If I’m Going to Drop a Lincoln Every Time I Study, I’d Rather it be on Lattes than Benson Candy.

If I’m going to drop a Lincoln everytime I study, I’d rather it be on lattes than Benson candy., originally uploaded by dancindeac.

Matt and I decided to take a trip over to a familiar scene today, the Z. Smith Reynolds library. Circa 2001, when Matt and I first started dating, Z. Smith was where we spent at least 80% of our mutual time together. Heading back to the Z today brought back good memories, only now instead of swiping my Deacon Dollars at Benson and sneaking in a half a pound of candy corn, today I swiped my debit card and got a skinny vanilla latte. Spending your own money = way less fun.

But that was just the first change. For starters, as we were packing up to go, Matt looked at me and said “Do we need Ethernet cords?” The last time we hit up the Z, finding a prime locale meant hunting out a study carrel that was near an internet plug. Because OBVIOUSLY you couldn’t get anything done unless you had the capacity to update your away message and/or check eBay for fake Kate Spade purses every 5 minutes. (2009 version: update Twitter and check out Listingbook every 5 minutes. We’ve come a long, long way, baby.)

Next big change: the scenery. The front two rooms of Z. Smith were always the All Night Study rooms and were decked out with sturdy, pine oak carrels with crude messages about Pi Phi’s penciled into the sides, orange-ish shag carpeting, and a pegboard wall. And to think, I spent a couple nights in here… ALL NIGHT. can be appropriately surmised as masochistic, to say the least. (A little shout out to Mark Sperry and his vampire-esque IM habits, that accompanied me through many a 3 am paper writing session.) Today the orange carpet and pegboard wall have been replaced by Starbucks counter, leather couches, glossy pine tables, and upstairs lofts. The old geezer in me wants to tell the current student body how good they have it. you know, the ol “in my day..” But what’s the use? Never does a generation really get that they have it better than there predecessors, and these chai sipping, iphone texting, facebook updating coeds would be as impressed by our hardship of smuggling Sprite into Aquafina bottles (NO SODA POP EVER IN THE LIBRARY, GASSSSSP) and renting out wireless cards as I am when my brother waxes poetic on the days of using the phone instead of IM to make plans in college. So while the times they are a changing, there was one constant in Z. Smith today that hasn’t changed in these 8 years: I still have a huge crush on the guy I’m sitting there studying with.

In Like a Lion

Today absolutely tested my work-life-sanity balance skills. I think they passed the test, although my deodorant may not have. Let me just say this: when someone invites you to come do a workshop in their office place, it’d be nice to know ahead of time that they’ll be doing hot yoga in that room first. It’s hard to come across as Calm, Cool, Composed Life Coach when sweat is rolling down your rib cage. Sweet. Oh, and the workshop participants? A little too mellow and blissed out. We’re talking EMOTIONS people, thus I need REACTIONS. After I made about fifteen jokes about the moratorium like silence in the room, they started coming to life and it ended up being a fantastic workshop with lots of question asking and head nodding and note scribbling. Phew. Just the way I like – minus the excessive sweating. (Much like my outdoor August wedding, only less tulle worn today.)

Site of my emo eating workshop.
I love visiting this campus and they have the BEST employees!

Prior to my lunch and learn workshop, I started the day with 4 coaching sessions starting pre-dawn. As crazy as it sounds, I LOVE starting the work day at 6 am. It’s when I’m at my most creative and feel so productive. I also find that the person on the receiving end of my coaching questions is a wee bit less guarded before their coffee has fully hit their bloodstream and they’re cognizant of what subconscious mutterings they’re sharing. And, I’ll tell you, there is nothing better than saying goodbye to my 4th session and noticing the sun is just coming up, but half of my day is already done. Booyah.

It’s still a little shocking to see that time of day on a regular basis.
And yes, that’s a.m.

