I have a tendency to bitch and whine when one of my favorite bloggers/people doesn’t update. Thankfully she returned the favor recently by nudging me. I couldn’t believe when I looked at my blog yesterday, only to realize it had been over a month since I had written here.

I’m not sure why I’ve been so quiet here. There definitely has been a lot going on, but I’ve been feeling more ‘mum’s the word’ as of late. It’s weird to be at this moment in my life. You know how when you stand outside, you can’t feel the Earth moving and changing? Right now I feel like if I went into the ‘outside’ of my life and I stood still, I would be able to feel everything moving. It’s like someone finally pushed the start button on my life; it’s an interesting feeling.

I feel more like myself. I feel like I’m getting to know myself. I feel more grounded. I have direction. It feels good.

Here are a couple of highlights, in pictures:

A few weeks back, Steve, Lexi, Patrick, and myself took part in the ‘Great Guinness Toast‘ at Murphy’s Irish Pub in Old Town. A crowning achievement from that evening? Having to drink an entire pint of Guinness, while standing, and having the whole bar cheer me on. I didn’t volunteer, I had screwed up in a bar-wide drinking song/game — that was my punishment/reward, heh.

Lexi, Heidi, and I also went to Bluemont Vineyard for a nice, long gal’s day a couple of weekends ago. It was just what the doctor ordered. If you live in the area and have never been, I HIGHLY recommend it. I just hate that I can only get their wine by directly visiting the winery. OH WELL. ANOTHER ROAD TRIP IS NEEDED. DARN.

After YEARS of acting holier than thou, I caved and got an iPhone. (Cue Derek giving me endless amounts of grief.) I know, I know. I’m a hypocrite. I acted like I was too good for it. Now I have an iPhone. And it’s amazing. If it were a person, it would be little spoon to my big spoon.

Shortly after our wedding, tragedy struck in the form of my beautiful sapphire wedding ring breaking. It was awful and a bit heartbreaking. But a ring is just a ring, so it went on the backburner. Until last week when the 1-carat beauty above arrived at Patrick’s office, and he presented it to me. No more high, prong-settings for this gal.

Patrick and I are closing in on our one year anniversary, and it’s been an amazing and interesting year. (I’m also looking forward to our second honeymoon. 5 days and 4 nights in Colonial Williamsburg, where we celebrated our first honeymoon.)

Patrick and I had been through a lot together, prior to getting married — (f)unemployment, relocating (twice!), bad jobs, having no money, debt, house floods… we knew we could handle being in it for the long haul.

The biggest challenge I’ve noticed in being married is making time for each other. This is mostly a recent development, as I’m now in a job that is now just as demanding as his. Last year, prior to taking my position at LivingSocial, my schedule was extremely flexible and relaxed — I could essentially work everything around Patrick’s schedule.

Now? I work almost as much as he does, and my social life has gotten a bit busier. We went on a date to Hank’s Oyster Bar in Old Town last week, and I think it was a bit of a shock to admit that we needed to just make more time to be together and spend time together. It’s not that we don’t want to spend time together — we absolutely do! I don’t think we realized how easily time can slip away with work and other obligations.

Loving each other is always easy. Maintaining a marriage and each other is work. Thankfully we recognized it and have been having an absolute blast making time for each other.

ANYWAY.

The new health kick has been going well. I can feel that I have legitimately made a permanent life change in how I treat myself. The only thing is keeping up with exercise. For the most part, I get in about two good workouts a week. I had to sit out three weeks of yoga unfortunately, due to a knee/shin injury. I’ll admit it sidelined me, and not just physically. My biggest problem is that once I break the routine (in this case, being active with running and going to yoga class), it’s hard to get back into it. It’s easier to stay on the couch. It’s easier to stay in bed. It’s easier to stay out ridiculously late and not get up the next morning.

I know I’m only letting myself down, in the end. I’m just glad that I recognize what’s going on. This weekend I’ll be back on the bandwagon with a my usual yoga class on Saturday morning, and then yoga on Sunday with Heidi.

