Happy Wednesday!

I'm taking today off. 

I have nothing brilliant to say. I mean it takes a lot of work to be as witty and charming as I am. No seriously. I have to rehearse, try out my stories (yes they know they are working with someone "precious") to see if they make sense. Then I have to sit and type it out and make sure my sentences don't run on too long. 

Last night I sat at my desk and I fell asleep. I've been a little busy. Mainly I've been trying to follow my meal plan created by Mr. Trainer's awesome co-worker Natalie. She worked hard on it to make sure I don't suffer (she even factored in double stamp day!Which was a miracle.)and then I've had a busy schedule with the gym, social engagements, and the boring adult stuff one must do after work(like getting gas. Why is that so inconvenient getting gas? 


Anyway. 

It's Wednesday and I'm working hard on being positive it's hard work but I'm doing it. Cause I have stubborn gladness that things will get better (I'm not reading the news anymore cause it's too depressing.) and I'm not letting the fear of doubt get to me. 

So there's that. 

Odd's and Ends

This doesn't have to do with anything with today's post other than I like Idaho and I was proud of myself for finishing this one. 

Part two isn’t quite ready to be read out loud. Mainly it’s in seven different pieces and I’m trying to stitch them together. So here’s some random quotes from my notebook that I’ve never been really able to string into my other pieces. So they are random paragraphs that have no home.

“I always feel guilty about watching when Harry Met Sally during the diner scene (yes that one) because I always worry the neighbors will think I’m watching porn.”-Me to the Home teachers last week. I didn’t mean to say that sentence out loud but there we were another fun conversation night at the Ure household.  Just another wild and crazy Saturday night.

As I’ve gotten older I realize I need to be nicer about my parents. They did the best they could. So now when I introduce them I’m going to say these are my people. They tried.

I’m one fat selfie away from being an “inspiration”.

Did you know you can buy solid color Muumuu’s at JC Penny’s? I feel I need to buy some and convert them into my nice work/church attire. I think I can pull off this trend. Must investigate further.

Yes I’m Mormon but I’m not a BYU Mormon. There’s a difference.

What do you mean I have to actually do all the exercises and eat differently to see results? Isn’t there a fit tea that I can buy?

Mr. Trainer: No and all that tea does is make you poop.

Me: I hope they have a return policy or else I’m all ready for colonoscopy.  

Anyway back to regular programming tomorrow. 

A Complete Guide to How Blake got the Terror Sweats

This is just the first of three rows on diet and nutrition at Barnes and Noble.
No wonder people get confused.

Part one:

The problem I have with fitness goals is that you must be completely and utterly selfish. There is no noble hiding of what your intent is. No I’m losing a hundred pounds for Africa, no I for the greater good, and my personal favorite Jesus wants me to lose weight before the second coming. They are, and have to be purely focused on self and when you spend so much time avoiding yourself it stresses the (forgive me) shit of you. Or at least me.  

I'm an average person. The song lyric of "I'm not much to look at, not much to see but glad I'm living and happy to be" is one of my mottoes. After a years of avoidance I sat down and wrote out my fitness goals and sent them via email to  Mr. Trainer  because every time I tried to say what my goals were I got the terror sweats. In an act of stubborn desperation I wrote them out fast and quick and hit send before I could withdraw them. I also sent them late at night the day before our appointment (which was at 6 Am) because I know me and I would have back tracked out of them so fast...oh I uhh wrote that when I was ice cream drunk. 

I simply put I want to find my abs. I've never seen them. I want to make sure they are okay. Can you help me? His response let's do it. We came up with a plan(post coming soon) in that very visit. 

Yet by finally confessing what I wanted had the opposite effect it sent me into an emotional tail spin of shame and doubt that had me main lining carbs like Leonardo Dicaprio in J. Edgar. Why did this put me in a storm? Because when you say what you desire it becomes true and real and that's really scary. And we all know I don't do scary. 

Part two tomorrow. 