Post-workshop (and an extra swipe of Degree) I hopped in the car to head down to Charlotte to begin my adventure home, compliments of a lovely AirTran e-saver. I had scheduled what I thought was a quick phone session for my drive – a “graduate” who had emailed me the day prior to request just a quick pick-me-up to help her get back on track. The session turned out to be pretty intense, and I kept glancing over at TomTom worried I would short change her arriving at her own A-HA moment before I reached my exit. She had an epiphany literally as I pulled into my space in Long Term 1, and I had a homework assignment in place before the shuttle arrived. Phew – last thing I wanted to be doing was asking How’s That Working For Ya questions while cruising around on the long term parking shuttle.

Flying through BWI. I scoffed out loud at this poster. Take that, Terps!
(We beat them the night before.)

The rest of my day was pretty uneventful, even for airport travel; but I remain amazed that I built all that into one day while somehow still keeping my wits about me and my pantyhose without a run. However, the more I look at my March calendar, the more it seems like most days are going to be like that. My schedule for the last year has been either Feast or Famine. One week I’m home by 3 watching Dr. Phil every day, the next week my Outlook calendar looks like a mosaic. I think I’m toeing the fine line between “just busy enough that I feel productive and energetic” and “so busy I’m losing my every lovin‘ mind.” As long as I keep my toes on this side of the line, March – usually my least favorite month – should fly riiiiight on by me. And who knows, my horoscope for March (compliments of Yahoo’s astrology experts) promises good things in spring. And Yahoo astrology is never wrong, clearly. So, March, bring on the good things. And maybe a nap or two, while you’re at it?

I come home to these 2 little buggers – how happy is that?
(Although the weird blurred face on Dickens is extremely creepy.)

Dips for Dinner

In the midst of gobbling up greasy Burke St pizza after leaving Finnegan’s on Friday night with the Forseys, we decided to revisit two of our other favorite greasies: artichoke dip and hot wing dip. See, here’s my beef with appetizers: either you eat your share of them and then you’re too full for dinner (which you end up eating because you’ve paid for it or made it) or you’re “saving room” so you just have a few nibbles. We decided to eliminate both problems and make the dips our main dishes, so we could indulge without guilt. So last night for dinner, that’s just what we did. Dips for Dinner. It should be an annual thing. But the pregaming should involve salads and sprints, because holy cow, post noshing food coma.

Check out that grease

After our indulgence into all things mayo-based, we laid around talking about hard wood floors, fridges and crown molding. Both of us are considering moving in the next couple months (anyone want a 3 bedroom in a lovely neighborhood with a crazy landlady?), and so the conversation was a spin off from our recent forays into the world of Open Houses and Resale Value. After much hypothetical talk, we piled into the car and drove through freezing rain to Lowe’s, which is open surprisingly late on a Saturday night. Jamie and I purred over stainless steel refrigerators and flat top stoves (OMG!! you don’t have to use foil and scoop crumbs out!! EEEE!!!) while the boys discussed how to install under cabinet lighting and window treatments. Remember being 12 years old and how you couldn’t wait to be a grown up? Yea, why was that? (Maybe so you could decide to eat 1/4th pan of artichoke dip without someone telling you you’d spoil your dinner?)

Admiring us some Corian

I did notice half a dozen other couples pondering Corian samples and Dyson purchases. Methink Lowes could be on to something if they had a workshop on Saturday night for couples with wine & beer and some kind of DIY project. Esp in this economy where I’m sure more and more people are more willing to take on DIY adventures and less likely to be picking up bar tabs on a Saturday night. A pinot gris plus a demonstration on Electrolux? Um, yes please. Now if THAT’S not excitement….

Or, maybe the pinot samples are not in their best interest…

Any Given Sunday

After getting back from my in-law’s house, I threw myself into a flurry of housekeeping – I cleaned both bathrooms (tubs), cleaned up the kitchen (including the dreaded microwave wipe down, ugh), did dishes, mopped the kitchens and bathrooms, finished folding and put up laundry, washed and changed the sheets, dusted, vacuumed, and made pesto and banana bread (needed to use up parsley and overriped banans, respectively.) By the time I finished it was 7:45 and the Duke/Wake game was on so I watched that while reading food logs and then went to bed. A bit exhausting, but there’s just such a good feeling like looking around your house and seeing everything in it’s place.

Too bad it never seems to last more than 24 hours. As I was talking to my mom last night and reporting on my day, she paused before saying “Didn’t you do the exact same thing last Sunday?” Sigh.

