Excited because I'm not making him do it with me.

Yet.

Actually, I've been slipping in organic stuff without telling him, but I really only have access to his suppers during the week since he refuses to let me pack his lunch for work. Something about all the cool kids eating out and not wanting me to starve him with lettuce and celery sticks and "gross rabbit food."

The first week of Operation Stay Away From Processed Food went pretty well. Mostly because one of our managers flaked out and didn't bring donuts to work on Thursday like she normally does, so I didn't have to slap myself silly to stay away from the fried sugary goodness.

Seriously. Those donuts are the food of angels. Or devils, depending on how you look at it.

I had major candy cravings. And potato chip cravings. And frequently found myself standing in front of the fridge thinking that if I had to eat another piece of zucchini or cucumber or grape I was going to give up and eat the dog's food because it probably tasted better.

But I persevered and didn't cave and eat candy or potato chips.

I should be happy about that, but in reality, I stuck to my guns from sheer laziness. We didn't have candy or potato chips in the house and I was too lazy to make a trip to the grocery store.

Does that still count as a win? A lazy win?

Sure. What the heck...I'll take it!

Blame it on the rain. Or something else. You pick.

2011-08-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to school. I would spend days fretting over what outfit should be worn to make the best “first day” impression. I would sweat bullets over tests and diligently read every book early to have enough time to write a Pulitzer Prize winning book report.

This dedication faded a bit for my first two years at college. Whoops. Never fear though! I regained my academic aspirations and managed to finish college with honors, a paying job and a tiny scrap of my sanity.

I didn’t play sports. I have absolutely no competitive nature when it comes to sports. None. But when I first marched into the soon-to-be-condemned single wide trailer where Kindergarten was taught, I realized that I was competitive about grades.

I wanted to be the best!

I wanted to be the teacher’s favorite student!

I sat in on parent-teacher conferences so I could hear my teachers’ glowing reports firsthand.

I was the most annoying elementary school prodigy on the planet. I can't believe I didn't get beat up on the playground.

It was so bad that I refused to show my parents homework or tests that I felt were not up to par. When my mom noticed my tiny backpack was bulging at the seams and pulled page after page of homework with a bright red “A” on the top, she asked why I was hiding it.

“Because it’s an ‘A’ and if there is an ‘A-‘, ‘A’ or an ‘A+ 100%’, I want the ‘A+ 100%!!”

For years I blamed my crazy behavior on being the typical “oldest child.” Or the product of two parents who work themselves silly to be the best that they can be in their chosen professions. Or a desire to meet and exceed everyone’s expectations. Or a debilitating addiction to Little Debbies.

But yesterday I learned the true reason for my academic aspirations, thanks to the American Red Cross.

I got my blood donor’s card in the mail. Do you know what your blood donor’s card shows on the front?

Your blood type.

Yep, the blood flowing through my veins is A Positive.

This is a surprise to no one.

So to everyone who had to deal with my 7 year old academic craziness…don’t blame me. Blame genetics!

Notice anything different?

2011-08-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

This is where you tell me that you prefer looking at our smiling faces instead of a tree.

I'll wait.

Thanks!

As you can see, the new blog design is done EARLY! It has nothing to do with me, because I'm pretty much incapable of getting things done early. But the gals at Studio Bold are much better about blowing original timelines right out of the water.

What do ya think?

Of Carnies, Cows and Cuisine

2011-08-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday Daniel and I went to the Orange County Fair. It was the last weekend the Fair was running and it was even more disappointing in the animal department than in prior years. The livestock is judged early on in the Fair and everyone takes their critters home early.

That means I saw approximately 10 animals. Well, 18 if you count the Alaskan racing pigs, which of course I do.

Here’s a brief recap of the evening.

6pm
Bekah: What the heck? Where are all the animals??

Daniel: Oh cool…there’s a goat!

Bekah: That’s a sheep.

Daniel: Oh. I guess it’s just had a haircut. I was expecting it be fuzzier.

Bekah: You shear sheep, you don't give them a haircut. We need to move to Kansas before we have kids.

Baaaa...don't we have awesome goat haircuts?

7:00pm
Daniel: I like the alpacas. They look like girls.

Bekah: Hang on; I'm trying to decide how mad I should be about that comment.

Yes, the facial hair is very feminine.

7:30pm

Daniel: Can I buy a Tommy Hil”pig”er shirt?

7:45pm
Bekah: Corn on the cob!! Get your wallet ready, buddy, you’re buying tonight.

Daniel: Great. (tone of voice suggests that this is not great)

8:30pm
Bekah: That sign is amazing.

Daniel: I don’t get it.

Bekah: We. Are. Moving. To. Kansas!!!!!

Those Estonians are so smart. Anyone know where the heck Estonia is?

9:30pm
Bekah: We have to go back to the Fried Butter booth and buy some so I can tear it open and show Mom what it looks like on the inside.

Daniel: I’m only doing this because it’s for your mom.

Vendor: That will be $5.75.

Daniel: What??? That's crazy! It's just fried butter.

Vendor: And whipped cream.

Daniel: Fried butter isn't bad enough?? You felt the need to add whipped cream???

Bekah: **stage whisper** Babe, he's going to spit in our fried butter

Daniel: Who cares? We aren't going to eat it...just pull it apart.

Vendor: And you think I'm crazy for adding whipped cream??

Bekah: This is awesome! And gross! And will probably kill you in 4.3 seconds!!

Fried butter! Coated in churro batter and topped with whipped cream, cinnamon and sugar.

Please excuse the claw fingers, I was trying to avoid touching much of it.
FYI - The inside is like uncooked churro dough.

