Another Awkward Week [6.14.13]

Gooood morning! Listen, I know that nobody likes the person who complains about the weather all the time, but I'm just going to pop on my unlikeable hat and be that person for one hot second. And by hot second I mean cold, grey, rainy second because what. the. WHAT are you doing right now, Mother Nature? Is this all a practical joke? It's mid-June and we've had more 60 degree days than 80 and enough dreadful precipitation for twelve lifetimes. This isn't April, girlfriend. Step it up! My company is supposed to be doing this walk for charity today for this organization called Girls Write Now and I believe strongly in this organization and many generous friends and family donated and I'm so grateful...but the thought of traipsing along the Hudson River Path at 10 AM in the cold, blustery rain is...unappealing. I mean, how important is literacy anyway? Not that important right? It's not like reading pays my bills or anything.

Ohhhhhh wait.


Anyway! Let's try to get positive, shall we? What's everyone up to this weekend? Don't forget that Sunday is Fathers' Day! Call your dads, kids.

I'm wishing a very happy Fathers' Day to all the Baby Daddies reading this. I hope you get all the grills and tools and red meat your manly hearts can handle! My relationship with my own father is complicated in a way that's too personal and delicate and serious to get into on this here blog about farts and food spills, but I feel like we are moving forward in a positive way, reminding me of the power of second chances and unconditional love. So wishing an especially happy Fathers' Day to my old (very old!) (just kidding, I'll be nice today) (you're only regular old) man.

And now, without further ado, why don't we take a look back at what was keeping it awkward this week.

This Frisbee:


So let's just start this week at the very beginning, shall we? Sunday I was in the park, with George, which is what I call Brian when I'm feeling particularly Sondheimy, and we decided to toss the bee around. WELLLLL I don't know what happened, if like, my arm chemistry changed or something but I could not throw this stupid frisbee for the life of me. I've never been great at what you'd call 'hand-eye-coordination' or "athleticism' but I can throw a frisbee pretty well. Or at least OK. Let's go with OK. Until this week when I could not get the disc to leave my hand in a normal fashion. It's like it was glued to my hand or my arm lost the ability to properly release objects. I'd give it a toss and it would swerve to the right, then to the left, or just flop right in front of me. I threw it straight up in the air. Side to side. Basically anywhere but in the direction of my target. The more this went on the more self conscious I got and thus the worse I got at throwing until I somehow managed to tomahawk the frisbee straight down into the ground in front of me and just quit while I was ahead. And by ahead, I mean very, very behind.

We then sat down for a leisurely game of cards until I threw a dramatic tantrum when Brian had the audacity to question my authority on the rules of Rummy 500 and I self-diagnosed myself with a very dire condition known as Hangry which is when you are so hungry you become angry and fly off the handle for little to no reason.

For the record, I was, indeed, incorrect about the rules of Rummy 500, a fact which I conceded graciously...after stuffing my face with a burger.

That said, it might not have been pure Hanger poisoning my mood that afternoon. It miiiight have also been due to

This Sunburn:


Yeah. Remember when I said I was "diligent about sunscreen?" Well, what I meant was that I am diligent about applying sunscreen to some portions of my body while leaving others entirely unexposed or even worse: splotchily covered.

I went to the park in shorts and a tank top and I started with the SPF, I did.

Face: check

Shoulders: check

Arms: check

Legs: check...minus

I just plain forgot to lotion up my bare legs, but did seem to possibly wipe my hands on them, leaving a delightful pattern. Let's take a closer look...


here on my outer leg you'll notice a wavy pattern of white that I assume is from the swipe of my sunscreen covered fingers and what's this white blob, glowing in the middle of my thigh?


It appears the very size and shape of a thumb.

Of which I would give two, way up, to this hack job of a skin safety course.

Monday it was raining and freezing, because when isn't it, these days, so I wore the loosest, softest pants I could find and at regular intervals throughout the day would shut my office door, pull down my pants, slather my legs with aloe and then sit there for a while, with my pants around my ankles, workin' away.

If you've ever thought "wow, email is so impersonal, you have no idea what the other person is doing, they could be pantsless." Wahellll my friends: I'm living proof that they probably are.

Later that night I returned to my palace and wrapped my charred stems in cool wet paper towels like a sad mummy.


I can't wait for this to turn to tan so I can have brown spotted legs all summer.

S to the E to the X-X-Y.

Then next morning I made...

This Smoothie:


I know, you're thinking like, how many times can one adult human ruin a smoothie? And the answer is: MILLIONS. Watch me.