Occasionally I Get Dressed For Work

This is my favorite time of the entire week. I’ve worked out my schedule so I cram all the craziness into Monday through Wednesday, and by the end of the week things are slowing down. Friday mornings I make phone calls that start at 7:15 and usually go until about 10. Back in November I started making those phone calls from home and then going into the office afterwards. One day I decided just to stay at home, and get work done there. Lo and behold, I got more done at home than I had in the office. I always thought I’d struggle with working from home – that between the pantry full of snacks and the beckoning lure of getting some extra laundry done I’d get too distracted. Turns out I like my work more than I like folding laundry, whatdoyaknow. I get way more done at home. When you share an office with 3 other staff and a team of about 20 undergrads who frequently stop by – it’s amazing what a respite an 8 hour shift with no interaction other than my Pandora asking me if I’m still there can be.

I wake up at 6 and slip into the den with a cup of chai, and start by answering emails. It’s always a nice touch to send my boss an email with a 6:08 am timestamp – just to sort of say hey, not only am I working, but I’m working early. No slacking here… even though I am in my jammies. Once the emails are done, I write. It’s either a weight loss-related blog or updating a powerpoint with the latest and greatest nutrition/coaching findings, but I’ve found that 6 am to 7 am is when my creative juices are amped up so I try to take advantage. Or, maybe it’s the caffeine and sugar, but whatevs. It works. (Today: hunting down a journal article about yoga turning on genes that combat oxidative stress. Is Om the new blueberries?!?! Yea, this is what makes me go “woohoo!”) Once I’ve committed the updates to e-paper, it’s phone call time. The next three hours I do anywhere from 4-6 coaching sessions, and they fly by. With my feet propped up on the windowsill, I watch the sun rise over the tops of my neighbor’s roof while furiously scribbling notes and asking prying questions about emotional eating, portion control and “are you still using your measuring cups?” Time slips by stealthily when I’m coaching. By the time I hang up on my last phone call, it’s hard to believe I’ve been working for nearly four hours and it’s time for a break.

Last week I decided to implement a yoga workout into my day. A combination of wanting to bolster my antioxidant capacities (aka reduce stress), release the computer-posture knots in my back and neck, and get back at the wii Fit for telling me “balance just wasn’t my thing” sparked this new trend. I’ve only done it once, but I figure if I write it on my blog that has to hold me accountable right? Despite having no qualms about exercise in general, yoga is something I have just never been able to commit to on a regular basis. I enjoy it. I see the benefits when I do it more than, say, three times in a row. I don’t even really mind how much I really suck at it. But for some reason, I seem to be as committed to doing it regularly as I am to quitting caffeine. (See: second bag of chai steeping.) But, I’m going to try. Again. So hear me now, internets, I’m adding in yoga on Fridays. Check me.

After my yoga break (which previously was a Facebook, g-chat and/or random youtube googling break -pro.freaking.ductive), it’s on to the mindless stuff that for some reason I can tolerate much better at home than I can in the office. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a window in the office, and the penitential feel of florescent lighting and eggshell painting just contribute to the tedium of data entry and scheduling. Someone has to do it, and until I hire a VA, that someone is me. A couple hours of plugging in this week’s weight loss into my oh so cumbersome web tracker and figuring out what times the hospital will do a DXA scan on my participants, and I’m totally spent but it’s done. The same tasks used to get spread out into three or four hour-long slots I had during the week, crammed in between meetings and teaching classes. I never felt like I had a handle on it. Getting it done in one fell swoop is the band-aid rip of my work week. It’s usually about three o’clock by this time, and when you start at 6 am, boy oh boy that’s quitting time. If my hub is home at this time, he’ll ply me away from my cocoon in the den with the lure of a cold beer in a pink coozie and an episode of Entourage. The weekend officially starts with that short walk from den to living room. If that’s not a perfect work day, I’m not sure what is.

Snow Day Version 2.0

Another snow day! And of course, it’s all melted by now.