Overall, life is going really well. I feel a lot more grounded than I have in a long time. While I still love a good night at a dive bar (and a good beer or three), I’m not the crazed party girl I once was. I feel focused and happy with my circle of friends. I feel as if I have a better sense of self (and style!).

Our kitchen, however, is still a disaster.

So that’s what’s up in my neck of the woods. How are you fools doing?

We’ll talk about my first foray into running on Tuesday night another time. (Short version: tough, but ultimately satisfying.) Instead, let’s chat about how gorgeous it was in our neck of the woods last night with our very first big snow of the season!

Better yet, let me show you:

(This was taken from a moving car. AMAZING.)

I would like to thank the Snow Gods for the snow, Old Town Alexandria for being so pretty and colonial, and my In-Laws for this gorgeous new Nikon that is allowing me to take gorgeous pictures from a SPEEDING CAR.

Sigh. I love the snow.

All of you people already wishing for Spring and Summer are insane. Fall and winter are where it’s at.

Yes, I’m aware that my blog still looks like Christmas threw up all over.  I’ll get around to it.  Then again our Christmas tree is still up… yea, I have a problem with letting go.

ANYWAY.

On Saturday morning, I went to my very first yoga class in Old Town Alexandria, at Radiance Yoga.

I wasn’t sure what to expect.  I signed up for a beginners series of Flow Yoga classes that runs for 8 weeks.  I figured there would be bending and Om-ing and chi-ing.  I’d probably learn to bend into some pose called Congress of the Wombat or Preaching Pony.

As pumped as I was to get started, I was also pretty nervous.  As I finally owned up to recently, I’m not exactly comfortable with myself physically.  And the thought of being in a room full of people who were potentially in better shape or more adept at Yoga than I would be… ugh.  Seriously, I would cringe at the thought of people contorting themselves in beautiful ways while I stand there, unable to do anything.

I’m going to be blunt. There were things I could not do.  There were moments where I did things that hurt.  There were even a couple of instances where I was questioning whether I should even be there.

(This is the part where I get word-vomity about hokey stuff like ‘empowerment’ and ‘goals’.)

(I love parenthetical asides.)

For all of the things I couldn’t do, however, I was blown away by the things I could do.  The little victories far outweighed what I couldn’t do. I could balance myself.  I could move somewhat gracefully.  I was even able to hold certain poses that I didn’t think I could hold; although the Downward Dog can kiss my ass. For real.

What’s funny is that the website doesn’t tell you what week in the 8-week sequence you’re in when you sign up.  And of course, I wasn’t smart enough to notice that omission.  I just clicked away and happily gave them my money.  It turns out that it was Week THREE.  So after we do what’s apparently our warm-up, the real class began.

‘I know you’ve been working with Colby on sun salutations and a lot of the other basics, so let’s get right into Warrior poses.’

Yea, no. I didn’t know anything about sun salutations or any of the other basics. But given that I was in the front row and too nervous to not do something, I went with it.

And I’m so glad I did.

At the end of the class, our teacher actually found out that I had unwittingly signed up when I had never taken yoga before. And she was genuinely taken aback.  She said to me, ‘Really? You were great with your poses! I can’t believe you’ve never done yoga before!’

I was so happy to hear that.  I get compliments on a lot of things, but nothing having to do with anything active.  It felt so good to hear that affirmation.  It was a really tough class.  That was another thing.  Yoga brings forth images of relaxation and meditation.  It’s extremely physical and a lot of fun.

Patrick and I met up for lunch afterward at a place I’ve been going to since middle school — Southside 815.  As we sat there, I was definitely feeling sore in ways I had never felt sore before, but it was almost like a glow.  I chowed down on my veggie scramble (and side of veggies, since I love to be redundant), and talked to him about how I felt after class.

It wasn’t just the physical aspect of it, but the mental aspect of it as well.  I don’t think I have ever actually listened to my body before.  I’ve never emptied my mind.  I’ve never tried to center myself.  Before I actually explored the option of yoga, those types of ideas seemed a bit silly to me.

As soon as we got home, I signed up for my next class for this upcoming Saturday morning.

