Dana Burland

This is going to sound really pathetic (because it is pathetic) but my left bicep is sore from carrying an average size plate with an average size breakfast quesadilla an average distance from the cafeteria in my office building (I’m spoiled) to my desk. I can run five, sometimes six (and I bet even seven) miles at a time, but I can’t carry breakfast across a building? I probably can’t even lift a crayon . This is bad news. I use to have strong, non-Jell-O like arms. When I was in high school, my club swim team hired a woman named Judy (a former jujitsu champion who looked NOTHING like her name) to run us through resistance and weight training a few times a week. The more Judy beat me up, the faster I swam. After that intro to lifting, I kept it up on my own for awhile. Sometimes I’d dry off from a high school swim practice and lace up my gym shoes to head to the gym solo. I knew how my body responded to extra dry effort, and I liked it. Now that I’m not relying on my arms to haul ...

For nine months of the year my city is quiet and quaint. In the middle of October it all begins. It started with a few mini trees zip-tied to a street light here and there. Then a truck mounted a metal candle structure to the top of a local bridge.

Once, there were 50 of these. That was an hour and a half ago. Is there any legal ramification for inducing sugar comas? I’m pretty sure that at least four of my coworkers are coming down from a dangerous sugar high and I’m partially to blame. Today a meeting nook in my office was transformed into a holiday potluck wonderland. And man alive, people showed up with their A-game. Tasty potlucks make for good work days. They should happen more often. Not wanting to compete with the award-winning Crockpot meatballs or show stopping buffalo chicken cheese dip, I decided to stick to a once successful Pinterest recipe. These mini peanut butter chocolate pretzel bites were a big hit. Fine by me since they’re super-easy, inexpensive, and a no-bake recipe. The secret to the success of these treats is the peanut butter filling. Think Reece’s peanut butter, not PB&J sandwich peanut butter. Two kinds of sugar make all the difference. Hmm, I wonder what would happen if you made a PB...

I majored in journalism when it wasn’t cool to do so. The industry was changing fast and the material at my school wasn’t. I remember my Intro to Journalism professor started off the semester with a discouraging statement: a journalism degree won’t land you a journalism job. Yay optimism! He was right—a journalism degree alone wouldn’t land me a job in the journalism industry. Practicing the new media trends as a basement blogger would. But the industry is still changing. While I spend my working hours in a digital editorial role, the new generation of ‘basement bloggers’ are creating apps and aggregating services. At one point in college when I tried to combine my journalism major with an advertising minor my advisor shut me down. He wanted me to follow the old school newsroom approach and minor in a field I could write as an expert in (hospitality and tourism “expert” at your service). I understand how major and minoring in the same concentration seems counterintuitive, but now a...

What my packing process looks like Every few months I get the itch. I’ll wake up one morning, look around and decide everything is wrong. The walls aren’t right, the shower doesn’t spray hard enough and a recent Ikea ad showed a stupidly beautiful kitchen island that I don’t have room for. I want a kitchen island. I NEED A KITCHEN ISLAND. Before I can even wipe the sleep from my eyes, these thoughts transform into an exit strategy— I should move to a one-bedroom bungalow in Jamaica, or maybe to an over-crowded apartment at the edge of town to save money for a year. I’d love it more. This mindset has nothing to do with crooked walls, low-pressure showerheads or constricted kitchens and everything to do with the gypsy-like start to my adult life. Confession: in the last six years, I’ve lived in 10 different places.

A little into a month after I started working at Runner’s World , I ran (ha!) into a new coworker at a local 5K. We chatted for a bit before the race, and giggled about how it was funny (or not really) to run into each other at a running race considering where we both work. Then he said to me, “hey, it’s not a bad Kool-Aid to drink.” True. I was ‘drinking the Kool-Aid’ before my coworker caught me in a racing bib. Ok, not drinking, more like sipping, I’d say. I had been an avid sipper until I started working with a team of folks that keep multiple pair of running shoes lined up under their desks for lunch runs. But now, now I’m on the nothin’-but-Kool-Aid diet. I thought my coworker’s holiday run streak idea was fun—until she invited/challenged staffers to do it too. Today is my 12th day of running at least a mile every day, and strangely, I’m cool with it.