It’s been a nice morning… if I must confess, I didn’t bring all that much work home last night so I didn’t have tons I could do today. I’ve finished the laundry, re-organized my purses and shoes (which has such an immediate happy calming effect), cleaned out that one pantry door that drops measuring cups and cheese graters on my head whenever I opened it, got all the ingredients ready for dinner, put curlers in my hair, sliced up an apple and cheese for a real-food snack, dusted the bedroom…. and then read 20 food logs just to call it a work day. Ahh, heaven.

Here Drink This, Never Mind The Flames

Friday night I was invited to a bachelor party (no I did not misspeak) for one of my co-workers. This is definitely my first invitation of the sort, and almost certainly my last. The invite went out to all of us – most of my other co-workers and the graduate students in our department – with the option to RSVP for dinner and drinks and peace out for the the strip club afterwards. I happily took up the pass on that offer. Allllll set on my fill of ta ta’s and booties, thanksverymuch.

I was feeling a little out of my element – most of this crew (namely the grad students) are quite close and spend a lot of time together, and outside of staff meetings and vent sessions in the office over shared research-related frustrations, I really haven’t gotten to know many of them very well.

Dinner was at Elizabeth’s, which felt like a total throwback to my freshmen year when we didn’t realize there was more to Winston than University Dr. (And with Pancho’s and Rose’s on UD, did we really need more than that? Nooope.) Afterwards, we went back to the one of grad student’s apartment to drink and apparently, greatly expand my learning curve of drinking games. You know when you should learn these things? When you’re 20. Not when you’re 26 and imbibe, oh, say once a lunar cycle. Low tolerance does not a good Zumi Zumi contender make. (Note: that is not us in the togas. This was just to give you a visual reference of the extreme coordination and concentration required by said game.)

As the party wore down, Shub (the groom) begged out of going to the strip club and said he just wanted to go out downtown. Somehow, because I’ve lived here forever I became in charge of the post-apartment festivities…. and in case you’re wondering fellow alums, taxi service in Winston still sucks. Never before have I missed pledges so fervently.

Was he tired from partying or from the fact that he had a 5 lb weight taped to his hand?

We went to Tap Room, which is usually good balance of non-sketchy townies (the antithesis of Burke St) and older undergrads (the antithesis of Burke St). But the crowd was very light, and the crew I came with started dropping one by one. We summoned Victor, our new favorite cabbie to come pick us up. Here’s a WS survival tip: if your cabby actually delivers you safely to your destination without stopping to make a drug deal or pick up his friend, you have a good cabbie and you should get his name and phone number in order to ensure your safe return. Victor delivered us to IHOP…. yes IHOP, more undergrad nostalgia, and then full on pancakes and coffee, we called the night quits.

An Impatient Patient

I’ll admit it: I’m a terrible patient. You’d think being married to a such a good soontobe doctor, I’d be just a superb patient – you know, opposites attract and all? Nope. I’m whiny, I’m lethargic, I’m mopey and I really seem to lack that suck it up & deal gene. Yesterday I felt perfectly fine straight through 4 pm – I had taught 3 classes, I had a bunch of coaching sessions, I had even had a super hard workout with my drill sergeant co-worker. Somewhere around 5 pm, I knew I should be getting dinner started but I found that some incredible force had me glued to the sofa. I finally gathered myself and started cooking. Had there been a way to sit on the floor and stir the saucepan on the stove, I would have. By the time dinner was finished, I was growing more nauseated by the minute by the smell. At 7, I retired to the bed much to my husband’s shock. By 9, I was up again and for the next 2 hours, seemingly could not decide which end of me belonged on the toliet. Nice huh? Dr. Husband declared me on quarantine (and has subsequently Cloroxed the entire house including stuff I swear I did not touch) but he also has been patiently filling up cups with ice chips and saltines and giving me that look that says “Drink more fluids, watch your DVR’ed Oprah and don’t even think about whining or I’ll tell you about someone who deserves to whine.” He’s working in the ICU right now, so I’m prettttty sure he could fulfill that last part if need be.

Mmmm, Foot. So Tasty.

An object at rest stays…

48 hours spent just. like. this.

But I did wii fit…. that has to count for something?

Except that we made cookies right after. And ate them. All of them.

The post-vacay sloth spares no one.