Another Awkward Week [6.7.13]

Hello, old friends! Have you missed me? I've missed YOU! I am so sorry for being away so long, I was sunning myself on the shores of St. Lucia and just plain lost track of time! Just kidding, I've been here. Working. Like a dawg. Here's a question, what is up with that expression? Except like, sheepdogs and police dogs, do pups actually work THAT hard? I think no. Ok, I guess there are also seeing eye dogs and huskies who have to pull sleds and rescue dogs and Clifford, he's got that sweet mascot gig for Scholastic...so, fine, dogs work hard I guessss. But don't you think there are harder working animals out there we might give a little credit? Lions prowling around on the hunt? Bees making honey. Woodchucks chucking all that wood, could those woodchucks chuck that wood?

Poor woodchucks!

Me, I've been working like some kind of exciting animal, busy with an author in town and that horrendous publishing conference I mentioned, and a bigbigbig launch of a very special book I've been working on that's really been a labor of love for me, you can read the rave New York Times review here. #Humblebrag. No, just #Brag. I've worked hard and I'm proud of myself and the author and the rest of my team and I'm just going to Own. It. Gurl.

Snap, snap, swish.

So that's what's the what on this end of the world! Tell me - what's new with you? Heard any good gossip? Read any good books? Tripped and fell in public? You know I want to hear about it!

Now! Why don't we take a look back at what was keeping it awkward this week  these last two weeks, whoooops:

These Galoshes:

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Pictured last roundup in a deep puddle of rain water and this week in the blinding sunshine. Um? Yeah. One of the terrible things about rain is...well, pretty much everything. With the exception of it's role in the growth of new life and how the sound of it hitting a tin roof inspired that one great Norah Jones song, I think we can all agree that there are verrrryyyy few good sides to rain. Am I missing something? But one of the worsticles is when old Sally Rainstorm doesn't hang around all day and you can't get a solid read on what sort of apparel to wear and have to dress for any possibility and end up clomping around in the bright sunshine in your even brighter galoshes.

I need to move to somewhere with a more predictable climate. Any suggestions?

This Bike:

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(The one on the left. My left. Well, everyone's left unless you're someohow viewing this photo from behind the screen, in which case, what are you, a wizard?!)

One of my favorite things about my pal Brian is that he's always up for trying new things and likes to be on the go and explore and have adventures. It keeps me on my toes. He's fun. Last weekend's adventure was a casual 17 mile roundtrip bike ride to Coney Island. It was a delightful little jaunt but possibly a little advanced for me, who's only just hopped back into the biking life. It turns out I live on top of a gigantic mountain that is so steep, it is basically just a 90 degree angle right into the air. TRUTH. My 'hood is called Crown Heights and I've just realized, the hard way, where they got that "Heights" from.

B & I biked most of the way back together, but parted ways at the end of our trip, me to my home, he to his, leaving me at the bottom of  this Mount Vesuvius of a hill. I, of course, chose the busiest street possible to ride up and, you guys, I thought this was going to be the end for me, I really did.

I stopped four times on the ride up to catch my breath, dreaming of the water bottle I'd left in Brian's backpack. I could have easily dismounted and walked my bike up the hill on the sidewalk but GOD DAMN IT, I had not rode this far to quit. And plus, I thought it would be more embarrassing to be seen walking my bike than to be seen stopped dead in the middle of a busy road,  hunched over the handlebars, panting for mercy and oxygen, as cars swerved around me.

Don't worry, I made it home, alive! Was it worth it? Aaaabsolutely not.

These Lanes:

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As should surprise zero percent of my readership, I am terrrrrible at bowling. A bunch of my pals and I hit the lanes the other weekend to entertain ourselves during a rainstorm and played two rounds of girls v boys. In an epic blow to feminism the girls team lost.

Both times.

I contributed a career high of 86 total points. Out of a possible 600.

I'm considering going pro.

This Sunburn:

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Just ignore my weird Harlequin Romance Novel pose and focus on the red and white racing stripes on my seductively bared shoulder. I'm diligent about sunscreen but every year manage to bust out at least one or two pretty solidly idiotic burns. Got this year's first one in before Memorial Day Weekend even came to a close. Summer is off to a great start, kids!

This Coconut Oil:

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My coconut oil above...and what it's supposed to look like:

(via theKitchn)

Ok, so, here's the story. As you knowwww I've been on a bit of a health food jag of late and all of the clean eating blogs I lurve are all UP ON coconut oil. So clearly when I saw it on sale at the Teej, I knew I had to have it. The thing is, I find it utterly grotesque to look upon. Unlike other oils which are liquidy and yummy looking, this stuff looks like lard in a jar and smells like Banana Boat.