Going home is always so delightful, and my recent Thanksgiving vacation was no exception. I packed way too much considering I pretty much only wore my pajamas. Ahhh, vacation. When I wasn't in pjs, I was in running gear. The Runner's World Holiday Run Streak started on Thanksgiving Day, just in time for the 2011 Detroit Turkey Trot. This was the fourth year I've ran the Turkey Trot with my family, and still the biggest event yet with 21,000 trotters. I ran the 10K next to my dad, who was on a mission (that I might have assigned him) to break an hour. He rocked that race like it was no one's business; even though we had to knock several small children over at the start of the race to make it through the thick crowd. Sorry children of Detroit.

Linda was my very first internship supervisor at Signature Media in downtown Detroit. She was a short, cute, young 30-something married woman with a sense of humor and a work ethic of steel. Every single day of her working life, Linda donned a dress or skirt—not by coincidence or for comfort either. Her career wardrobe was her professional statement. In her staple look (timeless dresses, pearls, hose and heels), she was the picture of what she wanted to portray. I thought of her yesterday when I started mentally mapping this blog post. I thought of her distinct fashion and how I didn't get it and didn’t have it (my own personal style) when I worked for her. I recently unearthed my two favorite fall/winter outfits; my go-to get-up that feels comfortable, respectable, fashionable and even somewhat professional (given my casual work environment). It’s not what Linda would wear, but it's a good cold weather staple look for me.

Dear mom and aunt Dana, Let me remind you both that you are replaceable. I can pay the rent here with my smile and the charm of my kittenish meow, alone. And your interior decorating? It’s questionable at best. I don’t know why you cover up so many luscious corners and crevices. Clearly you don’t get the joy of running your fur up against a nice slice of baseboard—your loss. You two think you’re so cute making me speak like you know what’s fluttering through my little cat mind. Little do you know that I’m enrolled in Community Cat College and am in the process of studying pop culture and philosophy while writing my thesis on the depiction of felt toy mice in modern media. Yeah, I’m busy when I’m hiding under my mom’s bed; and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop assuming I’m snoozing all day. I’ll tell you what else is unacceptable: company . Be it the furry or human kind, it’s really inconsiderate. You think you can just lock me away in mom’s room because someone’s ‘allergic’. W...

This drank has girl's night written all over it; or classy recovery from a rough day at work; or celebrating it's Monday. Hey whatever you bust out the stemware for, I don't judge. I first put this cocktail together this past summer when my farmer's market was almost paying me to take their blueberries. I usually add a couple slices of peaches too, but no can do in November. True—it's not the most festive cold weather drink, but you win some you lose some, and you got nothin' to lose with this tasty bev. I wouldn't make this too far ahead of time, or else the pop will go flat. Yes, I said pop. And truthfully, it's just as yummy if you splash it all together quickly and plop down for an episode of Modern Family. 

I don't blab about B  too much round this blog, but today is a blab-worthy day. Today marks the 365th day B has put up with my antics — from when I almost, kind of, accidentally stood him up on our first date (then finally showed up with inhumane garlic breath) to receiving regular emails with photos of Boo  (clearly a man's best friend); this boy deserves to be celebrated. When he knew how much I loved to run, he signed on to my 5k a month project , without ever having ran a race ever before. (Maybe it was a ploy to impress me, but guess who's been suffering once a month ever since.) Since he's known I dislike eating at restaurants that I can cook better than, he's hunt for the best ethnic and creative restaurants my tiny town has to offer. This includes a most memorable gut-busting experience at a Brazilian steakhouse, when we both thought we could out-eat the restaurant—which is impossible. When he knew how much ArtPrize in Grand Rapids meant t...

Hello bowl-cut! Once upon a time I had beautifully shiny pin-straight hair. By the time I was old enough to care about what was happening on the top of my head, I wished (like every other female) for the complete opposite. I bought goop that promised to curl and worked it through my straight hair hoping for a change. It all ended the same—a head of wet looking stringy hair, barely bent. When I went off to college, I befriended a ringletted beauty. She spent the majority of our college experience ironing her hair flat while I spent it poofing, spraying and curling mine. Humidity, water and gravity were our great enemies in both hair transforming projects. By the time we graduated, the hair Gods had punished me for all the torture with a wavy-frizz combo that didn't fare well in public naturally. I took to straightening it or pumping it with a wave-controlling product daily. Then I moved to the East coast and the change continued. When I’m able to get home, my famil...

All photos credit Louise. She's a master. 

