Week 4 is KILLING me!

 Recently, I came across the Cool Running Couch-to-5k training program.  I had been toying with the idea of trying to become a runner for awhile.  I have a few friends who are runners and they seem so fit and happy.  I wanted to be fit and happy too, so Roomy and I left our couch behind and decided to become runners.

My pink, extra wide, New Balance balance cross

trainers and my pink I-pod, the accessories that

belong to my new runner lifestyle.

The first day was MISERABLE!  I mean MISERABLE!  It was eight intervals of 60 seconds jogging and 90 seconds walking.  After the third jogging interval, I literally thought my chest was going to explode into flames!  Every breath felt like a million tiny knives shredding my lungs and esophagus.  As I jogged at a snail's pace, questioning my decision to try this insanity, I chanted to myself, "I'm not a runner.  I'm not a runner."  I did not think there was any way I could make it up the steps to our third-floor apartment.  I'm sure it was a pain greater than child birth!  I vowed I would never run again.

A few days later, Roomy somehow convinced me to try again.  And it was easier!  In fact, every day it got easier to run.  I felt myself getting fitter and stronger and my lung capacity increasing.  My gasping chant to myself changed to, "I am a runner. I am a runner."

Roomy's totally in the "runner zone."  It's just her and the track! 

It was so motivating that I became a sort of Couch-to-5k evangelist.  I couldn't stop telling everybody what an amazing program it was!  I waxed poetic about the greatness of the gradual increases and how nice it was to have a program to follow.  I almost begged people to download the podcasts (specifically the Chubby Jones podcast). I told everybody they needed to be awesome, like me, and become runners.  I looked with scorn on all the people I knew who weren't tenacious enough to be a runner like me. 

And then came week 4.  It is HARD!  It involves "running" 5 minutes straight... more than once!  I know jogging for 5 minutes does not sound like that long, but seriously, I know I haven't done it since at least high school.  It is HARD!  I think I've reached what they call a plateau.  I'm stuck on week 4 because week 5 is even HARDER!  Seriously, I've attempted the week 4 workout at least 5 times and only successfully completed it once!  

I guess I have to celebrate the victory that I have been able to complete week 4 one time.  If I did it once, I can do it again.  And of course, I really appreciate the chance to look back at where I was when I started and see where I am now.  I feel so close to my 5k goal, but stupid week 4 is KILLING me!

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

I am so sorry for...#1 that EXCELLENT song embedding it self in your head for the rest of the day, and #2 the horrifically cliche title for a post about an 80s party.  I couldn't resist!
Roomy had an 80s bowling party for her birthday because she's, you know, from the 80s.  It was super fun and super silly and all our friends got super into it!
My outfit started with a trip to the thrift store, where I found a lacy H&M mini dress and an over sized, acid washed sweatshirt.  I wanted to channel vintage Madonna, but I think the look ended up a little more mish-mashy.

I wasn't really old enough to wear makeup or style my hair in the 80s, so I did an exhaustive Internet search to make sure my outfit was authentic.  I'm glad I googled because I had TOTALLY forgotten about the stripe of bright blush!  I also was inspired by multicolored eye shadow, so I did the inner halves of my eyelids pink and the outer halves blue.  Heavy, black eyeliner and bright lips completed my totally 80s face!  We all felt like we had WAY too much makeup on though!

I'm not sure why 80s  Party = mouth open so big, but at least half of the pictures of me from this night have this EXACT facial expression.  Maybe it's a tick?  Also, PLEASE note my fabulous bowling pin earrings inherited from my great grandmother!

 I realized that 80s makeup was so bright because it had to compete with all the BIG hair.  That was a tough one for me because my hair is stick straight.  Seriously, it's fine and straight and barely stays in a pony tail, but I had a plan to make it big!  Roomy is lovely and generous with her time and graciously agreed to put my hair in french braids while it was wet.  The one flaw in my plan was that I had to wear the braids all night and all day so that my hair could dry and look crimpy.  I rocked my three french braids at the track, when I went for a jog.  I even felt okay with them in at the grocery store, but I definitely felt awkward with my three french braids in at work.  When I mentioned it to a coworker, she said it looked fine.  Then, I asked, "Really?  Who wears not two, but three french braids?" 
She replied, "Snoop Dogg?"  Who is EXACTLY the person I should be channeling on a regular basis.  I'm SO hood!

Overall, 80s night was a smashing success, even though I had to wear Snoop Dogg braids to work and plaster my face with outrageous makeup colors.  I think Roomy should have birthday parties more often!

