Oops! That wasn’t supposed to publish.
I’m blogging from iPhone for the first time and I’m not very tech-savvy. Anyways, Ali made quinoa, butternut squash and tempeh. For dessert, homemade pumpkin frozen yogurt with chocolate chips. Hello heaven.
Can anyone explain why my
iPhone takes such crappy pictures?
We’re going to a music festival tonight to see Grace Potter. I kinda want to marry her. She’s an incredible Vermont born artist, sings like a champion and plays all her own instruments. Just sick. And girlfriend has legs like you read about.
Enough about her. Al and I are headed out for a six mile run now, then checking out the local farmers market for tonight’s dinner. I ❤ this place.
VERMONT!!! My mind and body are in relaxation mode here in my favorite place on earth. My girl Ali takes care of me.
Last night I arrived to a beautiful home cooked meal.
From an early age, I’ve been lucky enough to see the world through empathetic and caring eyes. Sometimes I’m too idealistic and this becomes a fault. Sometimes my kindness gets taken for weakness. Still, I never want to harden or lose that part of myself. I make an effort almost daily to practice an act of kindness. Sometimes it’s appreciated, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it goes unnoticed, perhaps I’ll never know if it gets noticed. But being noticed or appreciated isn’t the point.
There’s a main street by work where all the pan handlers hang out. If you get stuck at the light, which is ALWAYS the case, its only a matter of seconds before some pathetic looking soul with puppy dog eyes approaches the car window. Sometimes, depending on my level of road rage, I’m already annoyed at the situation so I say “sorry” quite firmly then pretend to be busy looking at the radio or phone. Other times, my empathetic side wins and I can’t help but empty my purse into the rusty tin can held out at arm’s length.
We all know that giving money to panhandlers isn’t the best idea because it’s likely being used for drugs or alcohol. To remedy that, I started carrying granola bars in my car to pass out as treats. (Halloween came early, bitches.) I was now well-equipped to handle the street corners so when the next homeless man approached, I quite proudly offered him a bar. He looked at it hesitantly and with disgust said, “What kind is it?” “Are you serious dude?” I thought to myself. “If you’re really that hungry you’d eat a granola bar made of pubic hair and ants.” Sure enough he passed on the damn bar.
Last night I had a much better experience. Before going home after work, I stopped at the gas station for a treat. (Ended up with a shit load of donuts that I ate RIGHT before bed but that’s neither here nor there.) Outside the station was a younger guy shivering, he was clearly homeless. As I was leaving he asked me for some change. I said no but offered him something to eat. “I’ll take anything.” So he and I went inside for a little Super Market Sweep action. “Get whatever you want I said.” He picked up a measly Little Debbie snack but I insisted he get something more to hold him over. (He and I share the same love of Swiss Rolls and Zebra Cakes.) As he roamed around the store, reluctantly picking out food items, he repeated “No one’s ever done this before, no one’s ever done this before.” Finally with a bag of donuts, 2 Little Debbie snacks and a vitamin water we made our way to the register. As I was paying I could see that he was in tears, so gracious and appreciative. What a beautiful moment that I will always remember.
Be kind to someone tomorrow without expecting anything in return. We never know the impact it will create.
Amen and goodnight.
Well Hello There!
I started this blog about three years ago and for the first 1.5 years I was pretty consistent with it. It’s been about three months since I last blogged…….. what a dead beat. I’ve definitely had some things to share but the question of what’s appropriate always remains. Yes I know, many of the things I say are not exactly ‘lady like’, however I still struggle with certain topics. When I first started writing Goodies Galore, I didn’t really think about who was reading so I lacked a filter. Then Len and I split and for the first time I started writing in a censored way. After that, I had concerns about co-workers and clients reading my stuff. Writing became less fun because I felt stifled and was worried about being judged and/or hurting feelings. Part of having a blog is putting yourself out there, being vulnerable, and risking what comes along with that. That’s the place I’m trying to get back to.
Let’s laugh. One of the greatest pleasures in life is seeing people trip. Even better, trip then fall. (Don’t pretend you don’t find humor in this as well.) When I was younger, my father fell down the stairs stomach down and I swear, the length of his body took up the entire stairwell. I can remember running into my room as it happened because it was impossible not to laugh. The image still kills me to this day. In 7th grade, a classmate tipped over in her chair and farted at the same time. Priceless. Five years ago, Len tried to sneak up on me as I was getting washed up in the bathroom. As he was quietly tiptoeing in my direction, he stubbed his toe on a stair and starting hopping on one foot yelling “oww, oww, ow.” Events like these play in my mind like a movie reel and will forever make me chuckle.