Listen Internet, I don’t have to tell you how bananas this whole Penn State sex scandal is, just Google it; but to Pennsylvanian residents, bananas don’t even begin to explain it. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be like every other person weighing in on something I’m not even remotely involved in. Especially because like so many Pennsylvanians, so many of my friends and coworkers are connected to Penn State. As removed as I am, I don’t feel the need to toss my opinion into the ring. But, as crazy, sad and shocking our entire nation has found this situation; I—as a Pennsylvanian transplant—have found the local response too interesting to not capture or share with my out-of-state readers. To get it, you have to get a few basics. State College, Pennsylvania (location of Penn State’s main campus) is in the middle of nowhere—and I mean noooo whereeeee. When I drive to Michigan across PA on I-80 and have only seen trees and rock cliffs for two and a half hours and have two and...

This past Sunday was running themed for me. I woke up and immediately plugged in to the New York City Marathon coverage. I was in charge of pushing results to the Runner’s World   Facebook page , and did just that in my pajamas with a serious case of weekend bed-head. Working for Runner’s World  is not a bad gig. It’s pretty incredible to watch the elite athletes run with such an unbreakable stride for two hours. These women run at a pace almost exactly twice as fast as I do (and for much, much longer). It makes me want to cry a little bit. Watching the end of the women’s race made me want to cry a little bit, too. Mary Keitany , a Kenyan mega-woman, fell into third place just before the finish. She had been leading (by up to four minutes) for almost 23 miles. You know, leading one of the biggest marathons in the world by about eight city blocks, no big deal. I so desperately wanted to give Mary my chocolate chip pancake breakfast fuel to finish first.

I’ve been in a hair slump. Scratch that, I live in a hair slump. I usually go curly or pull it up and forget about it. I just don’t want to deal; but I want to look cute, too. There’s no middle ground. However, this, I can get on board with. I posted before about how a front braid saves me from looking too lazy; but that look is so 2009. The waterfall braid is so awesome it’s pretty much 2012—like when car companies release their fancy new models before the calendar year turns; this braid is that awesome. This braid is all over the Pintrest circuit, and all over Louise too. She sent me a video tutorial and ever so graciously modeled the look with a hair review mah blog.

My name is Dana and I have a junk drawer. And a junk box. And a junk bag. And a junk closet, too. In reality, I don't think I have a problem (yikes, not even at the first step of admission yet!). I'm sure I have about the average amount of junk as any other female my age—bottles of dried up nail polish I refuse to part with, old magazines and paperwork that isn't important enough to be filed, an extra set of Honda keys . Most of this stuff is just filling space, waiting for the next time I pack up and move, where I will then spend hours combing through my entire life tossing and packing . Not like that's a reoccurring theme in my life or anything... I'm personally declaring November no-crap month. I know all I really need is a free weekend, a good play list, and a larger than life garbage bag for success. It's a completely realistic goal, but one I know I need a deadline on. After all, with my impressive one -for- one  track record of  completing...

When you give me a cookie, I'll often will eat five. When you give me a chocolate chip peanut butter oatmeal cookie I'll likely just eat the ingredients alone because I just can not wait until they combine and bake into the stupidly magical cookies they become. Fact: That cookie sheet use to be silver. Please find me a recipe title that sounds more delightful than this. I love chocolate chip cookies, they are perfect and traditional and tasty and ideally (for me at least) soft and a little cakey. My mom's recipe includes a handful (or two) of oatmeal, which I've grown to love. But then, THEN, peanut butter. It's gooey, sweet flavor spices up these cookies. Plus November is National Peanut Butter Lover's Month. I shall celebrate all month. I usually have all these ingredients (minus the chocolate chips) on hand at all times. Hm, maybe these should be my new go-to cookies. Haha like there are any cookies left to go to after these pop out of the oven.

On a foggy Saturday night, three girls drove the windy Pennsylvania country roads on their way to a haunted jail.  Louise  heard a handprint from on the of prisoners was still visible on the cold concrete walls despite years of scrubbing, Nicole read that the spirits of Irishmen hanged over 100 years ago, and I wondered what the heck I was doing chauffeuring the three of us young gals to an old prison tucked in the backwoods. The Old Jail Museum in Jim Thorpe is a real life haunted house. The town of Jim Thorpe is cute and quaint (which translates to shadowed and spooky after sunset). We walked a half-mile through town and waited outside the gray stone jail until our tour began. The tour through the old (1871) building was short, but stomach churning. We heard stories of famous prison scandals and paranormal encounters between the spirits that remain and guests. We looked through the iron bars and explored each cell. At the end of the main hallway were the gall...