The Lost Art of Ironing

On Easter, one of my friends dressed up as the resurrected Jesus and took pictures with all the Sunday school kids.  Some might call that irreverent, but I call it good, clean fun.  Part of my job was to help "Jesus" get ready for his photo ops.  When we pulled the costume of of storage, it was REALLY wrinkly.  I tried to fix it with a steam wand, but it definitely needed a good old fashioned iron! Even though many of the pictures are adorable and quite kitschy, ALL I see when I look at him is the wrinkled robe!  For the love of all that is holy, somebody get Jesus to an ironing board, STAT!

Actually, this is not the first time that my pictures have been ruined by wrinkled clothing.  My iron and I are not really friends.  In fact, I don't know when I last used it.  Part of my problem is that I only have a baby-sized ironing board.  It's tough to maneuver woman-sized pants on it.  The larger problem is that I have NO IDEA how to iron! 

Seriously, I am kind of a nightmare around that hot, heavy thing.  Best case scenario, I end up with creases in weird, inappropriate spots.  Worse case, I often end up with burns and one particularly memorable time, I glued the iron to the ironing board with a pair of brand new pants that melted when I used the "cotton" setting. 

Living with Roomy has made me realize that this might be a generational problem.  She irons more often than I do, but definitely prefers to de-wrinkle her clothes in the dryer.  Her ironing nightmares include melting her carpet with the iron because she too dislikes the baby ironing board.

Why didn't our mothers teach us this valuable woman skill?  In the case of my mom, it's because she doesn't really know how to iron either.  So, I'm searching for an ironing mentor.  If you are an accomplished ironer, please share your tips and tricks!

With sincere thanks,

Hopeless with Heat

On Coworkers and Whimsical Thinking

This post is dedicated to Kate and Allison, who follow my blog even though they are not obligated to do so.  They are both coworkers; Allison is mine and Kate works with Roomy.  Ladies: Thanks for reading and making me feel like a real blogger!  I sincerely hope you enjoy this. :)

Coworkers can make or break a job.  Even the worst job in the world can be bearable with great coworkers!  I'm super fortunate because I work with a really fun group of people.  Despite the fact that I work at a hospital, where things can get busy and intense, I spend an inordinate amount of time laughing.  My coworkers are definitely one of the best parts of my job.
Part of the greatness of coworkers at the hospital is that I have a whole bunch (honestly I think the hospital has 3,000 employees!) of them from many departments.  There are people from some departments that I see frequently, but never really interact with.   I sometimes make up stories about them.
Specifically, I make up stories about the staff members of the Inpatient Psych Unit (IPU).  In my mind, if the hospital was high school, they'd totally be the cool click.  They're all attractive and cool and always look like they just stepped out of an Anthropologie catalog. When someone from the IPU gets on the elevator, one glance at their cute little outfit and their amazing accessories tells you where they work.  The fact that they work on a locked unit really adds to their air of mystery and coolness.  It's like they're all members of an exclusive club from which I am excluded.

The IPU communal closet where they all find their adorable outfits.

An IPU staffer hanging out, waiting for group therapy to start.

An IPU charge nurse getting ready to round on patients.

The whole IPU gang.

Just kidding!  Although many of the people who work on the IPU seriously dress like this - at work - the above captions are totally made up and all images are in fact from Anthropologie.  In reality, there is not some hipster version of Grey's Anatomy happening in the super-exclusive IPU.  Actually, they do some amazing work with tough patients and every time I talk to any of them on the phone, they are lovely and kind.

My own unique brand of whimsical thinking extends past the end of the work day. A good example of this is occurred when Roomy and I first moved into our apartment.  I kept seeing a small shadow out of the corner of my eye.  Naturally, I decided we had a ghost cat.  Roomy sort of humored me and it was sort of a peripheral inside joke for a while.  Then, late one night, I noticed some smudges on our sliding glass door that looked like someone had written us a note.  I squinted and turned my head and I thought I read "LET ME OUT."

I looked at Roomy, who was getting ready to go to work and leave me home alone for the night and said "I think something is trying to get out of our apartment."  I began that statement with a casual flippancy, but by the end, I realized that it was a statement that really belonged in a horror movie.  I started to freak myself out.  Then I thought about the spectral shadows that I had seen and I really started to freak myself out.  Of course, as a grown woman, I do not believe there is really a ghost cat in our apartment, but what grown woman doesn't have a small remnant of a little girl lingering inside, and Little Nicole is terrified of ghosts!  "Roomy," I said. "You CAN'T leave me home alone all night with Ghost Cat!"

We all know that hysteria is catchy, so within a microsecond, Roomy, our friend, Christina, and I all went from casually hanging out to genuinely scared.  I was about to beg Christina to stay the night so that I didn't have to be alone, but decided to suck it up and investigate the lettering on the sliding glass door more carefully.