Apparently there are all SORTS of benefits like it has no cholesterol and can be used as a hair conditioner or body moisturizer or even a healthy and natural sexual lubricant.   Brian and I did NOT test this theory out (or did we?) (we didn't!) but we have made zillions of jokes like "let's put on a little Barry White, light some candles, pour some wine...pop open that coconut oil...and just see where the night goes."

Really clever stuff over here. We need to get out more.

Anywhoo, really dumb story extra long and extra dumb: I finally got up the nerve to test out my C.O. last evening not as a food product but as a moisturizer for my dry feet (why do I feel the need to share these things?!), but when I went to the cabinet, it had somehow transformed from a thick, creamy, white substance (no one say TWSS, plz) into this weird, thin, clear liquid.

Did it melt?? Did someone eat all my coconut butter and replace it with water like cool kids would do with their parents' liquor while I was busy at home watching Touched by an Angel with my mom?! I will never ever know because I am too afraid to open the jar.

Gross.

Here's why I'm sharing this, though. Last time I had a food related mishap, with that fresh mango, my beautiful friend Mallory, who is adorable and lives in Mexico and has a truly fabulous life, dedicated a whole post on her blog to cutting and preparing fresh mangoes. So now I can do it right! What a pal!

So, I'm kind of hoping one of you delightful gems out there might clue me in on this whole coconut oil mystery. Why is it so great? And how do I use it? Is it supposed to turn clear like that?

Or, alternately, if one of you has a great story about at time you used coconut butter or any other sort of butter as a sexual lubricant, well, you KNOWWWWWWWW I'd love to hear about it.

And on that note, I'm out! I hope everyone has a most splendid weekend full of sunshine and butterflies and incorporating health foods into your lovemaking.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [3.29.13]

Happy Friday! The very BEST Friday, if you're down with JC. Have you missed me? I've missed YOU! I was such a Busy Betsy this week, it was unreal. You know, I could have been an actual Busy Betsy, had things been different in my life. When I was in the fourth grade (never forget), I went through this phase where every week I tested out a different version of my name, Elizabeth, on my school papers. I'd sign them Lizzie one week, Beth the next, Betsy, Ellie, even Betty until finally my teacher pulled me aside and said that, while she admired my creativity and search for identity, could I stick with just one name in the classroom, for consistency's sake. And so I stuck with Liz.

Can you imagine? I wonder how my life would have been any different if I chose something else. I feel like Liz is very suited to me - kind of spunky and that 'Z' is pretty wacky - Liz! But what if I was like, Beth. Beth Ho. HA! I can't even imagine such a person. I've always assumed all Beths to be very quiet and serene and responsible and kind, almost 100% because of Beth from Little Women (seriously never forget!). Do you think  if I had stuck with Beth in 1994 that today I would be like, a peaceful kindergarten teacher with two kids, a responsible husband, a 401K and a love for knitting?

Wellllll, I guess we'll never know! #philosophy.

Aren't you glad you're stuck with me instead?! Let's see what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Coffee Shop

If you'll recall, I first shared a photo a few weeks back about a new coffee shop in my neighborhood who apparently had named their cafe Nouvelle Vag:

vag

Now, I don't know what "Vag" might mean in foreign nations, but here in America, where we speak American, that word stands for vagina. So, was this coffee shop intending to brand itself  Cafe New Vagina?

Well I guess they caught on because this was their sign when I passed by a few nights ago:

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Reallll smooth, dudes. No one will notice that "ue" is in a different font size AND color, is clearly a sticker instead of painted on or that the word 'Brooklyn' randomly pops up in the middle of the word. Keep on keepin' on Cafe' Vague Vagina. You're doing great.

This Egg:

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One morning this week I was hard boiling an egg and forgot about it and managed to set off our always delicate fire alarm in the process. I didn't want to throw out a rotten egg in our apartment and had just put in a fresh trash bag the night before - I wasn't about to waste a clean empty T-bag, those things cost like 79 bucks a pop - so I decided to just carry the rotten egg in my hand and throw it out  in a trash can on the street. After I styled it for this photo, obvi. Of course the first can I found on my walk to the subway was literally at the subway, four blocks away, so I was just walkin' along for blocks and blocks, gently clutching an overcooked egg.

NORMAL.

One of These:

 

tamps

Yes, boyz, those are tampons. (I actually uploaded this photo last night for some reason and saved as a draft, so when I came back to write this AM I had a post saved that was just a photo of a box of Tampax with the caption "blah blah tampons!" I should have just hit publish right then and there.)