The bad news about finding joy in people’s embarrassment is that KARMA’S a bitch. Last week, I was walking down the hall at work and my ankle rolled. Before I knew it, I was going down in split position. (In a dress.) When my legs couldn’t spread any more, my back leg folded into itself and there I was on the floor- front leg out split style, back leg tucked under my butt. From there I toppled over onto my side like a floundering fish and was spotted by staff and a client. Despite their bulging eyes and concerned “Are you okay”, their facial expressions were all-too familiar and I just know they had a good laugh. As did I. If you can’t laugh at yourself in life, you’re screwed.
My weekend was spent with this little hooker.
Tell me a funny story.
It’s Friday, it’s Friday, it’s Friday!! Are you someone who looks forward to Friday all week-long? Not me! Although I enjoy the weekends, I never rush the week since I love my job. I saw this once and totally related.
I may not be the richest person in the world, but I’m rich in other ways.
Tomorrow night I’m going to my friend’s house for dinner and wine. There will be five of us… 2 couples and me. I tortured myself and watched a couple of PETA commercials the other day. Now I can’t bare to eat meat/dairy. I go through phases so I’m sure this will pass but I need a good vegan recipe that will cater to meat eaters. My friend Joe already calls me earthy crunchy so I’m sure I’ll get an ear full tomorrow night. Any suggestions?
About 7 years ago, I tried to change my name to Morgan. Not legally but I asked my family and friends to call me that, introduced myself as Morgan, changed my email/voicemail/etc. I was met with SO much resistance. People hated the idea!! I don’t get why but whatever. It caught on for a little bit and to this day my father and good friend Ali still call me Morgan. I’m in the mood to change it up again and am digging the name Harper. What do you think???
“Hi, I’m Harper. Nice to meet you.” LOVE.
You know it’s time to stop blogging about relationships when your inbox is filled with concerned emails from close friends and family. I’m fine everyone, I promise!! I’m great, actually.
Let’s talk about something near and dear to our hearts: FOOD!
I’ve accepted and moved on from the fact that I don’t fit into any of my clothes. It’s been fun boozing face and eating whatever the hell I want but it’s time to reign it in a bit. Plans/diets don’t typically work out for me but I have come up with a plan of sorts to get the scale moving downward.
Healthy eating starts at home (not to say the nearest Dunkin Donuts won’t call my name. God love me a jelly stick.) so I stocked up at Trader Joe’s.
Tofu, veggie meatballs, tempeh, soup, bars, peanut butter (back away from the pumpkin butter mother f-er), bananas, bunch of vegetables, oatmeal, sauce, and soy creamer. I’ve been big into the kale lately. Chomp chomp.
I joined a 10 pound challenge at my gym. There doesn’t seem to be a prize (what’s a challenge without a prize?!?) so I’ll probably last about 2 days.
My roommate and I are signing up for a 20 mile race for some added motivation. It’s only 8 weeks away so we need to get our butts in gear asap. The thought of running 20 miles makes me gag but desperate times call for desperate measures. We’ve all been there.
I also plan to have lots and lots of sex as a form of exercise. Just kidding, I’m nearly a virgin at this point. (Again, we’ve all been there. Right? RIGHT?)
I’ll start weighing in again on the blog this weekend to keep me accountable. Don’t judge.
So there you have it my loves.
Since Len and I broke up, I noticed something about myself that I’m not proud of: I’m struggling to be alone. Before Len and I dated, I was Miss. Feminist, a strong individual who didn’t need a relationship to feel fulfilled. Then life happened and I grew comfortable having a body next to me at night, someone who made me feel safe. In the months since Len and I broke up, I’ve dated an assortment of people in an attempt to not face feelings of loneliness. Most recently, I’ve been in and out of a very unhealthy 4-month relationship with a complete douche bag. And believe me, douche bag is an understatement. I allowed myself to be treated poorly because the alternative was being alone and the was sure to feel worse.
Um, let’s re-read that last sentence… I allowed myself to be treated poorly because the alternative was being alone and the was sure to feel worse. Does anyone know where Lindsay went because this surely isn’t her. The Lindsay I know would never stand mistreatment of any kind. The Lindsay I know wouldn’t allow values and beliefs to be compromised on behalf of someone else. The Lindsay I know would laugh in the face of an asshole and tell him to have a good time jerking off because he ain’t getting any of this. The Lindsay I know is strong.