Pumpkin here; reporting live from a cozy living room turned play pen in Bethlehem. I'm visiting for the weekend and thought I'd jump on aunt Dana's computer for a little shout out. I guess my big sis Natty guest blogged here too? She spends lots of time under the bed when I'm around; or spit-hissing at me. I don't get it. Oh well. Life is good here. I can fit perfectly under the couch to catch my breath during play time, and there have been plenty of hands available for petting. This weekend a tall long-haired lady was visiting and she wiped me right out. I learned how to tumble head over butt, I played a tummy-head tickle game for the 200th time. Do yourself a favor and try it; and let me know if you ever catch the hand, I'm so close. Anyway, I'd love to chat more, but there's way too much to do. Something sparkly near the TV is calling for me. Bye!

Don’t tease yourself like I did this last Sunday. The way my Crock-pot  leaks the scent of slow simmering dinner into an entire apartment is just brutal. I tried a trip to a local pumpkin patch, a round of mini-golf and diving head first into The Girl Who Played With Fire , but I still lifted the lid to check on my chicken chili tacos about 15 times before they were done. I’m so on board with any recipe that uses five ingredients of less—more like three since my kitchen ain’t a kitchen without a jar of minced garlic and stocked spice rack on hand. I cut the recipe in half and still had enough for 4-5 tacos. The only thing I’d do differently next time is leave the recipe whole and invite over a hungry bunch of friends for a full-fledged Mexican night. Bring a bag of tortilla chips, please! Martha Stewart’s Chicken Tacos That I Will Reclaim As My Own 2 pounds boneless skinless chicken thighs 4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced ½ cup tomato salsa 1-2 tablespoons chopped canned chi...

In 2010 I think I ran about three 5Ks. I’ve already run more than three times that amount this year. I have more racing t-shirts than I have room in my dresser, and I’m not done collecting. I wrote about my first five races ; here are the hot, the hurricaned and the kilted recaps of my last four races. The T-shirt collection so far. June’s Parkway 5K Easy, enjoyable and uneventful. This race was at the local parkway and was a simple out-and-back style run. There were some hills, and a downed tree that shifted the course a bit, but otherwise a nice, non-exciting race. July’s Barely Safe Sauna Hot friggin’ tamales! The week leading up to this race temps were in (or flirting with) the 100’s. This was one of those races where I wondered what kinda crazy this 5K a month project had made me. At the 8:30am race start, it was already in the mid to high 80’s and humiddd. The course organizers set up extra water stations and the fire department along the route turned on a fire hyd...

It's been awhile since I've compiled a ' favorite things ' round up. Are you looking for a little smile, a tasty snack or a good read? Look no further, friend. 1. Boo's Facebook Fan Page Oh, you don't know who Boo is? Let me remedy that. You want your very own Boo too, don't you? You're not alone. You're so not alone. I love the Boo Facebook fan page . I love when a new photo comes up with a perfectly clever and sweet caption and I can have a distracting yet heartwarming dose of 'awww'. 2. The Soldier's Wife This is a nice slow-like-honey read. The story kept me in a loose, natural grip where I felt less like a story was unfolding and more like life is occurring. I thought my favorite type of books were the ones that hooked me unmercifully and pulled me drastically out of my world and into theirs, but the lightness of this book was refreshing. It was like angel food cake vs. cake pops. Different, and perfect when you're...

Why is food so pretty? I’ve got a pile of needs-to-be-folded laundry laying on the floor behind me, a little Amos Lee playlist going, and fuzzy pastel blue socks pulled up on my legs as high as they’ll reach. Ahhh, this is what the weekend is all about. From the third floor window of my clean and cozy apartment I can hear the crunch of leaves as someone walks outside. Days like today make me want to fill my belly with cozy, clean and crunchy goodness. These two recipes have 'cozy solo weekend' written all over them. The kale chips are like crunchy fall leaves with the flavor of roasted pumpkin seeds. They’re so stupidly light they almost disappear before you eat them. Smooshed white bean casserole is a quick, warm swap for mashed potatoes. It's perfect for a light lunch, side dish or modified as a chip dip if you're doing that football watchin' thing (Go Lions!). Both will tickle your insides with nutrients and pump you full of energy for all your weekend ...