All You Get From Love is a Love Song

Me explaining my Mocha Chiller/Frappuccino  addiction to others.  

“It’s a dirty old shame but all you get from love is a love song” is what the Carpteners sing but I believe the only thing you get from love of a beverage is love handles and a guilty conscious. (It’s a Mormon thing. But they are selling caffeine on BYU campus so progress! But that’s a post for another day.)

 Lately I’ve realized that all the food items that I thought were all so wonderful really weren’t. Don’t get me wrong they tasted wonderful but I wasn’t eating them or drinking them to enjoy them I was doing it to avoid my emotions. When I was sitting in the drive thru at Starbucks and they gave my favorite drink (a (size redacted) Java Chip Frappuccino with four shots of expresso and two pumps peppermint.) I looked at it and went this kinda looks a little gross. (It didn’t.) I should throw this out. (I didn’t.) As I drank the whole thing I asked does this make me happy?

No.

So I’m writing this in staff meeting wondering if this is what adulting is wondering what other habits I've picked up that need to be Marie Kondo'd. 

I'll keep you posted. 

All My Mistakes Start With Haagan Daz and Ben Jerry

Fat Blake establishing order.

Fat Blake is the captain now. He told me yesterday morning when I was looking in the mirror he stuck his fat pudgy fingers and did the whole I’m looking at you gesture and said “Blake I’m the captain now” and the sad thing is I waved my little white flag of surrender and said why not? 

Remember how I wrote about missing the middle of the weight loss story? Well this is it. This is me driving thru McDonald’s and ordering a big Mac meal with fries, and a Mcflurry and a REGULAR Coke because no one puts baby in the corner. Cause if baby ate like this all the time he wouldn’t fit in the corner.

I wish this was an isolated incident but Fat Blake has decided that he’s going to eat to hurt. So, he takes all the frustration, the stress, the insecurity and he goes LETS GO GET ICE CREAM. There I am a boy in front of freezer asking am I Espresso*Cookie Crunch OR Rocky Road. (* It’s not coffee if it has flavoring) Fat Blake goes they are on SALE! GET BOTH of THEM! DO IT! DO IT NOW! We all know how that story ends.

I confess this because I have been Mr. 100% at the gym. I may lay on the floor cursing Mr. Trainer and the jackass who created burpees, but for the grace of Lulu I go. It's a whole Fifty shades of crazy going on inside my brain. 

Web MD has no cure for this other than to say it's probably cancer. 

And you wonder why I can't sleep at night. 

I Just Want to Finish Okay?

Signed. Sealed.Delivered.If you want a handwritten note drop me a comment or email me. 

I am an amazing starter. No really. I love to come up with great projects. I can see the end so clearly. Brainstorming, research, putting things together is where I come alive. Hence the reason why I always end up on committees. The last two jobs I’ve had have been jobs where essentially, I’ve created the job as I’ve gone along.  I call it going in the jungle with a machete knife and a lantern. It’s amazing.

Yet when it comes to finishing?

I’m terrible. When I was in high school we had to do the personality assessment test, meet with a guidance counselor and plan our future. I’ll never forget Mrs. Kopecky explaining to me how if I chose to be a surgeon I would be the one at the start of the surgery but towards the middle would hand the scalpel to the resident and say don’t kill anybody. When I finish projects it’s kind of a big deal. Yet as I’ve gotten older I want to be a finisher. One who says today is the day I clean the bathroom and actually clean it and not spend a good hour at Target* (*I may have a small problem) looking at cleaning supplies.

So this week I had to take a step back and ask are my fitness goals something I want to and have fun with or is this something I feel I have to do. Which makes things complicated.

Cause I miss the feeling of being a finisher not just a starter.  

On the other hand I remembered my hearing aids today so progress! 

Working 9-5 (ish)

At least Buddha was having a party. 

