Gettin' Fit and Gettin' Random

Today is reckoning day, the "Come to Casey" day. Every first Monday of the month I do two things; I treat myself to a meat lover's pizza and I post my fitness progress online for you all to read and for Casey to judge harshly.

(The meat lover’s pizza is to console myself after I do my post of shame. The greasy bits of meat and cheese are my friends.) So is the pizza delivery guy. Note to self: we order out pizza way to often.

But today, my friends, I come to you a changed woman. I have been exercising (what’s the opposite of religiously?)...fairly often. As of late, I have been getting up at 4:21 am to treadmill and lift weights with Jillian Michaels. She’s mean. She yells at me through the TV to stop being a whiner and just do it already. I love her.

Why do I get up at 4:21? Well, first of all, I think to get up at that time is high-larious. Second, I hit the snooze button a few times then I get up at the more reasonable, but less funny 4:42 am and do the fitness routine for about 50 minutes. I need to start so early because I have kids to get ready for school, a husband to nag into packing a lunch and then, of course, there is my very lengthy shower routine. Remember that?

If you want to join the fitness revolution, then get yourself that P90X thing everyone's talking about. I hear it works. If you want to join a community of supportive women striving to meet their fitness goals together then check out Casey's HASAY Challenge over at her site.

*Warning* Abrupt subject change ahead:

I know it’s only Monday, but I really want to participate in Super Keely’s Tuesday’s Random Thoughts. If you're not doing it, you're doing it wrong. I’m posting this an entire day early. I’m not only very random, but extremely overly prompt. Here goes:

Do people still wear skorts? I have no clue.

Are you people following @Badbanana on Twitter? If you’re not, you should be. Last week he posted this tweet and it made me laugh.

Are you people following @Gingela5 on Twitter? She tweets often about her dogs, her feet and the fact that she likes pineapple. She’s actually one of my favorite people to interact with on Twitter.

I’m going to BlogHER 2010. Oh joy! I’m super excited and nervous at the same time. Jenni at Oscarelli is one of the ladies in my super fun group and is really the brains behind the whole organizing of the hotel / lodging / rooming / gossiping about boys / matching outfits thing. The other day we were trading emails back and forth about getting all the ladies into a couple of rooms and this was the tail end of my email response to her:

“….I won't do any foot stomping if we need to shuffle bodies in rooms a bit. It’s well known that I'll sleep anywhere. (That rumor about me has been floating around since high school, anyway.) Bawahahaha!”

Okay, so that might only be funny to me. I promise it’s not true. The actual rumor floating around me in high school was that everyone I slept with said I screamed in my sleep. So...who's excited to room with me at BlogHer?

Oh Utah, They're Just Jealous of You

As a Utahan, I tend to think of my state as I would a sibling or a strange second-cousin. Oh, it's okay for me to tease her and give her a wedgie or two. I may, if the mood strikes, even tell her to go suck it. But if someone else comes along and picks on her? On my Utah? Oh NO. I am not trying to hear that noise.

According to our recent motto, Utah is “A pretty great state”. And? According to our license plates (which, by the way, check it - are off the hook) has the “Greatest snow on earth!” Take that, Colorado.
Our current state motto is “Life Elevated”, and while nobody here really knows, or cares what that means, as a state, we (read: I) have just sort of rolled with it and concentrated on more important things like becoming a reoccurring sister-wife on HBO’s Big Love or finding out exactly where Apolo Ohno lives.

Because, ladies (or gentleman – if that’s the way you roll, no judgment here, only love) Apolo most definitely DOES live in Utah for part of the year. I’ve seen him. I was close enough to smell him. More importantly, I was close enough for him to hear me when I whisper-screamed at my friend, “Oh. My. GAH! How does my hair look?” My friend, brutally honest as always, looked me over and just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Meh, it could be worse.”