I usually make my smoothsters using banana as a thickening base + some kind of fruit + almond milk but on this particular day I was fresh outta nanners and remembered I'd read on the interweb that one could exchange avocado for the banana for the same effect + xxxtra health benefits. Lucky me, I had an avocado! I was all aboard.

I chose this recipe because it seemed the easiest, except I didn't have any vanilla almond milk so I just tossed in a few droplets of vanilla extract. The result was...grotesque.

It looked, smelled and tasted like vanilla flavored guacamole. And no matter how much I tried to liquify it by adding more milk or water, it maintained the same semi-solid state of matter, like sucking a  big cup of lime green, vaguely grassy tasting pudding through a straw.


Still with me? GREAT. Let's skip to Wednesday when I took an evening bike ride through Prospect Park onnn...

This Bike:

apple bike

Yes, the same godforsaken bicycle I keep writing about week after week. Love her but she don't make it easy.

What, exactly are we looking at here? Allow me to explain. So, like I said, I decided to take Saucy Sally out for a spin around the park, it was a beautiful evening, I needed to get my blood flowing, and what a better way to see the world than on two wheels, am I right?


First, I was forced to face the Hard Truth of just how out of shape I am. Like...very.

Out of Shape

Cool diagram, bro!

The park has this great 5K pavement loop that ends with a big hill, so whenever you run or ride you have to end by hauling tail up this mother flipping mountain. Yes, a mountain.  I'd like to meet and murder whoever came up with that genius idea. And just like the last time, I could not get myself up this hill without stopping. I made it roughly 2/3 of the way up, pedaling my darndest, before screeching over to the side of the road where I rested, sagging, heaving for oxygen until this short, fat little Hasidic Jewish boy who could not have been more than seven years old or weighed less than one hundred and seventy pounds, no offense fat people OR Jews, just setting  the scene here, whizzed by me on his little ten speed like it ain't no thang and I was MORTIFIED that this little chubbster could bike better than I could, so I hopped back in the saddle and wearily pedaled the rest of the way home.

BUT FIRST I stopped off at the local delicatessen to pick up a few apples to juice the next morning (along with carrots, beets and a hodgepodge of random greens I got during this week's CSA. It was...interesting. Apparently I had already forgotten the perils of haphazard breakfast beverage concoction experienced nary 48 hours prior) and the guy at checkout asked me if I needed a bag and I said "no, I live right around the corner!" and proceeded to shove two large apples into one very tiny purse.


I knew there was only one way for this to end.

I walked my bike the rest of the way to my home and took my customary 14 minutes to get it through the front gate + 7 more minutes to enter the vestibule + 11 more to get into the hallway and as I leaned over in an attempt to pick up the bike to haul it up the stairs, my purse caught on the handlebars (P), knocking one of the apples across the hallway floor (A) and causing me to drop my keys (K).  As you can see above. Getting untangled from the handle and picking up my stray belongings while still holding my bike upright is one of my new Top 15 Greatest Life Accomplishments.

Seventy three hours later, I arrived at my third-floor apartment door, near dead from exhaustion and dehydration. Where were the stray apple and my keys? In the only place I could think to store them: my brassiere.


Um, guys, does this shirt make my hooters look lopsided?

I was starving, naturally, so I whipped up...

This Tasty Egg: 


My riff on Smitten Kitchen's smashed egg toast, but with broccoli raab instead of spinach, because I'm risky like that. But before I made this delightful egg I made

This Disgusting, Undercooked Egg:



This Egg That I Broke In The Pot So Then Egg Whites Started Bubbling Around In The Water And Weirding Me Out:


Too runny. Too yucky. Just right. And totally exhausting. Now I know why Goldilocks needed that damn nap.

I mean, I could have stopped after the first egg but that's not my style. Did I quit the soccer team after being relegated to the bench? NO! Did I stop watching How I Met Your Mother after the seventy fifth terrible season? NO! Did I give up on these eggs? HELLLL NO.

I have become the queen of food wasting around here lately and I'm mortified at the thought of it, but everything I've been whipping up has been terrifying. I then, offff course, convinced myself I was pregnant, what with all of these food aversions, before reminding myself that it's likely more a matter of weird jars of butter and vanilla guacamole shakes and raw eggs being disgusting than me being hormonally repulsed by foods.

So! Was this dinner worth the 2 wasted eggs + 15 minutes of pregnancy terror? Eh. It wasn't not worth it, it was actually pretty delicious, but I'm sure there were multiple dozens of equally delicious things I could have cooked up for half the effort and 100% less intrauterine paranoia.