I needed a do over today. I’ve been hearing aids since I was four. The habit of putting them in every morning is not a foreign concept. I don’t put them in till after I shower and this morning I was not functioning like at all. It was so bad I couldn’t even make my eyes function on the Instagram.(*Yes it’s still a problem and yes I guilt myself every morning over it.) Which caused all sort of panic cause having one handicap is entertaining enough I can’t wait till the day I’m deaf and blind. Which will make things easy for Halloween cause I’ll always have a costume (Helen Keller).

Staggering towards the shower, mainly cause I tripped over my ottoman (No. I wasn’t drunk. Just to clarify.) and proceeded to rush things together. I live on a busy street with three schools that start at 8:00 am. If I don’t leave my house by 7:15 I’m in school zone hell so I really had to move it this morning to beat the rush. I made it to work Just all ready to go ( I even remembered my gym bag!) till someone said good morning! And I didn’t hear them. That’s when it dawned on me.

I forgot to put my hearing aids in.

Head in palm.

So I debated for about three minutes with myself which went something like this. Weelll I don’t answer the phone anymore, and my co-workers are really quiet and I don’t have to really talk to people so do I really need them? The answer was yes.

Back in the car for me! It took me an hour and that’s discounting the time from Starbucks (Is it a sign you have a “problem” when you say good morning and they know who you are and your order? Just asking for a friend.)  

The rest of the day went just as awesome.

P.S. Sorry Mr. Trainer.

P.P.S I really deserved it.

P.P.P.S The baristas told me.

P.P.P.P.S We won’t talk about lunch. (One bright side a free milkshake from Chick fil Lay! I went home twice today and both times I forgot my lunch. Am I going to be forgetful, blind and deaf? If so does that qualify me for a parking spot up front? (Again asking for a friend.) 

How to Take a Fat Deaf Kid Hiking.

A visual representation.

There has to be some level of understanding when you take me out hiking, walking, or any form exercise. Once we get started and the sweat starts (which is about 5-15 seconds) I have to take out my hearing aids and the ability to hear you go goes out the window. So that’s when the conversation gets interesting. You could ask a deep philosophical question for example “What are you giving up for Lent?” and I would hear “I’ve got a nice gent”. Totally different topics. I can’t tell you how many times I know I’ve missed the mark when the eyebrows go up and the look of ummm we aren’t doing that here.

Factor in that I’m not the fastest hiker and you’ve got yourself a party. My whole childhood was watching my Dad and sister sprint up mountains like goats while I waddled behind. Which was totally fine with me cause I was allowed to let my imagination run wild. It’s where I learned the art of allowing myself to get lost in a character. Plus, if they forgot me I could use that for emotional blackmail. Oh yeah remember the time you left me on the mountain? Good times.

As I’ve gotten older I just take my i-pod and listen to a good audio book or I just walk behind, if you are brave and stay by my side get ready to yell. Loudly. However, know the fat I’m working on, the deafness well that’s just a bad combo of genetics. This is how I imagine my parents explain the three of us… “This is our oldest she’s a professional Ironman and a mom, then we have youngest son whose married and going to be an accountant, and then we have our other son the fat deaf one who blogs.”

Anyway just a little disclaimer when you invite me to go hike with you. 

With His Head Stuck in a Book

Do you have a favorite book (or books) that you read at various times of year?

I do.

They are like old friends who live in different parts of the world that I rarely get to see but when they show up it’s like nothing has changed.

I believe books should be like your friends. Enough variety to keep it interesting and expose you to thoughts and ideas you’ve never thought of.

When the weather snaps and the temperature drops I sneak to the book case and I grab my old worn out paper back of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone or perhaps the Land of Oz series.  A warm cup of tea, a big ole warm Minky blanket, and I light all the candles in my mason jars and I sit on my porch staring at the trees in the midst of change themselves and watch while the night comes on.

So tonight, when I felt the change in the weather and the change in me, the nights are getting colder and the air is getting crisp I knew it was time. Gathering the necessary supplies, I sat in my chair took a deep breath and picked up Practical Magic and began. 