I’m completely nervous, but excited for the challenge.  I’m still not that bendy.  I am woefully out of shape.  I have got to work on my breathing.  But still, I love this feeling of knowing I found something that I really enjoy.  I love knowing that I’m going to benefit from this, get better at it, and (in the long run) feel really good about myself.

In other news, it’s freezing outside. And I’m going for a run tonight. And I’m probably going to die of death.

I have a lot of brilliant ideas. Seriously, I’m a smart gal.

For example, this morning, as I was falling toward the floor (face first, mind you), I thought it would be a brilliant idea to grab ahold of the couch to keep me from falling.

While my flat iron was still resting on the arm.

Because I like to do my hair while sitting on the couch.

And because I’m an idiot who, even though she unplugs her flat iron, LEAVES IT ON THE ARM OF THE COUCH.

Needless to say, as I fell to my doom in slow motion, my hand desperately clawed at the arm of the couch, but instead was met with the ugly sting of OH MY GOD MY HAND IS ON FIRE BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE I AM SHAKING THE HAND OF SATAN IN THE MIDDLE OF HELL.

Of course I still got a face full of hardwood flooring anyway. And a burned hand.  I tried to grin and bear it.  I told Patrick I would be okay, and we loaded up in our car and headed down the GW Parkway into the District for work.  We didn’t make it beyond Reagan National Airport before Patrick finally convinced me that the fact that I could feel my heartbeat in my left hand was not exactly a positive.  And that I might require some medical attention.

So I finally arrived home.

Let me show you how much our good for nothing dog cared about my injury which has rendered me gimpy and useless:

The only time he got excited today was when he thought I was getting up to get him treats, or water, or to feed him.

But really, no.  No, I was not doing any of those things. I was trying to disrobe so I could go to the bathroom effectively. (This takes about 10 minutes each time.)  I was trying to make a sandwich with one hand.  I was trying to open a bottle of pain medication with only one hand.  As soon as he figured out that I wasn’t getting him squat, he sauntered away, disinterested.

That fat bastard of a dog.

With his big stupid ears.

He probably doesn’t burn his left paw on a flat iron, though. Meh.

Typing this post one-handed took an hour and a half.

This isn’t going to be some fluff piece, because it’s time for me to be honest with myself.  And I know I’m going to pad this introduction with a few more sentences before I get to my point since, even though everyone knows the truth, saying it ‘outloud’ (so to speak) is difficult.  I’d rather deflect everything with humor or some sort of anecdote about the time I worked at a bail bonds office.

So here it goes.

I have a weight problem.

A bad one.

Let’s be blunt. I’m fat.

Not in the derogatory sense.

Not in the ‘please placate me by telling me I have a pretty face’ sense.

Just fat.

I can admit that, when it comes to stereotypes, I’m the funny, fat friend.

And it’s hard. I look in the mirror and try not to cringe every day, because 9 times out of 10, I hate the person staring back at me.

My weight has always been a constant struggle for me.  Well, let me rephrase that.  My own perception of my weight issues has been a constant struggle for me.  To be frank, growing up and all through high school, I looked amazing.  I look back at pictures now and wonder why the hell I was so hard on myself.

Somewhere along the line, though, I developed an actual weight problem that I have let spiral out of control over the years.  And it’s the worst kind of vicious cycle.  I ate when I was bored.  I ate when I was unhappy.  Then I got depressed about eating when I was bored and unhappy, so I would proceed to ‘eat my feelings’ some more.

Productive, right?

What makes it harder (in my mind, at least) is that I’m so freakin’ tall.  Being 6’1” and overweight is just hard to hide.  I feel big.  Constantly. I feel uncomfortable.  Constantly.  I want to slouch and be 5’4”. Constantly.

I’ve spent so many days crying in fitting rooms because I can’t stand the way I look.  I come out of course, and I smile.  I joke.  But inside I hate myself.  I always have.

I’m very lucky that I have a gorgeous husband who somehow thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.  But it’s time for me to do something about it.  I love the compliments he pays me and how he looks at me, but this goes beyond looks.