It turned out that it actually said "LET ME IN," which scared me significantly less.  It is much less scary to have a creepy thing lurking outside the apartment than inside. Then Grown-Up Nicole started thinking about how words might have been written on the outside of our third-story apartment.  I thought back to a few months before, when we had a party and some of the boys locked another boy on the deck.  I suddenly recalled that he had breathed on the door and written LET ME IN and made a sad, puppy dog face until they unlocked the door.

Mystery solved. But Roomy and I decided it was much more fun to imagine that we had a Ghost Cat than to own up to the reality that we do not clean our sliding glass door very often.  Since then, Ghost Cat is the official third member of our household.  He's the destructive, messy one.  He's constantly doing naughty things, like spilling bleach on the carpet, eating the last cookie and bending the tips of my expensive knives.  He's a jerk.  He's also a whimsical figment of my imagination.

Board Games and Mini Pizzas

Roomy and I had a gaggle of friends over last weekend for a board game night. We played Taboo and Mad Gab and Roomy's new favorite, Quelf.

Quelf was really good for my friends (and especially Roomy) because it's not really competitive.  The description states that Quelf "gives random a new name," and that is certainly accurate!  There are quiz cards and category cards, but the best are the action cards.  My personal favorite actions from game night included having to toast "to ancient times and distant music" every time we drank and when one of my friends had to pretend he was a cowboy riding an ostrich around a beached whale, giving a monologue.  Hilarity ensued!

Of course, it would not have been a womanly party at my house without food.  A while ago, I saw this caramelized onion and prosciutto pizza made by my hero, Pioneer Woman.  I knew it needed to be in my mouth!  It gave me a brilliant idea for party food, mini pizzas!  I knew most of my friends would not be interested in high-brow toppings, like caramelized onions, so I provided lots of different topping options and let people make their own pizzas.

I was so proud of my whimsical tags!  I don't think Roomy thought I was as cute as I thought I was, but she was secretly pretty impressed.

I was leery of Pioneer Woman's dough because there was no kneading involved and in a trial run, her crust turned out really average.  It killed me to do it and it felt like a betrayal, but I went with Alton Brown's Pizza Crust.  I'm glad I did because it turned out great.  (I'm sorry, PW, can you ever forgive me for not being in love with everything you do?)

Would you forgive me if I tell you that this pizza was just about perfect?  The balance of the sweet and salty, the flavor of both parmesan and mozzarella cheese....Delectable!

Roommate Date Night

Last week, Roomy and I decided we needed a reason to be cute and girly, so we took ourselves on a Roommate Date on Friday night. We decided to really do it up!  Roomy had a new dress to wear that she recently bought at a consignment shop.  I did not have a new dress because I hate to shop for clothes.  Luckily, Roomy has a closet full of clothes that are stylish and fun that she is super generous with.  She always lets me borrow great stuff.  I really like and appreciate it, but a small part of my brain thinks she is enabling my dislike of shopping and that it may not be healthy.  The rest of my brain tells the little part to shut up though and I get to wear new clothes without having to shop.

Roomy's new vintage dress

Roomy's other dress that she let me borrow, thus enabling me to continue refraining from shopping.

Seriously though, if you got to borrow clothes like these, would you spend your own time and effort looking for other dresses?

We spent ages getting ready, making our hair and make up perfect.  Roomy curled her hair. I ratted my bangs.  I wore sparkley eyeliner and glittery make up.  Roomy went with a more adult look. To compliment my whimsical make up, I broke out the whimsical accessories.

1. A cute little clutch with a bow that always makes me think of the wedding I bought it for.  2. A hair bow I decided to make at the last minute that turned out adorable.  3. Bow earrings that belonged to my great grandmother. When she passed away, I inherited 130 pairs of earrings! 4. A necklace that also belonged to my great grandmother.  I love wearing her jewelry and thinking about why she bought it and where she wore it.  My grandmother gave it all to me because she said it was meant to be worn and loved, so I try to honor that.

When we were finally ready - perfection takes a while - we headed into the city to go out to dinner downtown.  We found a parking spot in a lot that we though took debit cards because neither of us had cash.  When I tried to pay, the cute but mumbling and sort of awkward parking attendant told me that I needed cash and that I could get it from the ATM across the street.  Roomy was still locking the car, so I left her and headed to the crosswalk.