Hey October, I already finished one of my month goals , take that! I'm now the proud owner of three soy candles and one half-empty bottle of white wine. I think I'll play month goal project every Saturday afternoon from now on. I thought (and prayed) this project would be easy and inexpensive, and for the most part it was. I hit up my local antique store for some fancy schmancy glass jars. They were perfect for this first trial, but if I'm ever going to go into mass candle production (hello holidays!) I'd buy a bulk tray of mason jars to stretch my dollar even further. The bags of soy wax flakes wern't too expensive, but I can do better if I order online next time, especially if I plan to  go bananas . The wicks were cheap, as were the tangerine and lemongrass essential oils I used. You wanna know my beef with essential oils? I found a decent selection at a store near me, but 80% of the oils smell like garbage. There's a better selection online, but ...

One of my favorite bloggers recently posted her goals for the month of October. Wait, wasn’t yesterday July? My days are doing this nasty blur together thing I hoped would never happen. I’m two seconds away from letting primetime TV and leftovers dictate my nights; it’s just not right. So better a week late than never, no? I jotted down a few minor goals to work toward and settled on two non-earth-shattering projects to focus on in October. To me, this is less about self-revitalization and more about simple productivity. I just don’t want to wake up one day next May and wonder where 1999  went. The name of the game for this month is craftin’ and Crock-Pottin’.

I saw this shirt in Chicago the week before I shipped out to the East coast. I didn’t buy it because I didn’t understood how any of those adjectives were Midwest specific; I had been to Pennsylvania before and saw their corn- lots and lots of corn. That shirt would be more accurate if it included ‘road-trip-thriving’ and ‘cold-weather-surviving’. Last weekend I learned that these are the traits that separate the eastern Appalachian folks from the Great Lakes fellows. A week ago, B suggested we buckle up for a quick 11 hour trip to surprise my family at ArtPrize in Michigan. I leaped, jumped and spun in excited circles over the idea (though my PA pals couldn’t fathom we weren’t flying). B had never been to Grand Rapids and I had been feverishly itching to visit my home state. Sure, the drive was long and the time in town was short; but I’d make the same trip every month if I could.

I got a fever, and the only prescription is more running. A couple of months ago, my pal Megan asked me to part of her marathon relay team. At the time of sign up, I decided the 5.5-mile leg would be a do-able challenge, considering the mileage I had been running. Thennn I forgot about the relay, thennn I remembered (about two weeks out) and started training like a woman on a mission. I’ve never enjoyed training for runs. I think I’m still burned out from a decade of training in the pool. My very loose training for the marathon relay felt good though. I’d run throughout the week and got for a ‘long run’ once a week, on whatever day felt right. I didn’t map out distances ahead of time; I just went, picturing a place far enough away in town that seemed run-able. I surprised myself a lot (hills are deceiving in both good and bad ways). Come race day (last Sunday), I felt good. I met my team (unfortunately without Megan, who was unable to run) at 6am and randomly decided to swap le...

I totally sensed it , but now there’s no mistaking; fall is here. More so, Halloween. Intrusive candy displays are up in my neighborhood grocery store, pumpkins and cinnamon brooms are for sale and scary crap is happening around my apartment. Given my apartment building is rather spooky year round , some autumnal trouble is definitely brewin’. Yesterday I came home late from a night out after work, and wandered into the dark wood foyer all alone (or so I thought). I felt a looming presence behind me as I checked the mail table. When I turned around, I saw… Hi!!!

I love myself an enchilada. A flour tortilla sleeping bag heavy with spicy taco meat and oozy, goozy Mexican cheese is a feisty and comforting treat. The thought alone makes me feel instantly full. Consequently, that’s how I still felt this morning, more than 12 hours after an enchilada feast the night before. This posed a unique wardrobe problemo. I usually wear jeans to work (it’s a glorious thing) but no part of me wanted to shimmy my still-filled-with-salsa belly into a pair of skinny jeans. I didn’t want to dress to my mood and kick myself while I was already down, either. I suffered enough last night after accidently touching a jalapeño pepper then scratching my eye. No need to toast away another day in a frumpy get-up. This is my did-I-eat-that outfit.