No One Likes a Fat Pop Star.

My thoughts every time I go to the gym.  

I’m afraid my trainer is going to fire me.

I know I say this weekly but, this time I really think it’s going to happen. Which is so sad because he’s the first person that I’ve met that has stuck with the crazy that is me. After my first trainer had a mini mental breakdown*. (*No. It wasn’t caused by me. Surprising I know.) I was really hesitant with working with another person.

So when the Mama Joye called and said Hey I’ve found this trainer everyone in the ward is raving about do you want to go with me?

Why not? Was my reply.

Here’s the funny thing. My mother followed Mr. Trainer’s advice to a T and looks amazing. Not that she didn’t look amazing before but it’s always nice to get help to move towards your best self no?

I on the other hand?

Weeellll…

This the part that I had my laundry list of reasons why I’ve been so off and on. However reasons are glorified excuses and I really have been trying hard to wean myself off of them. There are however two issues that have stood in the way of my progress.  A bad thyroid and B. I love food too damn much.

Which has hindered progress so to speak. That and I love food too damn much*. (*I know I know I said twice but it bears repeating.)

Tomorrow I have an appointment with Mr. Trainer and I’m afraid my performance evaluation is going to come back as less than satisfactory. Normally this would be due to lack of information or unclear expectations. However this is not the case.  

Because I’m a research nerd at heart I have all the data and articles and also I have a meal plan designed to keep it all in place.

Yet here we are.  


I'll keep you posted. 

Let's have a Kiki

Me being artsy.

 Yesterday was one of those days where I woke up and I went SERIOUSLY?! Then laid in bed and scrolled through social media.

 

BIG MISTAKE. Like denying Julia Roberts the chance to shop at your store kind of mistake.

See at 5:45 am in the morning I didn’t need to see the brutal reminders of September 11^th,2001, ranting against Bush and Trump, and I didn’t need to see the people tearing apart over every little thing. Remember when social media was new and we were posting random statements like Blake ate a whole cake today? Good times. After having a good dose of this I finally stopped scrolling and got in the shower.

Driving to work everyone was so angry riding bumpers, flinging middle fingers, and the feeling of rushing to get to get where they were getting. (Sadly, no Trim Down and Power Up with Tish).

Work we just don’t talk about.

By the time I got home I opened the door and was hunting through the cabinets and freezer looking for some carbs to take the edge off, when I finally went (insert favorite expletive here) this and grabbed my i-pod and put on my old school DJ headphones. Putting on my High school dance mix I cranked it up on loud and just let loose. A little running man, a little sprinkler, some scarecrow hand actions and movement.  I really was going for it. Then I heard from parking lot Look at that fat man dance! I’m not really sure what they said but I’m sure it was along the same lines there was pointing involved.

Oh well. I snuck back inside my apartment and for a minute I thought you know what I needed that. I need more dancing spontaneously and less flipping people off.  

(Next time I’m charging the neighbors when they watch.) 

Take Me to Church

Not Target. Or Taco Bell. But one of the missions I went to in Monterrey  CA. 

I went to Mass on Friday night. Well not really more like I went to Target and for many that’s just as/or better than church. Mormon’s don’t have a Mass but I was in search of something of the divine.

There is something about going somewhere where it sells the idea of possibility when your life seems out of control. Like mass I went because I was seeking absolution and to be among the masses. Target is one of those places where you can go and it becomes the greatest equalizer of people. Rich, poor, and those in the middle all come to Target. You cannot really pit yourself above others when you buy the same method dish soap.

With all the hurricanes, earthquakes, presidential upheaval, and just personal life changes (did you know I’m fat?) and I was seeking a place where I could hold up the idea of change and something better than what I’ve been living the last few months.

Besides what is more American than going to go worship at the altar of capitalism I ask you?  Standing in the air filter aisle (if anybody has a lead on 14X14X1 filters let me know) that if I truly wanted a life that is different than the one I’m living I’ve got to be brave.