P.S. I must confess, that entire conversation about the fried butter didn't happen. Have fun deciding which part is real.

The Great Experiment of 2011

2011-08-15T12:12:00.000-07:00

Please alert your favorite media outlets: I have an announcement.

Several weeks ago I decided to tear myself away from streaming Netflix (thank you Blu-ray and your awesomeness*) and Vanity Fair to read something with a little more substance.

I know…boring.

I picked Fast Food Nation and In Defense of Food. Apparently watching Food Inc wasn’t enough for me; I had to keep the food terror going in book form. While I wanted to love Fast Food Nation, I just couldn’t get into it. It is IN-DEPTH. Crazy levels of details and while the founder of Carl’s Jr. had an interesting life, it just wasn’t the reason why I picked up the book. And the socio-economic impact of the “industrialization of food” was…well…a snoozefest. I wanted to be riveted. I really did! But I wasn’t in the least.

In Defense of Food was a different story (ha-ha). It was all of the medical mumbo-jumbo and socio-economic discussion, but at a more palatable (hardy-har-har) surface level. It was a quick read with the main theme being “Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants.”

Sounds simple, right? Wrong when you consider that 99% of the stuff you can buy in a grocery store wouldn’t be considered “food” in the author’s mind.

Fruit Roll-Ups = obvious processed-to-the-point-of-ickiness non-food.
Steak = probably still non-food because the cow was shot full of antibiotics and corn-fed in a feed lot rather than antibiotic free and grass-fed in a pasture.

Seriously. If you shop at standard, large chain grocery stores, this guy will only let you eat grapes. And probably not even those if they aren’t in season and have been coated in pesticides and picked too early so they could be shipped in from Chile.

It’s almost enough to make me plant a garden and raise my own chickens and cows.

My homeowners association would just loooove that, dontcha think?

Here’s what I’m going to do instead.

For the next two weeks I’m going to try to eat only “food.” Except for my protein shakes in the morning and weekly pizza fix. Nobody wants to see me without my pizza.

1 – Eat only fruits and vegetables that come in my CSA box.

2 – Buy only organic meats (not perfect due to the loose labeling requirements).

3 – When eating out, stick to foods with minimal ingredients that would not require significant processing (i.e. Mimi’s pain perdu, while delicious includes overly-processed: white bread, cream cheese, orange marmalade and maple syrup. Their egg white vegetable omelet with fruit, while not as delicious, has no overly-processed ingredients.)

4 – Snack on fruits and vegetables so I meet the “mostly plant” criteria.

If you don’t hear from me later this week with an update, it means that I have fallen from grace and eaten an entire tub of marshmallow fluff, three Big Macs and a pound of jelly beans.

* Daniel would like me to mention that when he bought the Blu-ray for the sole purpose of streaming Netflix, that I said something along the lines of "oh for heaven's sake, we won't even watch it that much" and then I became mildly obsessed with it and watch more Netflix stuff than he does. I don't remember it happening quite like that...

Paint will be the death of me, I'm sure

2011-08-11T10:16:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we unexpectedly picked out a bedroom set for our currently empty house. Bed, nightstands and a long low dresser to hold Daniel’s favorite things in life: the TV and his collection of absolutely awful 80’s movies.

Really truly terrible movies.

Like the movie with Sylvester Stallone as an arm wrestling truck driver out to build a better relationship with his son. Daniel actually bought that one on Amazon for $2 just to make me watch it because, shockingly, he couldn’t rent it anywhere.

Shudder.

We didn’t place the order for the new furniture last weekend because we had to go home and obsessively measure our master bedroom 12 or 12,000 times to make sure it would all fit. Tomorrow we are headed back to put down the deposit and wait 4 to 6 weeks for grown-up furniture.

I’m so excited!!

You know what comes along with making your first grown-up furniture purchase that didn’t involve a giant Ikea shopping bag?

The realization that if you don’t hurry up and paint now, you’re going to have to paint later. After the furniture is moved in. After the super-heavy cherry furniture is moved in and will need to be moved away from the walls.

We are simply too lazy for that, so we ran straight out to Home Depot to pick up paint samples so we could get most of the house painted before the furniture is delivered.

You know what comes along with picking the color that will go on the walls of your yet unadorned and unfurnished house?

The realization that you have to make this decision with a man who is partially colorblind.

Daniel: What about this one, it’s nice.

Bekah: No, it has pink undertones. I don’t want the living room to glow pink at night.

Daniel: What about this one?

Bekah: That’s even pinker than the first one…

Daniel: How about this color?

Bekah: Why don’t you go look at the bbq grills while I take care of this.

We’re leaning towards one of the two colors on the left. But we need to make a decision, like, yesterday so we can get the painter in soon.

Decisions, decisions. I really need to move these because all I have
decided is that I have a craving for toasted marshmallows.

Yes, I realize we could paint it ourselves, but please see above where I declare myself simply too lazy.

Don’t judge…it’s not nice. And I’m pretty sure it gives you wrinkles and gray hair and will make your cat hack up a hairball in your slippers. Just imagine how surprised you will be when you find a hairball in your slipper and you don't even have a cat. That's the power of judgment, people.

Conversations with Boys

2011-08-10T09:49:00.000-07:00

I’m taking half of Thursday off work to get my teeth cleaned and Friday I’m taking the day off to take my car to the shop and run other errands that can only be run during the week. Social Security office here I come!

Oh yeah, the fun just doesn’t stop around these parts. If the trailer’s rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’! Cuz I’m probably inside scrubbing soap scum and hard water deposits off the shower door.