It’s about how I feel.

I’m tired of hulking over everyone else.  I’m tired of my legs rubbing together to the point where my jeans wear through.  I’m tired of crying.  I’m tired of feeling inferior to everyone around me.  I’m tired of hiding in photos, pretending I’m happier behind the camera rather than in front of it.  I’m tired of nothing ever fitting correctly.  I’m tired of having to special order clothing.  I’m tired of constantly comparing myself to everyone around me.  I’m tired of feeling out of shape.  I’m tired of getting out of breath after the smallest bit of exercise.

But I always made excuses.  Always.  It has taken me a long time to admit that part of the reason I never followed through on really trying to make a change is because I use my weight as a crutch; a way to keep people at a distance.  I hide behind it.  It’s my safety net so I never have to go out there and try, or do, or be, or live.  It was a way to keep me separate from everyone else; a way to reinforce that ‘me against the world’ mentality that I so desperately love to cling to.

But then something in me snapped on January 1st.  Is it because I’m turning 30 years old next year?  Is it something else?  I don’t know.  In spite of the cliche of ‘losing weight’ as a New Year’s resolution, when 2011 started, something in my brain snapped.  I got tired of whining about everything, and I actually started doing something.

Seriously, it’s like this part of my brain, completely independent from everything else, woke up and said, “Okay, that’s it.  You’re making good decisions from now on and that’s final.”

Did you know I’ve willingly given up soda?  I haven’t had any takeout, fast food, or pizza since the start of the year?  And I don’t miss it?  And that I only drink water?  And some devil-possessed part of my brain has gotten me to start researching how to run?  And I want to try yoga?

WHO AM I?!

All possessed-by-the-devil quips aside, I’ve taken a stand against myself.  I’m not going to be this bogged down person anymore.  I guess I wasn’t kidding when I wrote that end of the year post in 2010.  This year was really going to be about changing myself for the better.  And it’s not just about losing weight.  I want to be healthier and happier.  I want to treat myself better.  No fad diets.  No detox cleanses.  Nothing like that.

This is about changing my lifestyle to a healthy one.  I’ll feel better, and I know buried somewhere underneath it all is a gal who isn’t too shabby looking and wants to be active.

And for once, I know I’m going to do it.  I know there will be times that I will get frustrated or plateau, but I’m committed.  This year is not only the ten year anniversary for myself and two of my best friends.  It’s the ten year anniversary of when I moved out on my own.  I’ve come so far in that amount of time, and now it’s time to be the me I know I can be.

I’m completely terrified.  I don’t want to fail.  I desperately don’t want to fail.  It’s all about baby steps though, I suppose.  And thankfully I’ve got a great coach, who’s been the best coach since as long as I’ve known her.  And a great husband.  And amazing friends.

I wonder what Liz will be writing here in 2012. I’m so excited to find out. Hell, maybe I’ll be a Liz who’s already got a 5k under her belt by then.

Nothing like a fresh, new planner to start off the new year!

Well, it’s another year gone.  And 2010 was a big year.

Snowmageddon 2: This Time It’s Personal prevented me from going to work for a full week.

We got married.

My husband conquered the Quad Fish.

I turned 28 years old and celebrated my birthday with a new job at LivingSocial.

Patrick and I realized that the ‘burbs ain’t so bad.

We kicked off the Christmas season by buying a brand new car.

Oh, and my best friend moved back to the area!

And I realized that, at the end of the day, real, true friends are definitely more important than money.

For those of you familiar with my blog, this annual post-mortem is routine at this point.  Some long, drawn out post about ‘feelings’ and ‘goals’ and ‘dreams’.

This year, I will keep it short and sweet.

This time last year, I felt like I was on the edge of something great.  Now I realize that I wasn’t on the edge, waiting for one great big thing to happen; what I was feeling last year was the knowledge that I was actually starting to live my life, as opposed to just surviving it.

That’s not to say that this year was not without some strife.  There definitely were some trying times, but overall things were pretty great.