And that scares me.

Cause I have no excuses anymore. I’m not in school, I only have one job, and I’m still young enough to shake up my life before it becomes too late. Why is losing weight scary? It’s the not the weight I’m afraid of losing it’s the learning of new processes to deal with my embarrassment, my anger, and desperately my shame? Without food to take the edge off and actually sit in these emotions scares the (insert favorite swear word here) out of me.  

Leaving without buying anything (progress!) I walked to my car with one last thought, a communion if you will, to truly change something has die within me in order for it to be reborn. Cause that’s the point of Mass, Sacrament, etc. is leaving the sinner soul and allowing ourselves to be reborn.

Who knew Target could be holy? 

And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going.

Not today Satan!

I lasted five minutes.

I told myself okay I’m thirty-three years old and am a functioning *adult (*most days) and have been through hard personal things. Like trying to put on my skinny jeans. Picture me on the floor with a pair of pliers a'la Brooke Shields 1983. Nothing gets between me and my Kirkland signature. No one.  

In an odd way, I was testing myself to see how brave I really was. Could I handle watching the movie that still to this day gives me nightmares? Or was it just Tim Curry? 

I took the necessary precautions. Lights on, the sun was out, and a pint of ice cream on the stand by (Nothing is truly scary with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s unless you have an appointment your cardiologist) and extra sprinkles. Let’s do this I thought. Popping the DVD (Cause I am of the old school. Ask me about my vinyl collection!) I was ready.

NO.

No.

BAD! BAD CLOWN!

Tim Curry how could you!

So that was my five-minute experience with IT.

Don’t think I’ll be going to see the new one in the theaters.

I however may be calling my therapist wondering if there is a Post traumatic IT watching therapy group.

Thanks a lot *Tim Curry.  

*With all personal apologies to Tim Curry. He's an amazing actor and I love him in Clue.

Some Cats Know

The biggest problem I have run into with returning to blogging is finding the narrative to the story in which I have been largely absent for the last four years. Yet when I have sat down to write blog post I work hard to capture the voice of the twenty-four-year-old me that started this story.  However, I am no longer twenty-four and my view point is no longer that this project was going to be a short six-month experiment.

Instead of getting skinnier I truly became the title of the blog. Blake got Fat. When I was complaining that it was unfair that while my friends were all progressing, getting married, getting skinnier, I was in a constant state of arrested development. I believe the words I used were sucky, circular, and some others that I don’t care to post cause you know, vulgarity. After listening to me rant for a good five minutes they raised their hands and said “Listen to yourself this rant is nothing but you are feeling that the creative world owes you something. It does not. Stop expecting your words, your ideas to manifest itself in this convoluted idea of what skinny is. Take the pressure off. Stop writing for a few months. Take up a new hobby and then come back when you no longer feel your writing is this big burden you have to deal with.

So, I did.

I took up knitting again.

I’m not a knitter. Yet I believe every person who has in need of trying to figure out their life needs to try it at least once. It’s not hard. Just rows of two stitches. Knit and purl. Or how I remember it in my brain yarn in back, yarn in front. Getting lost in the simplicity is where I found the ability to continue to tell this story.

Oh. Did I mention it also has helped me not shove the food in my mouth? It’s like driving a stick shift and trying to eat something it can be done but you are going to end up wearing half of what you are eating.   

I think my neighbors are just grateful I didn’t pick up tap dancing. 

It Had To Be You

Marla Hooch. Or me the last few weeks.

Marla Hooch is my spirit animal. Marla is from one of my favorite movies A League of their Own.

This is has been me the last few weeks. Just staring at myself in the mirror going well this is going to be as good as it gets.

Today I just wanted a damn doughnut.

Just a single white glazed doughnut with sprinkles on top.

Not asking for a lot. Yet I knew the second I had one doughnut I would have to make sure the white glazed didn’t feel lonely so I would have to make sure it had its buddy old fashioned. Then to seal the foundation I would need a raspberry jelly filled.