Yes, Utah is a strange (liquor laws) and magical (see Ohno reference above) place, but we’ve given the world some pretty stellar things too. Take Mitt Romney’s hair, for example. Have you ever seen such an immaculate head suit on anyone besides Ronald Regan, who, by the way, is most definitely Mitt’s idol both politically and hair-wise? To the world I say, you’re welcome**.

*Spoiler Alert* Old Mitt up there is planning a run for president again and I, for one, can’t wait to sit and judge both him and Sarah Palin harshly on their coifs during the primaries. Just to make it fair, I will be equally critical of Joe Biden’s hair plugs, but not his face lift, because hasn’t it settled so nicely?

Recently, Salt Lake City was named to the top 8 most romantic cities in the US. Apparently, if you buy enough Barry White CDs or romance novels (read: Twilight), you’re considered somewhat of a Casanova in Amazon’s eyes.

Utah hosted the Winter Olympics, invented fry sauce, made jell-o into unearthly creations and for the love of Donny and Marie, we gave you the Osmonds. THE OSMONDS! Have you seen their teeth? Whiter than white and bigger than life, my friends.

So, internet, I guess in a way, I am confessing my love for my state. You may point your finger at us from afar and sit in judgment of our peculiar laws, but without us, ketchup and mayo would have never found themselves together in such a delicious and unholy union.

*Technically Mitt Romney is from Detroit, but we’ll go ahead and take one for the team on this one. You’ve got enough to worry about (General Motors.)

This post was thrown up here today as participation in the ever so lovely Sprite’s Keeper and her Spin Cycle on Confessions. If you aren’t part of it, you should be. If you haven't been to Utah, well you should. The sister-wives are hotter than you think.

How Did I End Up With This Hot Dog?

Lately, Jeremy and I have been having a little trouble communicating with each other. It started a few weeks ago when he asked me if we could take a quick drive across town to pick up a spare set of car keys to his father’s Accord so he could drive it the following week while our truck was being serviced.

On my life, that is what he asked me.

Below, is what Jeremy, the Delusional One, claims he asked me...

“Jen, Sweetheart, mother of my children and favored lover of mine, would you be so kind to drive me to the Les Schwab Tire Center so I can spend 30 minutes drooling over rims and tires we don’t need, and watch me talk about transmissions, big game hunting and NCAA basketball with a stranger working the customer service counter? Please try to keep the children entertained. They like sitting still and the smell of galvanized rubber right?”

“Then, Light of my Life, would you shuttle me to the Dodge dealership to price shop for parts while I talk with a service technician named Dale and review the finer points of tying your own flies for fishing? Don’t be alarmed if I follow him into the service bay and disappear for twelve minutes. Dale, keeps his fly collection at his work station. I’ll still see you through the plexiglas window that separates the waiting room from the bay. And I’m going to think it’s adorable watching you wrestle both Henry and Reese simultaneously especially when you let them pull at your hair like that. I’ll be sure to wink and wave at you when you mouth the words ‘I want you NOW!*’ to me from across the way. Aw, Sugarlumps, after all these years, I’m hot for you too.”

* Let it be known, in reality, I mouthed the words, ‘We’re leaving NOW’. It was most definitely a threat and not a come on.

“Then, my love, I’ll sweep you off to a magical place, because surely you and the children will be hungry by now. Have you ever heard of Hot Dog Heaven? Well I have, and it’s delightful. Don’t let the location in a poorly lit, suspect strip mall color your opinion of what you are about to experience. Sure the guy working the counter may be a bit on the ornery and slightly unkempt side, but that’s all part of his charm. He packs a mean Chicago Dog according to Utah standards. Trust me, Snookums, you won’t be disappointed.”

“What’s that Honeybuns? You say Reese has just made a present in her diaper and you didn’t pack extras because you had no idea you’d be away from home for three hours? Don’t you worry your nappy little head. I’ll run to the store up the street and fetch a package of diapers that will be two sizes too small. I will forget to buy wipes. You just wait here with the hungry kids for our food. Go ahead and start without me…if you can. Because little do you know, I’m taking my wallet and the car with your purse locked inside. You won’t have any means to pay for the food until I return. Fifteen minutes later.”