Wooohooo!!

Back to the car.

I need an oil change. And my tires rotated. And a few repairs that they noticed before the wedding but I didn’t have the time to deal with. And possibly a new tire because one has a fast leak and that makes me cry because my tires are ridiculously expensive.

You know what else makes me cry?

Fixing the two sources of oil leaks and some broken plastic thingies in my suspension. In? On? I don’t know. What I do know is that Daniel is cringing and holding onto his masculinity for dear life after reading that.

Did you know that cars have an oil pan that can crack and start to leak? I didn’t. When someone tells me that my car has an oil pan, I immediately picture a well-cured cast iron skillet is hanging out under my hood.

Unfortunately, that’s not true.

Right now, Daniel’s thinking that he can’t believe he is married to me. He’s so lucky.

I told Daniel yesterday about my plans, mostly because my plans include stealing his car for the day so I don’t have to get a rental. I broke the sad news of the cost of my new-found cracked oil pan and all the other thingies that need to be repaired.

I could practically see him cringe through instant message when I kept typing “thingie.”

He’s so uptight.

I finished by telling him the following exchange I had with the mechanic while determining what to fix and how much it would all cost.

Mechanic: Wow, we’re taking care of a lot on your car.

Bekah: Yeah, please don’t tell me anything else is wrong with the car after you see it because I’ll probably cry.

Mechanic: Ummm…ohhhh-kaaayyyy.

Bekah: But yeah, we’re pretty much fixing everything that I never knew could go wrong with a car. Actually, instead of just fixing it, do you think Mickey can just give me a new car? I’m sure he’s got another Mini laying around.

Mechanic: Chuckle…pause…concerned chuckle…Yeah, probably not.

Daniel: That is NOTHING like my conversations with them. I can’t believe you did that.

Bekah: Because you probably have boring boy conversations that don't involve car skillets.

Daniel: CARS DON’T HAVE SKILLETS!!

Bekah: They should. That would be awesome.

BlogHer: What it was and wasn't

2011-08-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

It was a mere 1.5 hour drive from my house, 2 if I obeyed speed limits which of course I did, Mom.

Not really.

It wasn’t held in the San Diego Marriott like I was expecting. That’s just where people had hotel rooms.

It was held in the ginormous San Diego Convention Center which I’m pretty sure was recently emptied of comic book fans for the San Diego ComiCon.

It wasn’t as intimidating as I thought.

That’s a straight up lie.

I wanted to hide most of the day to avoid the fact that I didn’t know anyone there. I randomly picked a table of women to sit with at lunch and they turned out to not be bloggers, but instead were professional photographers hired for the event by one of the sponsors.

Leave it to me to go to a blogging convention and have lunch with the only four non-bloggers out of the 3,500 attendees.

They were super-cool and nice. Even though they probably thought I was a tech geek with no social life.

Silly girls; I’m not remotely smart enough to be considered a tech geek.

It was easy to put some women in their blogging category by first impressions. Business suit – not a blogger at all, so I’m not sure why they were there. 6 inch platform stiletto heels – fashion blogger. Woman with a baby in a stroller, sling or Baby Bjorn – mommy blogger.

It wasn’t without opportunities for advancing your blog professionally. Online magazines, TV networks and newspapers were all on-hand looking for the next great writer.

Shockingly, none of them wanted to talk to me. Maybe next year I should wear 6 inch platform stilettos or borrow a baby for the day?

It was a chance for me to meet amazing women who I read daily.

It wasn’t an opportunity I took. I was too scared. I saw them...I was in the same room with them...I did not speak. I have no idea why. Probably because I was afraid they would ask me about my blog and then this would happen.

Bekah: Hi! I love your writing.

Blogger Rock-Star: Hi! Thanks, I enjoy hearing that people like what I write. Where do you blog?

Bekah: Umm…errr…well, my blog’s name is Exciting Life of CPAs. Because…you know…there’s no such thing as an exciting CPA. It’s an oxymoron. That’s the joke. But it’s a terrible joke…

Blogger Rock-Star who is plotting an escape route: Yeah. I figured that. What do you write about?

Bekah: Well, I don’t have kids, but I do have a dog so I write about her and all the stupid stuff I do on a daily basis. I say and do a lot of stupid things.

Blogger Rock-Star who is edging away from me and looking for a drink: I bet you do. You have fun at the rest of the conference!

Seriously though, I met some great people and I can't wait to check out their blogs and their writing.

The trouble with alarms

2011-08-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

Remember last week when Daniel had to wake up at 3:30am to go meet a new client in Alaska?

It was a super important meeting. His first time meeting a brand new client. His chance to shine and make a glowing, knock the socks right off their stinky old feet, first impression.

Knowing that he had to wake up early and impress executives, I made him go to bed early the night before. I set the alarm on my iPhone and crawled into bed.

The world was at peace. The fog rolled in and enveloped the hills in a cool mist. The dew settled delicately on blades of grass. The dog snored like a rhino with a sinus infection.

Suddenly, the warm and sleepy atmosphere of our house was disrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

At 5:00am. The time Daniel was supposed to be meeting his coworkers at the office so they could carpool to the North Pole.

A stream of words that are not suitable for my grandmother to read flew out of both of our mouths. I’m ashamed to admit that I know that many curse words. Let’s just blame it on my two years spent in a college town only a few miles from an Army base and be done with it.

Daniel flew into action and started getting ready.

I did what any loving wife would do in this situation. I plummeted into a panic. A veritable frenzy of fretfulness. A maelstrom of emotions.

What I’m trying to say is…I was completely useless.