The weird thing is I don’t love doughnuts. I mean I’ve been brought up right if you have one and offer it to me I’m not going to say no…

But when I hit doughnut craving stage I know my life is boarder line out of whack.

Cause sometimes a doughnut isn’t a doughnut.

I’m more an ice cream kind of guy.

When I was sitting at my desk earlier today wondering who I could murder, convince, bribe to get me one I knew I was entering the No-Carb-left behind zone. I view bread-like carbs as nature’s way to physically protect us. My armor isn’t metal its sourdough bread, cookies, cupcakes, pasta, basically anything that would make a gluten intolerant person run in terror is what I use to protect myself.

Today I stood strong.

Today I admitted that what I was feeling was lack of confidence and security. I admitted The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing: by Marie Kondo scared me.  

I had to hide my car keys.

But I didn’t get a doughnut.

So progress? 

Once in a Very Blue Moon

  The face of one who has lost the magic of tidying up. 

I blame Marie Kondo for this. 

Two months ago, in a rare case of insomnia I lay awake staring at the ceiling. After reading all the instructions manuals in the apartment I finally was going through the books under my bed (small apartment, big book collection one must be creative) when I spotted the small little book shoved by the winter muumuu sweaters. The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing: by Marie Kondo. Well why not I thought my life may be a mess but there’s no reason for my dreams not to be.

Fast forward to last month when I had all my personal possessions in a big huge pile in my living room holding everything up and going does this bring me joy? At first I said it all quiet like I was scared that someone was going to hear me. After going through my dishes, and the seven (SEVEN! Sets of pot holders) I was tossing things and yelling YES this brings me JOY or AH hells no with abandon.

Then came the hard part.

The closet.

Holding up my favorite tee-shirts and shirts no problem. Then we got to pants. When I held up the big fat elastic style waist pants I had to ask myself do these bring me joy? I suddenly broke down.

Cause they did not bring me joy. In these jeans defense, they are made out of very sturdy Kirkland Signature reinforced denim. However, they are in a size (redacted) and my biggest shame. 

Cause every time I slid them on I could hear them go “Oh Look! The fat kid needs us again! He thought he was better than us but look at him sneaking us on like we don’t know he was eating HAAGAN DAAZ with a container of sprinkles! UM HMM GURL I told you he’d be coming back asking for forgiveness”. For being a pair of reinforced denim, they sure packed a lot of judgement in their polyester cotton blend.

Did they bring me joy? No. Not one bit. In an defiance of Kondo’s rules I called out to Saintly Bonnie*(not her real name) who normally listens to me moan, make the appropriate oh honey sounds and then proceeds to make me see the world in a better light. However, when I called her and started the same script she was not having it. Not one bit. You just stop it right there (as I was a boo-hooing something awful) and look at those jeans as things that held you up when you felt no one else could. Think of the good you did in them too. You let your story get away from you again. Stop letting the pants write the story. You write it. You hear me.

Loud and clear Saintly Bonnie *(not her real name) loud and clear. I held them up again and asked do these bring me joy.

No, they do not.

So, they are on their way to Deseret Industries.

And I slept great that evening.

Sit Right Down and Write Myself A Letter

I'm fatter in person.

From the desk of the editor of Blake Got Fat:

Dear Skinny people,

Can we talk?

Several months ago, I was at a party when the person who unsolicited began telling me all the things I needed to do lose weight.

If she had the heard the comments inside my head she would have taken to her bed and told small children that I was a bad man. They were so dark that even dangerous gangs would have avoided that neighborhood.

Yet I stood there with a grimace trying to make it look a smile saying no really go on about this point system…

For those of you wondering it is never okay to give a fat person unsolicited weight loss advice. We don’t wake up and stare at the mirror and go oh dear how did that happen? Also introducing us as your fat friend? Not cute. Or saying Are you going to eat all that? Doesn’t help. In fact, I will eat more in a fat sense of 

defiance.

