I want to lose about 10 pounds.
Now, I’ve heard it 1000x before. “You don’t need to lose any weight!” Yeah, and you people have never seen me naked. Thankfully.
I’ve actually been content with where I’ve been the last year. Not an ideal weight, but not too bad either. Lately, though, I know what to blame for a recent spring in my weight: Beer.
Its that time of year, though, in which football just seems to scream, “Have a beer… or four!” So I listen to the scream. And suddenly, my jeans start to feel weird. I find myself looking for looser tops to hide a muffin top. I look in the mirror and see a weird texture to my tummy.
I have no interest in going back to the weight I was in high school. I’m not even worried with going back to my weight when I got married. I’d just like to bring it back to somewhere that I don’t worry so much about how my clothes fit. 10 pounds sounds just about right.
So, time to get my lazy butt up off the couch and back up on the treadmill. Time to cut back on the beer intake. And I really shouldn’t make cookies — which I did last month a couple times. I’ll cheat for my birthday, but otherwise I’m going to keep a much closer watch on what I eat. Am I eating because I’m hungry or because it just seems like the thing to do?
I’m not calling it as “going on a diet.” I’m calling it, “Get my eating back in focus.” I’ve re-set up on the site I used to lose 10 pounds a couple years ago. Current weight. Goal weight. Food and exercise log.
I can do this! It’s just going to take some discipline! I have my cousin’s wedding next year as something to focus on for an extra incentive, but just watching myself in the mirror and how my jeans fit should be incentive enough.
So here we go! Current weight: 155. Goal weight: 145. Totally do-able. Totally.
There’s a show on the Food Network called “The Best Thing I Ever Ate.” I’ll be honest, I’ve never been able to get into the show. Chefs talking about foods they’ve eaten at various restaurants just never has quite done it for me.
However, last night, I found myself talking my head off to my husband about two dishes I’ve never found anyone able to beat. I was holding my own little “Best Thing I Ever Ate” for my captive audience. (He had no where else to go, so he was captive…)
First is my favorite Chef Salad. The place that had my favorite doesn’t even exist any more…
The best Chef Salad ever was served at a cafe in my hometown. The Texan had the best Chef Salad… but you had to have it with Thousand Island. It wasn’t as good with any other dressing. Chef Salad with Thousand Island dressing. My mouth is watering just thinking about it! (They also had great hamburgers!)
It had all the perfect toppings, served in just the right amounts and manner. And there was truly something special about their dressing…
Today, a gas station stands where that restaurant once stood. It makes me sad every time I pass by there. I miss the Texan something terrible!!
The other thing, very ironically, also is in my hometown. The best Nachos I’ve ever had can be found at Los Comales, a small Mexican restaurant in my hometown. But you have to get it with queso instead of shredded cheese.
I’ve had nachos at almost every restaurant I’ve gone to at some point. It’s just a go-to thing for me when I can’t decide what else to have. But no one makes them like Los Comales. I think the thing is the chili they use… and they don’t hold back!! Most places seem to serve nachos very dry. That’s not right, to me. I want nachos that make me need multiple napkins to eat. I was lots of chili and cheese. Sour Cream and guacamole. Jalapenos. All of it. Make them messy!!
I’m sure I have other dishes at various restaurants that outshine other establishments, but these are the two that pop to mind first.
Anyone have a “best thing I ever ate” dish and restaurant? Do tell! If I am ever there, I’ll check it out!!
My husband ROCKS about supporting my team. He wears Aggie shirts more often than I do! He’s all for all the Aggie license plate I’ve added to our truck. He hates missing my Aggie Game Watching parties.
And my team, frankly, has been sucking lately.
My husband’s team, however, is rocking. He attended he University of Oregon, and as such I do have a few Oregon shirts and I happily rock a bright green scarf in support. I’m even thinking about our adding an Oregon bumper sticker to the truck.
I write tonight from a sports bar in Nashville, rockin’ my scarf. Hubby is decked out in Duck gear. We are waiting for the Oregon game to kick off, and I very happily will shout GO DUCKS!!! at any opportunity.
I’ve forever been a staunch Aggie. Maroon and white was all you’d find me wearing. But today, in support of my husbands team, I happily wear green and yellow. I follow their scores and stats.
They are my second favorite team in the country. And I am more than happy to say that.
(Not happy to realize they’d totally kick my Aggies butts if they played, though… but that’s… not something to discuss.)
Sure, there are a lot of ways that you can tell I live here. Tour buses no longer make me blink an eye. I’m ridiculously cynical about the music industry. And there is that whole night owl thing that I think this city amplifies.