Well, not completely. I managed to pull myself together long enough to Mapquest the driving directions for him, help fix his tie, and throw a banana and bottle of water in his general direction as he rushed out the door.

I triple checked my phone to see if I had set the alarm wrong. I hadn’t. 3:30am. Heck, the alarm was still showing as “On”. The only logical conclusion that can be reached is that on Friday, August 5th, there was no 3:30am. There was a 3:29am and even a 3:31 am, but no 3:30am.

Either that or Steve Jobs personally hacked into my iPhone in a devilish attempt to ruin my Super Hero’s meeting and all of his future career ambitions.

That jerk!!

I should sue. How much is my emotional distress worth these days? 100? 200? 350 million?

Definitely $350 million.

What he's taught me

2011-08-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

To say “dude” at all sorts of inappropriate times.

What a catalytic converter is and why it’s on my car and so expensive to replace.

That men still hold doors open for women and lead us through a crowded room with a hand on the small of our backs.

That it is pretty much impossible to drive a manual transmission car while holding hands so for heaven’s sake, Bekah, let go.

That owning a paver driveway is his greatest landscaping dream.

That I will do pretty much anything he asks if he kisses me while running his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. Rob a bank? Sure thing, babe!

That even the toughest, fast driving, jiu-jitsu practicing guy will turn into a puddle of cuddly mush when his Chihuahua feels sick.

That he pays so much attention, even when I’m not, that he knows when I’m happy, mad, sad or homesick just by the way I hold my mouth.

That getting an “I love you babe” instant message in the middle of the day with no warning makes my little heart go pitter patter.

To stop worrying. We can get through anything together if we just settle down, pay attention and keep doing what needs to be done.

Actually, he’s still trying to teach me that one. And if I don’t hurry the heck up and learn it, he just might knock me silly.

Picture of Molly that has nothing to do with this post.
Sorry, I can't help myself.

Random Thursday

2011-08-04T10:51:00.000-07:00

I’m having a touch of writer’s block today. I blame the fact that I’m trying to come up with a new tagline for the blog to go along with a super-duper-oh-so-exciting-I-can’t-wait-until-October new blog design I’m getting.

Taglines are hard. A funny one liner to describe me and my blog…argh! My tagline might as well be “I can’t think of a tagline so don’t expect much from this blog.”

Daniel has to wake up at 3:30 tomorrow to drive to Alaska. Or Oxnard. I don’t know; I quit paying attention after he said what time he had to wake up. 3:30am. That’s 03:30 for you military minded folks. I’m considering calling in sick to work tomorrow due to sleep deprivation.

This is a bad sign for how I’m going to handle sleepless nights when we have kids.

Oh! Have I mentioned that I’m freaking out about having kids? Not “my biological clock is ticking loud enough for all of California to hear” but “we won’t be able to sleep in any more and they are expensive and I’ll get fat and cranky and the dog…sweet baby Jesus, the dog will go crazy with jealousy.”

On a related note, Daniel’s “discretionary deafness” has been rearing it’s head more and more lately.

I’ve decided that yoga pants and a tank top are too casual to wear to BlogHer. Do you think my wedding dress is too formal?

Trader Joe’s has a dark chocolate bar with caramel and sea salt. I’m pretty much in heaven. My thighs will soon require their own zip codes.

I’ve been reading Fast Food Nation and In Defense of Food. I have vowed to never set another foot into a fast food restaurant.

Of course, the drive-throughs don’t require you to set foot in the restaurant, so I’ve left myself a loophole big enough to drive my Mini through when PMS sets in hard and heavy.

My cholesterol and hormones are going to regret this later…

This is what happens when I impulse shop

2011-08-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

Several months ago I found out that BlogHer, a super-cool super-big community of women bloggers, was having their annual convention in my very own backyard, San Diego.

Well, it would be in my backyard if my backyard was 90 miles of desert.

In a moment of impulse, I bought a one-day ticket to attend the conference on Saturday. Then I promptly forgot about it. Until the reminder emails started to become more frequent and they sent out the schedule and information on the break-out sessions.

Now I’m starting to freak out.

I’m going to be in a conference room with bloggers who I read on a daily basis. Women who have a real gift for writing, a talent for marketing and creativity oozing out of their pores.

I have none of those things.

You know what else I don’t have? Business cards. For my blog.

I didn’t even know that was a thing I should have!!

I have old business cards from my past job. Do you think I can just white out the old boring stuff and write in my URL?

The stress level is rapidly building and I’m finding myself having this internal debate over and over again.

Bekah: Maybe I shouldn’t go.

Self: You already paid. You’re going. How bad could it be?

Bekah: How bad could it be? What if they all hate me?

Self: You think all 3,000 attendees are going to hate you. Seriously? Get over yourself.

Bekah: OK, so maybe they won’t all hate me. Just the ones who meet me in person. Or the ones I tackle to get autographs. Or the ones I don’t tackle to get an autograph and they get all “why don’t you want my autograph??”

Self: Don’t ask for autographs, you weirdo. You aren’t a four year old at Disneyland.

Bekah: But…but…everything will go wrong and I’ll say something stupid and nobody will ever read my blog again!

Self: Sigh. I wish I had someone else to talk to.

Wish me luck!

Happy Belated Birthday!

2011-08-02T09:41:00.000-07:00

The big wedding shindig pretty much sucked my birthday into oblivion, which I was completely fine with as I prefer to ignore the fact that I’m getting older. And have more gray hair. And more wrinkles. And probably more cellulite, but I can’t be certain on that one because I refuse to look at my toosh in the mirror unless I’m not wearing my contacts and without them I’m considered legally blind so as far as I know, my hiney looks like Pippa Middleton’s, only skinnier.