Because it was a special date night, I decided to wear high heels.  I don't often wear heels because I'm a little on the clumsy side and heels make accidents more frequent.  I really should have known better.  The sidewalks downtown aren't very even and there are lots of spectators, and to top it off, these particular heels are just a skosh too big.  Of course, just as I stepped off the curb, my heel got caught on something.  I managed to take three or four wobbley steps.  They were the kind of steps when everything is in slow motion and you know you're going to fall and you're trying to work out how you can kind of salvage the situation and fall gracefully. They lasted just long enough for me to get out into the center of the intersection, and then I fell.  It was not just a small trip.  No, I did a face plant into the crosswalk, in front of a line of cars and countless spectators enjoying their Friday night. 
When I managed to peel my dignity off the street, I quickly checked myself for bruises and abrasions.  Miraculously, I was totally intact.  I even managed to hang on to the debit card in my left hand!  The woman in front of me in the crosswalk asked if I was alright and then exclaimed that she had been afraid that I was going to fall on her.  A couple sitting outside a bar told me that nobody had seen. Countless drivers stared open-mouthed.  So much for graceful falling. I wonder exactly how many people got a peek at my pretty, pink panties.
I made it to the sidewalk and looked for Roomy, who I was sure must be on the other side of the street laughing her head off.  She wasn't laughing.  She wasn't even looking on with concern for my safety.  She was too busy flirting with the parking attendant!  She totally missed the whole incident, flying limbs, short skirt and all!
Since Roomy had no idea I had fallen, I decided to play it cool.  I didn't have to tell her that I was not capable of walking across the street.  Instead, I would act like I'd managed it, just like any other normal person.  I went to the ATM fully intending to return with the cash and act like nothing happened. 
There was just one problem.  When I got to the ATM, I realized that I had suffered a casualty in the battle with the street.  My poor, old debit card did not survive.  I only made it through with one half in my hand.  If you find the bottom half of an ATM card on the street in Belltown, it belongs to me.  Tell it I appreciate its sacrifice and that it was all worth it because I didn't scrape a knee or an elbow.

Hello Cupcake!

There is a cupcake themed give away going on at Mayhem and Moxie.  It's cute and fun and right up my alley!  One of the ways to enter is to blog about the prizes.  'I have a blog,' I thought.  'And I could do some pretty womanly stuff with those prizes!' 
So, here goes!

Prize #1 Le Poppy Design Party Package

Roomy's birthday is coming soon!  She's definitely older than the little cutie in their sample picture, but I have a feeling that Le Poppy Design could rock some sweet 80s themed decorations for Roomy's bowling party!  I can just see the hyper colors now!  Seriously, if I win this, I need all decorations to center around these stylin' shades!

Prize #2 Wilton Cupcake Package

If you've been following my blogging adventure, you know that I really heart cupcakes and I really heart making them.  My deep, dark, guilty cupcake secret is that I'm a cupcake perfectionist.  I'm almost never happy with the way my cupcakes turn out.  My last batch for St. Patty's Day went well until the purple frosting.  I should have known better than to dye it, but even if I had left it white, there's still an issue with the application.  It was a little sloppy.  My mom actually forbid me to talk whine to her about the state of my cupcakes ever again when I wanted to throw all of my Halloween cupcakes away last year.  It's hard to be as perfect as I want to be!

Prize#3 A Story written by Mama Kat

This prize from Mama Kat is the hardest for me to imagine using myself.  It's a really cute concept and Kathy is a fun and engaging writer, but it's definitely for kids.  Maybe I could use it for a prize for one of my Sunday School students?

Prize # 4 KitchenAid Professional Stand Mixer

Oh, what couldn't I do with this?!  Actually, as un-Womanly as it sounds, I don't even have a hand mixer!  All my cookies, cakes, etc. are mixed by my strong arms and a wooden spoon.  It has put a damper on my icing choices. If I had this baby, I would make fluffy meringue pies and pavlovas and fancy frostings and I might even try those macarons that everybody is so crazy about, even though every recipe I find is in grams.  I've also always wanted to make marshmallows ala Martha Stewart.

Stand mixers seem so grown up and Womanly to me.  Even though I've wanted one for quite awhile, I've only felt worthy of one for the last few years.  This Christmas, I seriously considered asking my parents for a red KitchenAid to match my new red dishes that I bought myself.  My chef step-mom would have probably jumped right on that and been happy to do it.  She likes to enable my kitchen ambitions.  I decided against it though for a very silly and slightly embarassing reason.  I've been saving myself for marriage.  I mean, KitchenAids are such a great wedding gifts!  They last forever, they're used all the time and a shiny red one is a great focal piece on the kitchen counter top.  How romantic would it be to get to remember your wedding day everytime you mixed up a batch of your husband's favorite cookie?  I think it's my friend, Leisha's, fault that I idealize them so much.  When she moved out of her parents' house, she inherited her mother's "wedding" kitchen aid. After 30 years, her mom decided to upgrade. Leisha now gets to use it and think about her parents wedding and all the recipies they made together with the extra ingredient of love.  I want my daughter to inherit my starter KitchenAid and think about my wedding, my love!

Fortunately, practicality has overcome my romanticism and I'm now ready for a KitchenAid!  (Did you read that, Kacey and Francesca?)