Aaaand there you have it my friends. Another week, a whoooole lot of drama for very little reason. Thass the way I do it!

And how was your week? Plans for le weekend? Adventures? Challenges? Potential moments of glory? Tell me everything!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.3.13]

Good morning, y'all! I caught up on a lot of Nashville last night, so I'm feeling especially twangy this morning. I'm also up before the sun, because the early bird gets the worm! But worms are gross, so I'm going back to bed. Blergh, I wish. I'm in the office way sooner than I'd like to be to tackle some serious werk, but I have a golden light ahead:  I'm leaving at 1 PM this afternoon to catch a  bus down to DC to visit some pals. Hoorah! I am tres excited for a little weekend get away.

I'm also really sorry I used the word "tres."

Forgive me?

It's too early, y'all. Let's see what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Shirtsleeve:


This weeks' addition to the What Is Liz Spilling On Herself Now files. Trying to carry a cup of water from the office kitchen while my hands were full, I put the cup in the crook of my arm, started walking, and promptly tipped the whole thing all over myself.



Use two hands kids. Or just one hand. Elbows are not the best for carrying things. The more you know!

This Tupperware:


I always pack my lunch and lots of rando snacks and end up lugging bags and bags and bags of tupperware with me, everywhere I go. Earlier this week I was shopping in Soho (ok, it was in an Old Navy, but it was in Soho, so, ho, it counts). I had something to return and of course it was in the very bottom of my tote bag, underneath a solid layer of dirty plastic containers, so in order to present it to the clerk, I had to dig throught my gross old lunch dishes like a hoarder. You should have seen the look on the checkout gal's face when I lined up all of my tupperware on her counter one by one by one before handing her my return item and then throwing them all back in the bag.


Related: Old Navy is having some serious sales in-store and online and their spring line is pretttttty OK you guys. This is not a sponsored post, because again, I'm not that bigshot, I just really like Old Navy and want to share my joy with the world. Only the fanciest brands over here!

Women be shoppin!

Also somewhat tangentially related (can you tell I'm writing this pre caffeine?):

This Egg:


Or one of many like it. I've been eating a lot of hard boiled eggs lately because they are easy and good and cheap and relatively healthy and my body seems to be able to digest them. I bring them to work and mix up with half an avocado and salt and pepper. It looks and sounds pretttty gross but trust me, it is delicious.

A few things about this. 1) Hardboiled eggs are extremely difficult to peel. Does anyone reading have a trick? I've tried running them under cold water as I peel (which just leaves me with a mess in the sink) and boiling with oil in the water (which just makes them slimy) but I still end up spending forever scraping off tiny little shell pieces and wasting half the egg in the process.

Tips? I'd love 'em.

Meanwhile, thing 2) I found myself on the same kitchen schedule as our office manager, every day I'd be in the tiny kitchen, in the midst of mutilating my breakfast, and she'd walk in to refresh her coffee or get a snack or whatever and just kind of give me the side eye as I made a big 'ol mess. The other morning she walked in, did her thing, and on the way out just said "You sure eat a lot of eggs."

Um, yes?

Ah! That is just one of those open ended declarative sentences like "you got a haircut" that I hate!! Like, I am noticing your behavior/appearance enough to point it out but I'm not going to share any follow up constructive criticism or information, I'm just  going to call attention to whatever it is you have going on and then walk away and leave you standing there wondering what I meant by my cryptic comment.

Do I need to worry less about what other people think about me? Probably.

Do I need to eat less eggs? Perhaps. Perhaps.

This Tableau:


So. Last week's stuffy headedness (real word) has only gotten worse. I woke up Saturday morning with a severe, wet, chesty cough & congested nose and the whole 9 and recognized the symptoms of a sinus infection right away. Not to brag or anything, but I've had a lot of sinus infections in my lifetime, so I know the signs when I see 'em. In the past, whenever this trauma has befallen me, I've rushed to the doctors, been prescribed an antibiotic, and been cured faster than you can say post nasal drip. So! When I woke up Saturday with clear signs of the plague a mild sinus infection, I quickly looked up a nearby walk-in clinic and hoofed it over there.

The clinic was clean and quick and efficient. I waited about ten minutes before being whisked into an exam room where a doctor looked in my ears, at my throat, listened to me breathe and told me to go buy some DayQuil.