 So, I am blessed enough to be experiencing my special monthly magical lady time this week, which is always a real treat. I strive to be a pretty body positive feminist so I know I'm supposed to view all this intrauterine bullshit as a sign of my beautiful fertility and strength  and uniquely feminine powers but I'm sorry, no. It is disgusting and uncomfortable and just plain the WORST. Ever a master theologian, I once said that I know there is a God because of French Fries (uhh, it makes sense in my head) and the reason I know that god is a man is because of this whole menstrual fallopian vaginal scene. Do you REALLY think that if god were a woman she would have stuck her own peeps on earth with all this grotesquerie? And pregnancy and childbirth? I mean! I've never been there, and I'm sure it is a blessed and powerful and beautiful thing and I'll change my tune when the time comes but as someone looking on, that looks like a nightmare. A pure torture hell Saw IV Human Centipede nightmare. Hormonal changes and you can't drink wine and you have to carry around a gigantic human being inside of your own body and then somehow push that human out of your own Cafe Nouvelle Vag and then struggle to lose the baby weight and postpartum depression and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh horrifying. Why would a woman god subject her kind to that sort of terror? MEANWHILE what in this whole lifetime process of periods and pregnancy and the whole 9 does a MAN have to do to procreate? Oh, right: have an orgasm. Rough stuff, dudes. That's not even close to a fair trade.

So yeah, pretty sure god is a man and maybe kiiiind of a jerk sometimes.

Um, ANYWAY, wouldn't it be neat if just one time I sat down and wrote something that didn't turn into a 750 million word tangent about my bizarre philosophies?

Tuesday of this week I had a straight up Seventeen Magazine Traumarama Moment. I had thrown a bunch of tamps in my purse as I was running out the door. Rushing down the steps into the subway station, I reached into my bag to grab my wallet and in pulling that out I also managed to fling a rogue tampon down the steps. I stooped to pick it up but just before I could a guy stepped on it. He realized he had stepped on something and that I was going to pick it up so HE too stooped, to pick it up for me, what a gentleman,and then he realized it was a tampon and we both just kind of locked eyes and I was like "oh, that's mine" (obviously) and stuck out my hand and picked up my stray period plug and he ran away.

As a grown ass lady I should have found this less embarrassing than a 14-year-old in gym class but nope: still awkward.

This Mess:

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So I've been working on a whole long post about my various strange food diets over the last few weeks - I know you've all been obsessively refreshing your internet browsers just dying to hear what's going on in my large intestine - but have not had the time to sit down and focus. Mostly because I've been cooking up a storm. I'm doing a two week cleanse to reset my system, which sounds hippieish and is and I like it, so sue me, wherein I do not consume soy, dairy, gluten, corn, peanuts artificial sweeteners orrrr alcohol. OK I've totally cheated on the booze thing once already but the food stuff I'm doing GREAT! I've been cooking a lot of my own food to make sure I'm always stocked with healthy snacks and meals even on the go. It's actually super fun and I feel like I'm doing great things for my body. Go me.

One day this week I decided I'd whip up a big batch of homemade hummus. I've always maintained (and, uh, still do) that hummus is just one of those foods that tastes better store bought, but making at home I could know all of the ingredients and avoid any gross chemicals and preservatives, so I got my Sabra on right in the comfort of my own kitchen, using this recipe.

First I tried chopping the garlic in my little food processor, but it wasn't getting it small enough, so I decided I'd transfer over to our large blender instead. So I unplugged the food processor, plugged in the blender, dumped all of the ingredients in there, and hit start. Unfortunately the blender blades were having a really hard time mushing up the chick peas, so I attempted to move the process along by occasionally jabbing a spatula down in there to get the unmashed garbanzos closer to the blades. It's ALWAYS a great idea to shove things willy-nilly at sharp blades. Always.

The spatula hit the blade which caused a chain reaction of things flying out of the blender, including one chick pea which burst out and literally hit me right smack dab in the middle of the forehead.

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Literally.

Incredibly sexy. I then had to re-transfer the hummus ingredients BACK to the original food processor where they whipped up into a so-so batch of hummus that was not near as delicious as store bought hummus and 100% not worth the 42 minutes of cooking time followed by an additional 42 minutes of dish, kitchen and face washing time.

I've also been drinking a lot of homemade green juice which has basically nothing to do with this story, aside from the fact that it's part of this whole cleanse, but it's really a trendy thing to do these days so I just wanted to show off to the world.

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This includes kale, romaine lettuce, spinach, parsley, green apples, ginger, celery and lemon. I am a Green Goddess.

It's OK to be jealous.

And that is THAT! My week. Well that + tons of work + work related evening appointments every single night + laundry + errands + a while lotta other stuff that has me feeling exhaustified. Luckily I took today off, holla! Brian and I are headed to Philly to visit our sisters and have Easter brunch with his parents. It should be a nice little getaway and there is a 150 billion percent chance that I will cheat on my cleanse the moment I am faced with a peanut butter egg or any sort of fermented grape product.

Happy weekend to all of you! I hope your Easter baskets are stuffed with goodies or if you are Jewish, your Passover whatevers are stuffed with lots of ...unleavened bread? Or basically everyone have a beautiful weekend with appropriate celebrations related to their own religion, culture or lack thereof.

xoxo Beth Ho

Nope. Would never work!