So last night I took out the trash and boy did it feel good.
Happiness is a choice we can make. In 2012, I’m going to find fulfillment in things that bring me joy, nurture my spirit and foster growth. And when loneliness rears its little head, I’ll simply smile, tell it to fuck off, and remind myself that I’m totally okay on my own.
Welcome back, sister.
I once had a black dress that I wore to at least 7 weddings. (This should embarrass me but it doesn’t.) Despite wine stains and a broken strap that was held together by a paperclip, I continued to rock that little bitch. Friends would often comment, “Oh, you’re wearing that dress again?” or “Let me guess, you’re wearing the black dress”. Eventually I took the hint and tossed it, never to be seen again.
Well guess what hookers, there’s a new black dress in town. I’ve owned it for two weeks and so far it’s made an appearance to 3 holiday gathering and believe me, there’s more to come. (Again, this should embarrass me but it doesn’t.)
First Outing: Ladies night.
My roommate and I hosted a small gathering at our place with some fabulous ladies then headed to a local bar. I got dolled up with the intention of
getting some ass finding a suitable mate. No mate was found but there was some baton twirling. Winning!
Second Outing: Holiday Party.
My friends Meg and Joe hosted this shindig the very night after our girls night. The dress already had toothpaste stains on it but that didn’t stop me. I may not change my outfit but at least I brush my teeth. Once a slob, always a slob.
I found a suitable mate that night named Cookie Tray. He never disappoints. TRUST ME.
Someone once told me that you can wear the same dress as many times as you want so long as you change your hairstyle. Done and Done.
Third Outing: New Years Eve.
My friends and I went to a Martin Sexton show in Vermont for New Years Eve. The uniform came along, toothpaste stains and all. This time I changed up my tights and my hair. Go me.
4 more parties and a black dress will be up for grabs. Let me know if you’re interested and maybe I’ll throw in the tights.
Is it really Monday already? This is bull crap! The weekend was pretty good, however it was missing something… my sister.
Lisa and her hubby typically come to Boston for a visit this time of year but someone had to go make a baby and decide to move to Dallas. Again, bull crap. I missed our shenanigans.
It’s a good thing my nephew is cute.
Anywho, let’s catch up some more, shall we? Despite yesterdays post, you should know that I haven’t spent all my free time getting fat. Four weeks ago my roommate and I ran a marathon and yesterday we ran a half marathon.
mother f-ing Marathon.
Marathon morning started off beautifully.
We were eager to wake up and eat our standard pre-race breakfast of toast, peanut butter and banana. This meal never gets old. Of course coffee was involved to clear out the old pipes. The goal is always to avoid runners shits.
We snapped a few pics right before heading out.
This joy didn’t last very long. Three words– Never, Ever, Again.
I knew what to expect because Len and I ran a marathon in 2008 but holy crap– it was brutal. I swear on everything holy, I was basically suicidal by the time I crossed the finish line. Melissa and I trained a decent amount and completed all of our long runs so the physical aspect wasn’t the problem. The mental aspect is what ruined me. Things were going smoothly until about mile 13 when I found myself engaging in serious negative self talk. Soon I began slowing down and was unable to keep up with Melissa. We separated at that point and I started to feel very defeated. That set the mood for the remainder of the race which quite frankly, sucked goat balls. Even my favorite tunes couldn’t rescue me.
Thanks for nothing Rihanna. It’s crazy how powerful the mind can be.
**In about a year or so, when I’ve long forgotten the pain and agony that 26.2 miles did on my mind and body, please please please stop me from signing up for a 3rd marathon.
Half Marathons are way cooler
Yesterdays half marathon was a much better experience. Melissa and I signed up for the Fattman Cup Chilly Half Marathon at the last-minute as a ‘why not’ type of thing. We ran it last year and enjoyed the experience. For some reason, we didn’t put much pressure or thought into this half and had a very nonchalant and relaxed approach to running. No pre-race jitters at the start or anything. Because I was in such a bad place mentally during the marathon, I knew things could only get better. And it did. Despite it being incredibly hill, I kept a 9.35 pace (which is great for me) and finished in 2.05. The bad news is I shit myself. Kidding.