Don’t argue with me. It will only make me mad.

The point of that was to say that we skipped over my birthday celebration. Daniel’s parents planned to combine my birthday celebration with Daniel's birthday celebration, but we couldn’t get our schedules to work out in June, so we wound up celebrating my birthday, Daniel’s birthday and Daniel’s dad’s birthday last weekend.

The Chinese are nothing, if not efficient.

Don’t worry, I can make jokes about Daniel’s culture because I’m his legally wed, can’t escape from me because I will hunt him down with a pack of bloodhounds, wife.

But the day he jokes about me being Irish or a honky is the day you will find him locked in a closet with only a Mr. PotatoHead to keep him company.

Honestly…I can’t get to the point today…

Last weekend we went out to a fancy schmancy steakhouse in Beverly Hills for our combined birthday supper. I always feel like a fish-out-of-water hick at those restaurants, but I’m not stupid enough to pass up a free bone-in filet mignon, so I ignore my insecurities and tag along.

The steaks were delicious. And huge. I couldn’t finish mine, so I asked the waiter to box it up. There is nothing classier in this world than a grown woman leaving a 5 star restaurant in Beverly Hills with a doggie bag.

The waiter was a little overzealous and probably desperate for tips to support his acting career, so he not only boxed up my steak, but also the bones from everyone else’s steak.

When we got home and realized what we had in the doggie bag, Daniel and I decided that we would give Molly one of the smaller bones to eat for her “adoption anniversary” present.

Birthday steaks for all!!

Turns out, Molly has a taste for fine dining. She licked that darn thing clean in 15 minutes and we had to chase her around the backyard to get the bone back because she started biting the bone as hard as she could to crack it open and get at the bone marrow and I don’t like the idea of having a toothless dog.

The evening ended with Daniel holding Molly, Molly holding one end the bone and me holding the other saying “drop it…drop it” about 100 times before she finally gave up and let go.

Now she curls up her lip and turns a cold shoulder to her normal dog food like we’re asking her to eat a 50 year old MRE. We’ve created a culinary monster.

I think it's time to bake again

2011-08-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

The following is, unfortunately, an actual conversation that took place in my office today. Consider it a public service announcement of what not to do at work if you enjoy getting a paycheck and don't have bosses who are much, much nicer than you.

Manager: Good morning, Bekah.

Bekah: "Good" might be an exaggeration. I can't feel the muscles in my legs right now.

Manager: Why??

Bekah: Ever heard of a hanging squat snatch? No? Good. Stay away from them. They are evil disguised as exercise. Actually, all exercise is evil; avoid it all.

Manager: Geesh, you're not your normal cheery self today.

Senior Manager: Yeah, usually Bekah is Little Miss Sunshine.

Side Note: I'm not sure who the heck they've been talking to because I'm pretty sure nobody in their right mind would think I am Little Miss Sunshine before 2pm.

Bekah: I don't know, but I'm starting to think I need to just go home, go back to sleep and try again tomorrow. By the way, if I eat all of Heather's Hot Tamales today, I'm blaming you two.

Senior Manager: Who pooped in your Cheerios this morning?

Best. Question. Ever.

It's Like a Sickness

2011-07-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday we took Molly in for her annual exam and shots. For those of you with kids, it’s the dog equivalent of taking your kid in for booster shots. Except when our kid decides she doesn’t want to go see the doctor, we can drag her into the exam room by the chain around her neck.

Don’t try that with real kids.

Molly was poked, prodded, stuck with various needles and had her backside violated for a fecal sample. She was not a happy camper when we left with our instructions to keep her quiet for the rest of the day as she would likely be “depressed with a lack of appetite and swelling at the injection site”.

We pretty much ignored everything the vet said and took her to a bbq with 20+ full grown people and two munchkin sized people. She spent the entire evening trolling the bbq area for dropped rib eye steaks or following the kids around for dropped rice.

Yes. Rice. It was a bbq hosted by Asians, after all.

Around midnight, we packed up our stuff and headed home where all three of us proceeded to fall into bed and not move for the next 8 hours.

Molly didn’t move for a teensy bit longer than that.

Like another 24 hours.

Apparently that “keep her quiet for the rest of the day” thing is along the same lines of the “don’t exercise for 24 hours after donating blood” thing. One of her shoulders swelled up to bodybuilder proportions. She refused to eat. She refused to run. She barely drug herself outside to pee and spent the day staring at us from her cushy bed with a look of disappointment, disapproval and disenchantment all over her furry face.

That’s a lot of “dis”es.

She’s better now.

Much better, actually, but she’s still milking it for everything she’s worth.

I don’t blame her. My Super-Hero’s a pretty good cuddler.

Suburbanites lost in the city

2011-07-27T09:55:00.000-07:00

A long time ago in a parallel universe where I thought work was more important than sleeping, I used to spend a good amount of time working in downtown LA.

Now I've realized the error of my ways and only set foot in downtown when there is food involved. Mmmm...Olvera Street....

Today, however, I am here for work. I could have said "no" and skipped the meeting this afternoon (my amazingly cool bosses were fine with that) but I decided to come anyway.

Because I'm such a dedicated employee.

But mostly because Daniel's client is half a mile away from our downtown LA office and he could drive while I played Monster Dash on my iPhone.

Yesterday, my department's assistant, who saves our disorganized hineys on a daily basis, gave me a print-out with directions on how to get to our downtown office. I didn't really read them because Daniel was driving and puh-lease...I've been in downtown a million times, I'll be fine.