However, there are definitely moments in time that make me sit back in wonder. The way everyone pulled together after the flood is one prime example that makes me look around in wonder. The way the leaves turn in the Fall simply amazes me by natures beauty. The friendships I’ve made here give me pause in their variety, strength and constant comfort.
Last night, though, I had one of those moments on the music side.
Living here, you might find it strange that I rarely go to any of the “big events” that occur here. Fan Fair, for example, I only go to the free stuff after giving myself a pep-talk to do so. You can watch GAC or CMT and hear about these big shows that happen in town, and a majority of the time they fly under my radar.
But its the nights like last night, when I am hanging out with friends and an artist comes in just to hang out. Then the band happens to get that artist up to play. It’s those nights that I pinch myself, because you’re seeing this artist who you’d pay big bucks anywhere else to see in their true element. No lights. No smoke. No video boards. Often just them and a guitar for a few songs. Something their fans would pay mega bucks to see. Instead, I find myself sitting there, taking it all in, for the cost of a night out with friends. Just because I live HERE in Music City.
I have to admit. Even being as close to the music industry as I am, I still get a thrill from it. I still feel those music-fan goosebumps, and my internal voice is squealing, “Oh my gosh! How did I get this lucky!?”
I love it. I love this city. And I get to LIVE here.
I just found a new twitter feed to follow. One that has had me laughing my butt off for the last ten minutes. FakeAPStylebook If you were a journalist, are a journalist or know anything about journalism, go follow it for some much needed laughter at yourself. And the AP. Which is perfectly acceptable.
Anyway, a post this afternoon sparked a memory for me:
We picked up a fairly large bag of mixed flavors of candy, and then we wandered around the store browsing. My husband remembered he needed new razor blades, so he grabbed those as well.
It wasn’t until we stood in line at the check-out that we realized we had bought that bad-guy combo: razor blades and candy. We literally half-wondered if anyone would raise an eyebrow at us as we checked out. Instead, no one was even remotely phased by it! My husband even pointed it out to the checker, and still she gave us a blank stare that said, “So?”
As we left, I still waited for security and cops to descend upon us. I waited for the questioning of why we would want to harm little children dressed up as goblins, princesses and purple dinosaurs.
But instead, there was nothing. I was half relieved, half alarmed. We could have been criminals in the making! Razor blades and Halloween candy! These are two things you shouldn’t be purchasing in tandem! Quick someone come and question me about my motives!
We climbed in our vehicle without anyone even giving us a second glance. We drove off with our bad combination in hand.
We didn’t have a single trick-or-treater that year. We gave a neighbor’s kids a bag of candy, and we left some pumpkins with candy in them outside a few other apartment doors. Our candy didn’t go to waste, and my husband was able to shave just fine. But still, every Halloween we laugh about our first shopping excursion and our accidental combination purchase. An amusing memory from our first year together.
As an aside, parents definitely have to be careful every Halloween, and I know I will be when its my turn to take my kids trick-or-treating. The thought of razor blades in candy makes me shudder, and I wonder why someone would do something so awful to someone so innocent. :(
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a house a home.
Having your name on the owner’s papers does not make a house a home.
Nor does having your name on the lease.
Receiving mail at a house does not make it a home.
Nor does staying there for a few days.
A home is much more. It’s a place you feel safe. It’s a place that makes you feel warm inside. It’s a place that makes you feel content and happy.
A home is where you make memories. Most happy, some sad. It’s where you laugh. It’s where you feel comfortable enough to cry. It’s the only place you want to be when you don’t feel well.
A home is where you welcome friends and family. Where you break bread around the table, or perhaps in front of the tv. Where you put up your Christmas tree and wait for that holiday with anticipation.
When you welcome someone into your home, you’re extending a level of intimate trust. That service guy, your best friend, your neighbor, your family… all of those people are afforded a glimpse into your home and your psyche. You decorate your home and arrange your furniture based on your likes and needs. It’s a part of who you are.
Houses I once called home through the years will forever tug at my heart a bit, thanks to the memories that were made there. I even sometimes dream about those houses, especially the one I lived in most of my life. But at this point, they’re someone else’s home and for me they’re just a house in which I once lived. The memories they once held now are held deep in my heart and memory, not within those walls.
The place I call home today holds my todays and tomorrows. It holds happy memories. Some day it’ll become like those other houses, and I’ll have another home to create and love. But until that time, I’ll care for my home and find comfort in it. To anyone else out there, its just another brick house they drive my on their way to work or to the store. But for me, when I pull into the drive way, I don’t see a house… I see my home.