“And Lover Nugget, once we’ve finished our slightly cold food, it’s time for the final act of the night. We just need to drive down the road to pick up the spare set of car keys from my father so I can drive his Accord while our truck is being serviced next week.”

That little misunderstanding up there? Cost me more than three hours of my life and way too many calories. But have no worries. Next week, unbeknownst to Jeremy, he will accompany me to purse party and a Mary Kay open house. As far as he knows, I just have to “swing” by a friend’s house for one hot minute.

It's Not Unhealthy If I Don't Act Upon My Obsession

So, if you follow me on twitter or have friended me on facebook, you undoubtedly know by now that I have somewhat of an unhealthy obsession with Shaun White. I lovingly call him The Shaun. I tweet and post status updates about him often and sometimes threaten to physically show up where ever he is and braid his hair. Let’s hope this obsession doesn’t turn ugly although some of you have already claimed it has.

Yes, The Shaun is a little unconventional looking, but I sort of dig that. He has a clothing line at Target, he owns his owns a helicopter and half pipe in the Colorado backcountry. But, let me assure you, those are not the only reasons I obsess over him. I respect him as an athlete, I think he's very good-looking...and I really, really want to ride in that helicopter. Don’t think this is a temporary fascination either. Every six months or so, I catch The Shaun on television during the Dew Tour or the X-Games series and I say out loud, “Oh, yeah! I forgot about him. I love him!”

Three years ago at the Summer Dew Tour here in Salt Lake City I was within eyeshot of him and nearly passed out from hyperventilating in excitement. My husband Jeremy was with me and was extremely helpful with the whole situation. In between shouting, “Jen! He’s barely legal. LET IT GO!” he also told me to put my head between my legs and take deep breaths.

In hindsight, me ducking down out with my head buried was a win-win for Jeremy. It not only saved his wife from passing out on a crowded and very littered area (I was wearing white capris, an obvious street hazard. But cute!), but it allowed him to suffer less embarrassment since I was no longer visible to the masses.

Much to my delight, my husband is down with The Shaun too. Earlier this week as Jeremy and I watched the Olympics, we bickered with each other over who The Shaun would rather hang out with; me or him? After 20 minutes of back and forth and throwing out our most compelling arguments, our “little disagreement” was settled when I trumped all of my husband’s foolish reasons by shouting, “I have cleavage. I WIN!”

Jeremy agrees. Boobs win every time.

Anyway, here’s what happened Wednesday evening when I had Photoshop and a little too much time at my disposal.

Look at it people. Don't avert your eyes. Our hair totally matches and you know it.

*******

On a separate note, I have a bit of housekeeping to take care of here. I have limited my blog stalking to two days maximum. On those two days I only give myself 70 minutes to pour through my reader. If I don’t swing by your site as frequently as you post, this is the reason why. I do love you all and appreciate more than you know when you visit me too...especially after my long absence from the internet. Your comments here crack me up and are definitely funnier and more inventive than anything I write about. I must level with you though; they are not as cute as The Shaun. It has to be said.

Love Hang-Over

Just before Valentine’s Day, the Steenky Haus was hit with a monsoon of sickness. Both Henry and Reese caught nasty colds, complete with explosive sneezing and gusts of non-stop whining. Once they hit the road to recovery, they insisted that with all-day cartoon marathons in mom and dad’s room, and unlimited access to their left over Valentine’s candy, they would recover quickly.

A couple of times I heard Henry upstairs coaching his little sister on what to say when summoning me and the exact tone to use when requesting a shot of juice with a side of Sweet Tarts. In Henry’s mind this elaborate drill was necessary if the kids were to avoid the pediatrician’s office, an unfortunate lesson he learned a year ago when he pressed the issue of a stomach pain with me when, in fact, he was just trying to avoid cleaning his playroom.