Sure I've never been to the downtown office of my new company, but that's a minor detail.

This morning, after Daniel braved traffic and I killed a few virtual zombies, we arrived at my office. I climbed out of the car with all my stuff and Daniel said "I think it's the building on the left side of the street" and I was all "yeah sure, do these heels make my calves look skinny??"

I walked up to the building complex on the right side of the street and asked a kindly janitor which door I should use to get to the 333 building.

Janitor: You want 333 S. Hope or 333 S. Grand?

Bekah: What?? Aren't they far apart?

Janitor who is getting less kindly by the second: No, they are across the street from each other.

Bekah who is getting more panicked by the second: Ohmigosh. Err...ummmm...I need 333 S. Hope.

Janitor who is happy to finally be rid of me: That's across the street.

So in the end, Daniel was right, I was wrong and no janitors were hurt in the making of this story. Although I'm now organizing a hunt for the sadistic city planner who thought it was a good idea to put 333 S. Hope and 333 S. Grand directly across the street from each other.

Adventures in furniture shopping

2011-07-25T12:45:00.000-07:00

Sunday after we finished with church and I detached myself from 4 two year olds, Daniel and I decided to make our first real foray into the world of furniture.

We have a lot of furniture to buy. A LOT. We literally have three rooms in our house that are completely devoid of furniture. THREE!! And the other rooms have only the bare minimum and we're starting to get really funny looks from people when they come into the house and ask how long we've lived there and I have to say it's been a year and a half.

So we went with no real plan in mind. We just wanted to see what was out there, how much things cost and if we had a shot at agreeing on what we liked.

First up was a couch that we mostly liked, but I don't like the combination of leather and fabric. And the chaise lounge was on the wrong side for how our room is laid out. And it cost a small fortune. But, you know, nearly perfect.

Not quite practically perfect in every way...

Then we went to another store and I found a giant purple and white cow that I decided we absolutely must have. Daniel does not agree. Daniel is so close-minded sometimes.

Daniel has no appreciation for fine art.

THEN we went to another store where Daniel found the TV of his dreams and declared it perfect for our family room. I did not agree. Daniel is lucky I'm so rational and level-headed.

Daniel and Ricky Martin: Life sized. TV: Ginormous.

Finally we went to a fourth store where I found a table and chair set that I liked.

Bekah: What about this one? It's nice.

Daniel: For what?

Bekah: What do you mean for what?? It's a dining table...it will go in the dining room of course.

Daniel: Babe, that was my polite way of saying there is no way that table is going anywhere near my house.

Bekah: Rude.

The "offensive" table and chairs that will never know the joy of living in my house.

That's when I realized that we're never going to be able to get this darn house furnished because we are too picky.

Never.

So I gave up and made Daniel take me out for frozen yogurt instead. But even THAT was drama filled because when you're in a shop with 10 different flavors of frozen yogurt and unlimited toppings, who in their right mind would pick plain vanilla with no toppings??

My husband.

I'm starting to question his sanity.

What he really thinks about me

2011-07-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

According to Daniel, I say all sorts of untrue, awful and exceptionally exaggerated things about him on this blog. According to Daniel, I'm a filthy rotten liar.

According to me, I'm a stunning beauty, but nobody's asking me.

Last week Daniel informed me that, not only do I have a distant-to-the-point-of-uncommunicative relationship with "the truth", I will also be the prime suspect should he turn up dead.

Here's how it all started. A few weeks ago, Daniel was telling one of his bosses that he wanted to talk to a financial planner about setting up a more balanced investment portfolio and saving for college (for Molly apparently because we don't even have kids yet) and blah, gibber-gabber, blah and that's where I fell asleep because grown-up conversations are so very boring.

When I woke back up, Daniel told me that, as a result of the conversation with his boss, he was going to talk to a guy about getting a life insurance policy for himself. Then he told me the criteria he had that would determine the size of this shiny new policy.

1 - Large enough to pay off the mortgage completely.

2 - Large enough to put our hypothetical 2.5 children through college at an Ivy League school.

3 - Large enough to provide living expenses for a few years should I need time to find a job.

4 - Small enough that I won't poison his protein shakes so I can get the money sooner and run off with a cute pool boy.

Honestly. It's like he doesn't know me at all.

I prefer cute cowboys.

I'm Right and the Entire Medical Community and Daniel are Wrong

2011-07-21T12:08:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I signed up to help all of mankind by allowing a ferocious nurse clad in a white coat and those weird Sketcher shoes that are supposed to tone your tushie to suck approximately 3 gallons of blood out of my arm with a needle the size of a PVC pipe.

My arm after it was attacked by a needle.

Tuesday was the day. I bravely faced Nurse Dread and let my blood drip into a pint bag for 15 minutes. When it was finished, I was sent off to the snack table with a mumbled warning about not exercising for 24 hours, but they might have just been telling me to not take advantage of my weakened condition by demanding my darling husband bring me my favorite meals for any period of time less than 24 hours. I don’t know. It was hard to hear them over the sound of my pearly whites crunching on Oreos.

Tuesday night I was ravenous, but feeling pretty chipper. Wednesday morning I still felt fine so I threw on my grungiest workout clothes, grabbed a banana and headed to the gym. I felt fine during my warm-up mile run. And then the power lifting part of the workout started and I didn’t feel so fine. Dizzy to be precise. But I didn’t quit. ‘Cuz my momma didn’t raise no quitter!!

Although she might have raised an idiot.

After I got home, took a shower and had some breakfast, the dizzy feeling subsided and I went to work.