I feel like 2011 will involve me turning inward a bit.  Now that I have my external ducks in a row, so to speak, with my marriage, my new job, and a new (glorious) apartment down the line, I want to spend this upcoming year working on me.

I want to learn how to say no, because so many issues this year evolved out of me over-extending myself.  I want to accept that I cannot please everyone all the time, and that I need to be true to myself and what I want instead.  I want to finally attack the issues with my health head on, as I’ve finally accepted that a lot of the problems I have with my health (and weight) are emotional issues that I need to come to terms with.

I want to be a better, happier, and healthier me.  I want to take care of myself, inside and out. I want to surround myself with positive people and influences.  I want to cultivate good, lasting friendships and treat my close friends — the ones who have been there for me — the way they deserve.

The other thing I want to work on this upcoming year is believing in myself.  I am my own worst enemy in that regard.  Often my failures can be directly attributed to me emotionally shooting myself in the foot by subconsciously believing I won’t be able to succeed.  At anything.  I’ll start something, and then I’ll just go through the motions, waiting for myself to fail.

I hope that 2011 is going to be an ultimately fulfilling year.  It’s going to be tough, because breaking bad habits and forging good ones is never easy — but I think I’m up to the challenge.  I hope I am at least!

Oh, and I would also like 2011 to be the year I finally learn to parallel park with ease.

Wow, I fail at short and sweet.

]]> http://www.dogsandwine.com/another-year/feed/ 2 http://www.dogsandwine.com/merry-christmas-to-all/ http://www.dogsandwine.com/merry-christmas-to-all/#comments Sat, 25 Dec 2010 20:01:49 +0000 Liz http://www.dogsandwine.com/?p=996

After an amazing Christmas Eve meal with friends who are like family…

(we’re adorable…)

…Christmas is finally here!

Merry Christmas from all of us, but mostly Horatio.

You know, considering this is my absolute favorite time of year, my blog seems to have been playing at a consistently down trodden tone recently.  So I’m going to take a few minutes to change that and talk about the things that have been making me happy, and things that I want.  To move away from the deep introspective crap, I’m going to be completely superficial.  Yes, I love my husband, my amazing group of friends, my dogs, and the endlessly disappointing Redskins, but those things will just have to wait.

So, without further ado, here are the things I am loving/wanting at the moment…

The 12 Days of Christmas – Straight No Chaser

If you’re in a down mood, or for some reason you simply cannot get in the Christmas spirit, check out the above link for one of the most hilarious, Christmas-y songs ever. Seriously, I guarantee you that after listening, you will be smiling. My Christmas season is a million times better just for having clicked that link. I’m looking at you, Heidi!

So, some asshole at NBC (I will find you) thought it would be a fantastic idea to mess with complete and utter perfection by canceling the original Law & Order series replacing it was some ridiculous version that takes place in LOS ANGELES with SKEET FREAKIN’ ULRICH. Following the learning of this news, I fell into a deep chasm of depression in which I found myself questioning my own faith.  Then one day, while perusing a section of channels I never watch on cable, because I was over watching re-runs of Everybody Loves Raymond, I found Law & Order: UK. And it’s AMAZING.  It’s not the original, but it’s perfect in its own way.  Thank you, Dick Wolf.  I now ALMOST forgive you for that Los Angeles tragedy. ALMOST.

Say yes to Near East Roasted Garlic & Olive Oil Cous Cous. Say yes.

I’ve finally been able to admit to myself that I want a Kindle.  Yes, I still want to buy physical books, but I also know a Kindle will allow me to read more than I get to now. That said, if I ever do get my grubby little paws on a Kindle, I want this gorgeous (and probably over-priced — whatever) Kate Spade Kindle cover.

As my poor husband learned a few weeks back, I have a holiday candle addiction.  More specifically, I cannot get enough of holiday candles from Yankee Candle.  Now every year, I have stuck with my standard Christmas Tree scent, but this year I found a new love in their White Christmas Candle.  I cannot get enough of it.  My holiday candle fixation is bad enough, and this beauty made it even worse.