Every morning, I plop down at my computer/make-up desk and grab a cool clear jar. With the flick of my wrist, I whirl around the top, and then dip my fingertips inside. I hadn’t thought much about the process until this morning, when I felt a strange new consistency on my hands. This has been my routine for the past few months, and for the majority of that time, my fingers have met a cool pale yellow liquid once inside the jar. Sometimes, if I had been running my truck motor the night before, the jar looked like a pond after winter’s first freeze; a thin layer of solidified goop at the top that easily gives way to the liquid below. This morning, there was no liquid to be found in my jar at all. Inside my fingers spread like a knife across whipped butter- a strange in oil blend of liquid and solid. This simple routine of rubbing in my face lotion was like my own personal groundhog; it’s how I knew autumn was here. Maybe not to stay, but it definitely came to visit. I’ve been usin...

Now presenting the graduating class of 2011! Inflate the balloons! Cue Pomp and Circumstance! Seal and stamp your ‘congrats grad’ cards! My harvest, separated by plant. The top harvested from my Terenzo plant, the bottom from Lizzano.

Alternatively (betterly) titled: Frugal Living Boy was I stoked to start my first full-time job last spring. A real, live paycheck with more than pennies for moi? Yes, please! I settled into my adult world without too sharp of an eye on my finances. Approaching my first full year, I woke up to discover the balance of my current savings account was barely heftier than the balance of my mid-college savings account. Gulp. It would be nice if I had a 60” TV, new car or paid off student loans to show for it, but I don’t. My earrings didn’t all evaporate, but looking around my life, I recognized plenty room for improvement. Soon after this realization, my same-aged roommate was unexpectedly laid off. What if that was my piddly-savings self? Double gulp. I found some articles on frugality, homesteading and simple living and studied a bit. The topic is something that I dealt with often in my position, so I was easily coaxed in to learning more. I quickly recognized areas of my life I...

Look, look! Tomato babies! I've seen at least seven so far, all excitingly different in shape and size. Ahh, the sweet, prideful feeling of finally  doing it right. Who knew that doing it 'right' was to pretty much leave them be and let them do it outside on their own. My 2011 gardening moto: fear less, trust more.

I felt the shake from a 5.8 magnitude earthquake on Tuesday; this weekend I’ll face the unknown wrath of category 3, Hurricane Irene. These summer surprises from Mother Nature plus other strange emotional and physical events in my life (and the lives of my friends) got me thinking; thinking about anticipation, unreadiness but more so; preparedness. How, why and when do we brace ourselves? We’re all susceptible to the same environmental events as our neighbors, and relatively similar physical, emotional and mental events as we move through life; what makes us act in advance or react differently? I’m young, and thankfully haven’t lived through too many major physical, emotional or mental events to have my life clouded by them. I do notice ways the most impactful ‘disasters’ (mostly emotional) I’ve lived through have stayed with me. Like little strings around certain neurons in my brain that, when provoked, remind me how and why to beware. The new learned way to prepare myself. ...

One of my buddies is sick. She’s been bouncing around docs like a little pinball. Like any young otherwise healthy thang, she’s ready to be done with it already. The pains and tests she’s experienced lately are unusual for her, and highly unusual for someone her age. Last winter, both her beloved kitties also fell sick quickly. Each had their own health escapades in the past (one a drooly snaggletooth, the other blind), but something unexplainable seemed to plague them both suddenly and within a doctor’s visit and two days, all kitties went to heaven. Her pup has wasted prime backyard digging hours chilling with the vet to conquer tummy troubles and her otherwise healthy live-in boy is feeling strange discomfort too (lumping of dog and boyfriend into same sentence unintentional…). The cherry on top of the mystery is that all of the above have occurred since she moved to her new home about a year ago. Too much is too odd here to brush off. I’ve urged her to have her water tested...

A few months ago Runner's World  published a story about running mantras . I read it, thought for awhile, and let it go. I don't fill my mind with too much when I run- it's more so a time for me to clear it (save for some terrible Backstreet Boys lyrics or Kenny Chesney song that pumps through my ipod). I also don't push myself to any real extremes when I run either. I've always just ran to run- to move my body, to not feel like a bag of jello, to de-gunk my mind. But sometimes I need a little help to get started or to keep going. That's when I employ my sole "running mantra". There is a phrase I heard a few years ago while shamelessly watching Jon &; Kate + 8. It was back before Kate's attitude turned from bossy to obnoxious. Jon & Kate were flying with too many kids on too little of a plane on too long of a trip when Kate spoke up about how she handles a rough end to a flight. Through the cries and shrieks of 8 munchkins, Kate looks...