And then the following conversation between my and my darling husband happened.

I think I’m going to leave early today. I’m not dizzy any more, just tired and feverish.

Oh that’s not good. Drink a ton of Gatorade.

Blech.

Wait a second…they actually warned you yesterday to not exercise 24 hours after donating blood?

Umm…yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I was too busy drinking orange juice to pay attention.

Well according to your Facebook status, that seems to be the case. And according to people’s replies, the owners of the Crossfit gym agree with the nurse!

Stupid technology. Someone obviously hacked my Facebook account! I’m like that politician from New York with pictures of his “bidness” all over Twitter!! Don't blame me...blame social media!!

I was feeling bad for you this morning and then what do I find? Two sources of professionals told you not to do it.

They lie! I mean really, who can trust the Red Cross?? They are shifty sheisters who give out unhealthy treats for donating blood!

Yep, a free appetizer filled with fried tortilla chips and melted cheese.
So much for my health-kick...

I was wondering why your text this morning telling me you got dizzy during your workout started with "whoops." A person only says "whoops" when they do something they were told not to do!

Would you believe I meant to say "Whoops, I can't believe how awesome I look this morning?"

Apparently, he does not believe that. This is when all of the Internet should rally behind me to prove that I’m right and Daniel’s wrong.

Even though I’m probably wrong. Details, people....minor details.

What was in the box

2011-07-20T08:59:00.000-07:00

With my first shipment from the CSA, I opted for a box that was a mix of fruits and vegetables, but more heavily weighted towards vegetables since I cook so much.

That was a lot of veggies.

So many, in fact, that I had to make Daniel start eating vegetables. He was underwhelmed to say the least.

Last week, I opted for a box that is split fairly evenly between fruits and vegetables. After planning out my meals, I was able to buy only bananas, two tomatoes and mushrooms at the grocery store.

Score!

My goal to eat primarily local and organic vegetables and fruit for the week has worked! We will never get away from buying bananas at the grocery store though because Daniel has one every morning in his protein shake and I eat one every morning that I workout so I don't get a crippling, throw yourself on the ground in pain and agony, cramp.

Although that might make me have to work out less....

Anyhoo. Here's what we got in our box this week!

Onions, bell peppers, cucumbers, mangoes, melon, zucchini and black plums.

Lettuce, carrots and broccoli.

Sweet Kelly shared a recipe with me last week for summer squash soup that looks super delish. Anyone else have suggestions on what to make with our fruit loot?

Play Dates

2011-07-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

A few times a month we take Molly to the dog park in Irvine. It's one of the nicer ones in the area and has a separate areas for small and large dogs. This is of particular importance for us because Molly has a tendancy to annoy the crap out of dogs that are large enough to eat her as a snack.

This is how a typical visit goes.

Entrance
Molly fights so hard to get into the park that she makes it nearly impossible to open the gates and get her leash off. This of course slows us down and she gets even antsier and I consider giving her to the next person who laughs and says "oh how cute!"

Scoping Out the Joint
Molly proceeds to pee on every blade of grass she can find. I pretend to make a phone call and that I've never seen her before.

Introductions
Molly sniffs the hiney of every dog she can sneak up on. Molly does not allow other dogs to sniff her hiney. Because she's a lady.

I have no idea how I managed to take a picture with such amazing timing
to make it look like that dog only has two legs.

Sides are Taken
Molly and three or four other dogs declare themselves to be fast friends and lifelong allies. At least until it is time to leave. At least one dog declares war on Molly. Usually it's a beagle.

Valentino (named for Rudolph of course) was a "friendly".

Hit'em Hard and Hit'em Fast
Molly and her comrades chase other dogs through the park at top speeds. Top speeds for the other dogs. Molly's weird little front legs don't quite translate to running like a silver bullet. The tackle their enemies and play fight until some parent gets upset and breaks it up. If Daniel is there, he is the overprotective enforcer. If I'm by myself, I just let her get tackled for all she's worth. She deserves it.

Bidding Adieu
It's pretty obvious when Molly is ready to go home. See for yourself. Yes, that's my dog lying in the shade while other dogs run happily around her.

One Little Person in One Big City

2011-07-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just can't help but think about how much things have changed for me in a (relatively) few short years.

The most significant change...

Moving from here.

Williamsburg, Kansas - See all the wide open spaces? Oh and only one road is paved.
Everything else...dirt and gravel.

To here.

Yorba Linda, California - Totally full of people and houses except for the foothills.
And the roads you can identify have four lanes or more.

No, I wouldn't want to move back to Williamsburg. But there are times when I miss it enough to make my bones ache. The friends, the memories and the drastically different approach to life.

I frequently reprimand myself for feeling homesick or missing family or wishing I could be closer. I'm thirty-ish and married and a homeowner and a spoiled dog owner. Shouldn't I be over this by now??

Nope, apparently not. But I'm working on it. I'm sure that one day California will feel like home. Today just isn't that day.

So for now, I'm going to listen to this song on repeat and break it up with some George Strait and resist the urge to fly to Kansas. Or Missouri. Or Texas. Or Florida. Because seriously, as heart wrenching as it is when I tell Daniel that I'm homesick and want to move home and he says "but where is that?"...he's kinda right.

The Sky is Falling and LA Will Have Traffic Jams and Other Doomsday Declarations!

2011-07-15T12:58:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't live in the general LA area, this might be the first time you are hearing of our pending Carmageddon.

I envy you.

I've been barraged with stories about how awful traffic will be, pictures of the girls on the early morning news shows who report traffic conditions while wearing "Carmageddon 2011" t-shirts that would fit an infant, and Jet Blue flights for $4 from Burbank to Long Beach.