Nice try little boy. I think the doctor diagnosed him with pretendanitis and told him not to play tricks on mommy.

Although, half of me is giving my son a silent high-five, because, really? He has developed deceptive organizational skills at such an early age? We have managed to raise a truly gifted child. I can’t wait to collaborate with him in the future on projects like What did daddy get mommy for Christmas? or the ever popular When did the toothless lady down the street start raising goats in her back yard? After all, I am growing very tired on being the mastermind on all these fact-finding missions. I could really use a partner.

So back to the kids…

Ten minutes has passed and I still hear Henry helping Reese go over her lines and just what to say when it becomes her turn to beg for candy. They are using her room for rehearsal since it is the only suitable area upstairs for such an activity. Reese’s area has all the princess dress up clothes and the lighting concept in that room? Is. To. Die. For.

A few minutes later, Henry and Reese emerge. (slowly, very slowly with blankets in tow - Henry has now incorporated props! I am so proud!) They come downstairs (still very slowly) to hit me with their plan. But before Henry, who is clearly leading this thing, even gets a chance to begin, Reese interrupts and excitedly shouts, SUCKER! SUCKER! over and over again.

I can only assume she was referring to the candy stash and she hasn’t picked up name-calling at such a young age. Although…if Henry and I ever find ourselves in a situation where we need a third man to get the job done, we could use Reese to run interference.

If I'm Coming For You, You'll Smell Me First

I’m participating in the web’s most popular meme today. It’s Random Tuesday Thoughts, the brainchild of Keely aka The Unmom. But, I’m sure you all already knew that. She’s blonde and famous, just like the sun.

Here goes random…

I just bought a bottle of SJP/NYC perfume and I can say that it has officially become my signature scent. Not because it speaks to my personality per se, but more because the bottle exploded in my purse after it suffered severe trauma in our office parking garage. Now, everywhere I go, I emit not-so-subtle notes of strawberries and gardenias.

On a related note, the aforementioned disaster makes it difficult for me to sneak up on strangers on the street and steal their candy while lugging around my purse. And if you didn’t already know, strangers in Salt Lake City carry thee best candy.

The other day I zipped through the drive-thru window at McDonald’s. When I pulled up to the menu board to place my order, the attendant (Hi, I'm Jarrod!) sang the McDonald’s jingle “Bah-dah-buh-bah-dahhhh, I’m lovin’ it!” before he chirped, “How can I make YOUR day!” I told him he could make my day with a fruit parfait and a rendition of “Walking on Sunshine”. Let’s just say the fruit parfait was passable at best and Jarrod! has no clue who Katrina and the Waves are.

And now…and now I just really want to watch Secret of My Success starring a young Michael J. Fox.

I am mildly obsessed with Tabatha’s Salon Takeover on Bravo. She is the definition of bitchy and honest. I wish Tabatha were in the fitness training biz. Because honey, bitchy and honest is what I need at the gym right now.

Do people still say the “fierce”? Because, I really like that word. I’ve been apprehensive to use it because I think it’s circa 2006, which doesn’t make it vintage enough to be cool just yet. It just makes me sound a little dated.

My mother gave me a little wake up call this week. I mean this literally. She actually called my phone while I was sleeping and it woke me up.

I received the Beautiful Blogger Award this week from Jessica at La Fin DuMond Farm. Thank you, Jessica, but clearly you didn't see my extreme bedhead when you threw the award my way. I was anything but beautiful that day, my friend. (I've tucked the award away in my awards page if you want to take a peek. I've contacted a local Chocolatier to have a 2/3 replica made for my sweet tooth. Delicious) Grab the Beautiful Blogger badge for yourselves!

Well, that’s it for me folks. I’m off to hopefully jump an unsuspecting stranger on the street and shake him down for a Snickers bar…without my purse, of course.