I'm sorry to be the anti-fun-human, a lame-o, negative-Natalie, sun-burnt-Samantha ‘round these web parts; but I have a confession. I just do not love the summertime. Permission to chuck your flip-flops and sunglasses at me granted. The thing is, it’s just too HOT. It’s hot, sticky, and difficult to manage life. I want to be outside enjoying the weather, but I don’t want that horrid feeling of sweat swimming down the spinal indent of my back WHEN I’M NOT EVEN DOING ANYTHING REMOTELY PHYSICAL. It’s too hot to run, cook, eat, sleep, wear clothing and exist happily. Woof. My fancy-scmancy, historical, big white mansion-apartment has made this summer particularly gross. I live in a third floor apartment (penthouse, woot wooot!), with awesome old wood, original crown molding, and stupidly high ceilings; with painted-shut windows, terrible air circulation and no central air. Did you hear me about the central air? My roomie and I pay almost diddlysquat in the winter because heat ris...

What do my running shoes and work have in common?

I made massage appointment because I stress-slept so poorly over the last week and a half that I twinged my neck on one side. I then twinged the other side somewhere in the middle of my 12 hour snooze in a less than cozy cheap hotel bed in Baltimore (Death Cab for a Cutie concert with my college friend Kyle, beyond worth it). I just got back from said massage and now in addition to not being able to move my neck, I can't move my shoulders. Ahhhh, it's such a good hurt, my friends. If you've also had the spoiled rotten luxury of paying a lady to army crawl up and down your lower back and turn your shoulder blades into raw meat, you know what I mean. It kind of feels like I might wake up tomorrow paralyzed, or in complete relaxed body bliss. I could be worried about it, but she rubbed my worry holding temples into chicken noodle soup and now all I can think about is rainbows, candy canes and tea cup dogs. Can I haz massage every day? 

I’m a plant killer. There was the death and destruction of a basil plant of 2008, the wounding of several spider plants (of which my brother all nursed back to health), and lord even knows how many photosynthesized souls were lost in my houseplant themed serial killing streak. I want to be able to grow and garden, I just CAN’T. But, I pity the fool who doesn’t believe in practice . So, toward the end of May, when a conference table full of organic cherry tomato seedlings were up for adoption at work, I carefully picked two and brought them home. If only they knew. I’m proud to say- after two and a half months, accidental exposure to a rather large storm, and a long weekend away with no water, my tomato babies are still alive! May July However- do you SEE a tomato? I’m beginning to get a little peeved. Sure it’s nice to have some foliage in the apartment, but I’ve got recipe upon recipe WAITING for juicy, ruby globes and it doesn’t even seem like my babes are toying ...

I got all wiggly while reading a NYT blog on our culture and cooking . Not because I disagreed, but because I agreed so much that I was inching toward the edge of my seat closer and closer to the screen as I read each paragraph, eventually shouting, YEAH! YOU GO, MARK BITTMAN! Bittman writes, in a world where we focus so much attention on so many food options (organic, gluten-free, low fat, vegetarian, fair trade) often we forget about the most common choice- cooking . He shares his process and backs it up against restaurant eating. As a food lovah, I couldn’t help but wonder WHY his post was even needed. Who in the universe is not cooking and why for the holy sake of garlic mashed potatoes aren't they doing it? I LOVE to cook, and I’m of the belief that if you don’t love to, you COULD love to. I’ve watched a peanut butter sandwich connoisseur turn into a roasted red pepper and sausage pizza inventor in his college apartment, a casserole-raised friend turn into risotto stirring...

Holy guacamole it's been hot 'round these parts! Lately I've been soaking up the A/C- my bones sprawled out on the couch, with a lazy focus on Iron Chef America. Saturday, it was time to focus on something a bit more productive, though. This lady had a 5k to run. Didn't matter it was a heavy 87 degrees outside (and by heavy, I mean the East Coast had already been drowning for four days in a murky 100+ degree heat wave), I laced up my running shoes, grabbed my running buddy B by the hand, and lined up at the starting line (already sweating) at an early weekend hour of 8:30 am. It was hot, guys. I could feel the heat from the pavement seeping up through the souls of my shoes. Seriously. Somewhere after the first mile & 1/2, the water stations started popping up. We passed three, grabbing water from the volunteers like fish out of water. And you know what? I didn't drink a drop of that water, either. I threw the cup over my head, down my back and across my le...