We could probably give you advice on all the various diets we have tried plus our various successes and failures. And if one more person says it’s really simple just eat less and move more I’m going to stab you with my fork. Plus, with a jury of my peers (aka fat people) they would deem me innocent and have you give me a settlement just saying.

As the person drifted away and headed home I knew that they had sat in the car and said oh I made a difference tonight! Yeah lady. Big difference you helped me choose Haagan Daz over Ben & Jerry’s way to be a mother Teresa.

This is why I always offer a sympathetic ear and empathy I will never give you unwanted advice. However, I will give you the links and tools that I’ve been using. If they work for you GREAT! If not keep on trying and if you are taking a break that’s okay too.

So, the moral of the story is. Keep your unsolicited advice to yourself and the world will be a better place.

K?

Thanks.

Love the fat man in the Lulus.

Into the Wild

(Lauren in movement) 

Last night the stars and the moon were out and I was sitting on a cold metal bleacher watching my cousin get thrown around the ice like a rag doll. Or simply I was just watching the close of the 2017 Sun Valley Ice Show.

The Ice show has been a part of my memories since I can remember. Started at the resort by Sonja Henie the show runs through the summer season bringing the premier Ice skating talent to Sun Valley Idaho. Figure ice skating in the US tends to get forgotten till the Winter Olympics. I never knew the level of dedication it took to be a skater except for watching The Cutting Edge (TOE PICK!) and making the random Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerigan reference.

In the big randomness that is my family  no one really stands up and says HEY look at me I’m super talented and you need to pay attention to me. It wasn’t till recently that I realized how rare it is to have a Figure skater as your cousin. My cousin Lauren from the time the first pair of skates were strapped on to her feet she was going to be a skater.

Leaving home at sixteen to pursue this dream, we haven’t seen her at a Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, but thankfully she’s able to fit us in for Hawaii. She tells of her adventures all over Europe, a cruise ship, the middle east as she travels with various professional ice shows and has the best stories of life of traveling performer.   

Watching Lauren skate is like watching the art of grace in movement. Skating is hard for the fact that it is ballet, tap dancing, and ice hockey all rolled into one while smiling, and having a partner throw you around by your ankles.

The world is often cruel to those who chose to share their talents publicly. Yet Lauren skates and gets reviewed always pushing herself harder knowing the more practice, the more focus, the better the show, knowing that dedication and passion brings forth movement.

While you will never see me on skates in a show I was grateful for a brief movement while the moon was high I had someone share their talents with me and teaching me the art of dedication and passion.

That and I got to see Johnny Weir be himself but that’s a different post for another day.

Look at What You Made Me Do

Trigger warning: Serious White people problems ahead. You have been warned.

I was as they say in polite society, having a moment. See this morning my deaf boy alarm didn’t go off.  Which as we all know sets the theme for the whole day. While I was grateful that it wasn’t so late in the morning that I would have to do the walk of shame, it was however the time I normally leave my house I did the panic dash into the shower.

Cause I am not cute enough to rock the homeless look.

Driving into work I turned on my Dolly Parton, when you are going to work 9-5 you might as sing it at the top of your lungs. Shut up. I have you know I’m the best car singer I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. That and seeing the carpool Mom’s eyes when I hit the high notes was. PRICELESS.

After dealing with three school zones and being followed by the high way patrol I finally walked into work. Ever want to know if you are a person of routine if someone parks in “your” spot if your reaction is HOW DARE they you know you might need to shake things up. Plus, when I got to the work fridge having to throw 15 of the same salad dressings (I’ve watched them. They have been there for two months. AM. NOT SORRY.) I finally was ready to get the day started.

Fast forward of a lot of meetings and me making two fortune catchers and playing a mean game of M.A.S.H with myself it was time to put this work day to an end.

While I felt unsettled all day I realized that maybe it’s a good thing once in a while to shake up your life a little.

But if someone parks in my parking spot** again we may have to have some words.  

**There is no assigned parking**