Some people see LL Bean and think “dowdy”, “boring” or “old people”.  I look at their stuff (or at least some of it!) and think cozy, comfortable, simple, and a bit classic.  I want that sweater above.  I covet it.  I want to cuddle with it and make little sweater babies with it.   In fact I want most things from there.  Snow boots, some of their signature line jewelry, dorky totes. Want. Give. Now.  This might be why like… 30% of my Amazon wishlist is from that place.

I’m going to be self-absorbed and say my own Cranberry-Orange Bread with Walnuts.  I made it again this year for Thanksgiving, and it was incredible.  I did something a little different this year.  Instead of using my stand mixer, I hand-mixed all the ingredients, and it came out so much better.  It was a great way to get back into cooking.  I let it cook just a few minutes less, too (depends on your oven)– made all the difference.

Kate Spade. Oh, Kate Spade. Your wallets SLAY me.  I want this beauty. This beauty that is slim enough to carry around, big enough for me not to lose it, and realizes that I don’t want a coin pocket that I’m not going to use.  Plus, you’re only $145.  You will be mine one day.  Oh yes, you will be mine.  Especially in that pretty Mercury color you’re selling on your website.

These are a few of my favorite things…

It had been over two years since I had really spoken to my mother.  Between the unforgivable things that were said, and the wedding dress she held hostage, I thought it was something that could not be fixed.

And then yesterday I had gotten word that she had not been doing well, health-wise.  I was already feeling fairly sentimental and cry-face, because it’s the holiday season; and while this time of year makes me happy, it makes me long for family and a sense of belonging.  Not only that, I’m her only living relative.  I’m her daughter.  I wanted to do right by her — be there for her when she needed me.  I didn’t want to abandon her.

So, I swallowed my pride and I called her.

It went really well.  She said things I thought she would never say, and she took responsibility in a way that was so atypical for her.  It was indicative of an actual change.  We talked for some time, catching up, but knowing it was late; we resolved to talk to each other this evening.

Well as fate would have it, this evening isn’t working out, due to a prior engagement.  I decided to be the good daughter and call her on my lunch break to let her know I would need to reschedule.

When she picked up the phone, that familiar drawl sung to me on the phone — the kind of drawl that, in person, smells like stale wine and alcohol.  I could feel my heart immediately drop to the tips of my toes.  I’m trying not to freak out.  I’m trying to believe her when she says she just woke up from a nap.  I’m trying.  I talked to her as if nothing was wrong, and ended the call pleasantly, saying I’d talk to her tomorrow.

In the end, I wish I had never called her last night. In the end, I know she was lying.  That voice is forever etched in my mind, attached to horrific memories that I never want to go back to. I know what that voice means.  I know where that voice leads.  But now I’m trapped in a situation of my own design.  I can’t take back calling her, and I can’t blow her off yet again.  I’m supposed to smile and see her on Sunday.

I don’t know why I keep trying, and I don’t know what to do anymore.  I wanted her to prove she had changed — so that this leap of faith wasn’t for nothing.  So that I don’t look like a fool for, once again, trying to reach out to an alcoholic who will never change.

“It’s different this time,” I told Patrick last night.  We were standing in the kitchen.  He wore a look of devoted concern.  I stood about two feet away from him, leaning against a cabinet.  I was trying to defend her, but there was a tiny part of me that felt hollow in doing so.

That tiny part knew I was still playing the fool.

I try to smile and speak in cliches about how true families are the ones we make, not always the ones we are born into, blah blah blah.  It’s bullshit.  I would give anything to feel the warmth of a hug from a parent of mine.  Someone who watched me grow up, cherishes the memories, and thinks of me as their little girl.  Someone who cries happy tears at my milestones, and has built traditions with me through my childhood into adulthood.

I think that’s why I always go back to her.  I always try to bury the hatchet.  I always hope that this time it will be different.

It never is.

I am constantly in mourning for a family I never had, and one day I need to accept that.  At some point I need to let go of the little girl inside and move forward.  All I’m doing is hurting myself.

You know what’s funny?  Even as I write all of this, there is a small voice inside of me saying, “Well, what if she really was just taking a nap?”

I wonder if I’ll ever change.