Sometimes you're the bee.... buzzing through Gettysburg; Mount Vernon, VA; and an exciting weekend in PA (in which the mayor of my city personally invited my family to attend the July 4th fireworks downtown). ...and sometimes you're the honey. Crawling through Montreal slowly. Exploring and enjoying the sweetness of the city. Oh- and soaking in that sweetness so much that it attracts angry bees.  Comment dites-vous 'I need allergy medicine now' en f rançais?

Float, float, float your tube Through all the river bends Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, How I hate a good weekend's end

For the last five summers, my brother Estefan*, has dealt with the chaos, confusion and conundrums that is working at the pool of prominent country club Kiefer See Country Club* in Volkermarkt, Austria*. This year he was promoted from lifeguard to assistant manager. His typical day often deals less with monitoring guest safety in the water and more of absolute unpredictable absurdities. These, are his tales. (Names & locations changed to protect the innocent.) It was not a typical Wednesday night at the pool. Kiefer See Country Club was hosting their first home swim meet of the season. There were close to 400 swimmers from ages 5-18 plus parents, coaches and KSCC staff fluttering about the pool area. One would imagine (or hope) that the torrential downpour that delayed the meet by three hours, crowd control issues and technical malfunctions with the meet’s timing system would be enough chaos for one night, this was just child’s play compared to dealing with the ‘coon. In pas...

This, is my cell phone. Wait... check out my nails too. Pretty, no? This, is an example of its cool features. That's right, it's a slider with a QWERTY (that word is more fun to type than I though it would be) keyboard. Try to contain your jealously. Even more groundbreaking are the things my phone can not do: 1. Cook me dinner 2. Access the internet (*it technically CAN, I chose not to have a data plan) 3. Comprehend an 'app' beyond a built in calculator I use my phone to make telephone calls, send and receive text messages and to remind me not to forget grandma's birthday. That's IT. How old school am I? Almost I-had-to-walk-15-miles-to-school-up-hill-both-ways old school. Almost amish. I should mention, I DO have access to a smartphone. It's my work phone and it spends 85% of its life forgotten in my desk drawer. I DO use it when I travel for work. I might also use it to play Words With Friends. I love my stupidphone though. I love that...

Oh God... how old does this make me feel? It seems like just yesterday these two were creating a colorful sweater themed photo shoot... ...like just last week when they were trying on clothes while rocking out to the Backstreet Boys... ...like just last month when they were out late in a small country town for summer fireworks... ...like just last year they matched pink dresses for a classy fundraising bash... ... and now, they've GRADUATED! I feel like an emotional little old lady now that my youngest hometown pals have completed undergrad! A massive, congrats to Tori and Ellie for 4 years of success and the closing of a big old life chapter. I hope post-grad life is just as filled with impromptu photo shoots, boy band worshipping, late night firework watching and classy cocktail party going as your pre-college days were! Now where's my Klenex and denture glue?

Last month, B and I hopped in his new car and drove off into the sunset (more accurately, a tree snapping thunderstorm) for a weekend in Michigan. Our quest was not complete, however, without a stop in Canada to pick up some obscure Canukian snack goodies. So... we stopped at Mac's and spent $11 on things that looked silly. When we crossed back into Michigan, I opened everything and conducted a taste test and later repeated the experiment with my family at home. Below is your handy guide to the obscurities in Canadian snack food. All are rated out of 4 stars- 1 for vomit inducing, 4 for delicious. Here are the results! Ketchup Chips, rank:  * My former Canadian roommate said good things about these. Even the boarder patrol man joked he'd need to charge duty on our chips. You may understand hockey, neighbors to the north, but you do   not  understand potato chips. Pre-taste: B : These definitely look weird. They're unnatural in color. Me : I do not ap...

CHEETAH PRINT! Ahhhh! Ok, this isn't real  cheetah print; it's fake, small, spring colored and almost paint speckled print. It's okkkkk. This is a sample of the many conversations I have with myself when clothes shopping. Don't you have conversations with yourself while clothes shopping? When I started revamping my closet a few years ago , I made it my goal to work my way into wearing more prints. For I once was Queen of Swimming T-shirts, then Your Highness of the Solid Colored Gap Shirt, and most recently Lady of the Stripes. To break away from so many titles, one needs some courage, a candy bar or two, and more self talk than normally acceptable. I found this shirt at .... wait.... sorry.... just got lost looking at handbags on their website.... Francesca's Collections . Coincidently the same place I bought my blue floral wallpaper dress . The main reason I bought this little diddy is that it is as comfortable as a t-shirt. It's cut like baseball jerse...