It's a tad ridiculous. More than a tad considering traffic in that area is ALWAYS TERRIBLE. Unless it's 2am and then it's only mildly stressful and annoying.

However, I'm taking every precaution and have decided that I won't leave my suburban bubble after I get home tonight. Mostly because I'm going to be waiting 2.5 hours for a custom burger from Slater's 50/50.

What??? A girl's got to have her priorities straight.

Yesterday it rained. In Southern California. In July. Obviously the cosmos is giving up on us with the pending Carmageddon and has decided to throw caution to the wind and add "life threatening weather conditions" to the traffic jam of the millenia.

Trust me. That was the reaction of the masses here in sunny So Cal. I'm not the only person in California who exaggerates.

So before Southern California is sucked into a black hole of bad traffic and sprinkling acid rain, allow me to introduce the new love of my life.

Oh, Le Creuset...how I love thee.

Daniel's a little bummed that I spent an entire wedding gift card that we both received on a dutch oven and sparkly sandals. He claims that OUR gift was used for things that only I will use.

I'm trying to convince him that it's really OK because I will cook for him with the dutch oven and I needed the sparkly sandals because the only dress shoes I have are heels and they make me freakishly taller than Daniel which in turn makes us both feel uncomfortable and then I slouch and my grandma always told me not to slouch so then I'm tormented with what to do, which will lead to massive therapy bills in the future. Obviously I needed them.

Unfortunately, this plan is not working out as well as I had hoped.

Note to Self

2011-07-13T09:53:00.000-07:00

When listening to Pandora radio on your amazingly-life-changing iPhone to get your redneck country music fix during the work day, remember a few things.

1 - When you take your headphones out of the iPhone, pause the music or else the speaker will start playing the music.

2 - When you take your headphones out of your computer after spending an hour listening to an investment call, put your headphones back into your iPhone before you start the music again or else the speaker will start playing the music. Again.

Should you happen to forget these steps (this would only happen if your brilliant brain is too busy thinking about financial statements and distributions and what on earth you are going to eat for supper that is healthy when all you really want is popcorn and turkey jerky) your co-workers will all hear a hillbilly belting out "and I ain't comin' home" over your iPhone's surprisingly resonant speakers before you can collect your wits and shreds of dignity about you so you can pause the music again.

This will invariably lead to oh-so-timely jokes about "Hey, was that Daniel calling to say he's not coming home from Chicago? The honeymoon's over kinda early don't you think?"

And that will lead you to consider shoving a baby carrot up your co-worker's nose.

Why, yes, you can Style Me Pretty

2011-07-13T08:28:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but shortly after the wedding we heard from Troy & Aimee, our wedding photographers, and Brandi, our wedding planner extraordinaire, that our wedding was going to be featured on Style Me Pretty.

Today is the day!! You can check out our feature here and all of the other gorgeous weddings Style Me Pretty is featuring today.

Seriously, I'm going to become unbearable to live with if all of this continues.

Video shoots...

Online magazines...

What's next?

Candy-grams from Ryan Reynolds and an all access pass to the Cartier store on Rodeo Drive?

Yes, please.

I'm Only Famous in My Head

2011-07-12T11:53:00.000-07:00

That's right. In my gigantic, overinflated head, I'm a rockstar.

I'm going to topple over soon. Will someone please be kind enough to prop me up in a corner with walls solid enough to hold my bubble headed ego?

Thanks.

A few weeks ago I did a video referral for The Event Company. They provided the DJ for the wedding, all of the sound equipment, and the fan-tabulous lighting that made the house and tent look like a pink fairytale of wonderfulness. When we wrapped the filming up, and I thoroughly convinced myself that I would go straight to Hell on a super speed highway if I stole the owner's 3 pound Yorkie, I asked them to work some editing miracles to make sure I didn't look too much like a nerd.

Without further ado...my video debut!

Bekah Ellerman Lee Video Review from Anthony Dever on Vimeo.

P.S. This actually isn't the first video I have done that was widely distributed. When I was at GT, I did a "propaganda" video where I talked about how great it is to work with the tax department on audits.

P.P.S. Basically I spent two minutes lying through my teeth. I really liked my tax teams...I just hate all things related to taxes.

P.P.P.S. You will never see that video, unless you worked in any GT office in the United States during the summer of 2008, which means you've already seen it and I offer my sincerest apologies. Why? Because instead of looking into the camera, I spent the ENTIRE TIME looking at the tall woman standing behind the camera so in the video it looked like I was staring off into space. Not my best moment.

P.P.P.P.S Am I the only one who notices that my eyebrows/forehead don't move when I talk? I swear I'm not an overly Botoxed Housewife even though I do live in Orange County.

Maybe my boss was right

2011-07-11T10:28:00.000-07:00

Remember how my boss said not to give people the choice between saying I am either efficient or lazy?

He was right; given the choice between those options today, I would go with lazy. I blame the 1.5 miles of running and 150 deadlifts and 150 push ups I did at 6am this morning. That is no way to start a Monday. The only good thing is that I can go home and relax without "fat guilt" tonight. But that's a pretty darn small consolation at the moment.

So instead of stories filled with my sparkling wit and general brilliant outlook on life, you get pictures of my baby.

I guess Molly had cramps on Saturday too. Or she's hidden a bone under the heating pad
and feels the need to protect it.

You can't handle the cuteness! Until she sneezes in your face.
She's got a mean allergy to the lavender that's growing in our front yard.

Molly want a french fry?? Heck yes she does. This is "guilt begging" at it's best.