Ughhhh. Apparently it is no longer popular within the medical community to prescribe antibiotics for sinus infections, instead they encourage patients to just ride it out. Just riiiiide it out. Just surf on a wave of phlegm until they either get well or die. Which, I guess is fine? I mean, I know that overprescription of antibiotics is an issue her in 'Murica and I'm all about the natural homeopathic stuffs but I feel like the meds have always worked for me in the past! And now they won't give me my drugs! And I feel horrible, still!

Plus, after all of that - those four minutes wherein a man condescendingly told me to go to CVS and stop being such a baby, I went to check out and was slammed with a $50 co-pay. FIFTY DOLLARS! For that! I actually made the receptionist spell it out for me, I couldn't believe him. It turns out the walk in clinic was actually an urgent care facility which I guess I knew? I mean, I knew, but I didn't know what that meant. I just thought it meant like, I urgently want to stop coughing, heal me, miracle workers. But under my medical plan, urgent care appointments, which I suppose should be saved for actual near-death ailments, run $50 a pop. 50! that's half of 100! For four minutes of medical care!!! WOOF.

I know I lean kind of hard into the messier areas of my life, because they're the funniest, but I mean, on the big things, I am actually slightly more together than I allow myself to realize. I have a job. An apartment. A fancy winter coat. But one thing I really and truly do not understand or even try to fathom, is health insurance. When I got my job six years ago, I just emailed all the options to my mom and signed up for whatever she told me to. I don't know how much I'm paying, what I'm getting, I don't know what a deductible is, I pay 50 bucks for pointless appointments and the only reason is sheer laziness. I just don't make it a point to figure out. This is ... not great. I probably should hop up on that, lest I find myself in even sticker situations than this. But I don't wanntttt to! I think that's the real issue with the American health care system. They make everything so freaking complicated that everyone's either too stupid or too lazy to figure out and then they just pay millions of dollars.


Oh well. Can't win 'em all. After my appointment, I walked home through the park and decided to sit and enjoy the sun. I ended up falling asleep face down on top of my coat, like a homeless person, and scored a wicked sunburn on the back of my neck. Sexay!

Oh, also! Duh, explain the photo. While I sat in the waiting room, I was reading this book (3 out of 5 stars) about a serial killer nurse who killed dozens, maybe hundreds, of patients over the course of a few years. NOT the best doctors' office reading, my friends. I kept looking around suspiciously, trying to determine which, of any, of the staffers in the clinic was most likely to murder me. Luckily, no one did. But still! Maybe don't read books about killer nurses while on an exam table. Just...don't.


This Neti Pot:


Are you guys into Neti Pots? They're all the rage in the allergy community. I was into it for a while but stopped after a few people died from brain microbes after neti potting with contaminated water. I got back in the trend this week, in hopes it might help with this latest ailment. A trusted source informed me that if I boiled my tap water before pouring it in my face, it would be uncontaminated and non deadly. So I've been doing that for a week or so and was feeling totally calm and relaxed until last night, when Brian casually mentioned he thought you needed to boil water for at least an hour before it is clean. I'd only been boiling for like five seconds! I'd just put water in the teapot and when it whistled, I'd turn off the heat, let it cool, and neti it it up. So OF COURSE this new scientific information sent me on a wild internet anxiety spiral.

My current google search history:

Neti pot deaths

Boiled water and neti pots, how long

Decontaminating water by boiling

Desanitizing neti pots

neti pots + dead

Brain microbes, neti pots

Symptoms of brain microbes

Someone come over here and rip this computer out of my panicked hands!!

Luckily, from what I'm reading on the web, you really only need to heat your water for 3 - 5 minutes, so I should be fine. Probably. Maybe? AAAAH!

These Ensembles:

polka dots

Ok, so this is not a fashion blog and never will be, lord knows the internet has enough of those, but I did something super dorky this week and just had to share. On Monday I got dressed in a new polka dotted top and was thinking about how I had another outfit in mind for later in the week that also involved dots and decided that I'd wear polka dots every single day this week. And so I did! (It might be hard to tell in that masterpiece of a collage I made with the help of Paintshop, but trust me. ) No one noticed, except me, but I thought it was so fun. And it helped me think about different outfits instead of my usual black skinny pants + cardigan getup. Important life issues I'm dealing with over here.

I've decided I'm going to have a sartorial theme every week. It's fun! A confessed to a friend of mine and she said it was "very spirit week." Which, yeah! Some people live every day like it's shark week. I live every day like it's spirit week.

I just think the adult world would be a lot better with more pep rallies, is all I'm saying.

Aaand that was my week. How was yours?! Do tell!

xoxo Liz Ho