In accordance with the former...

Oh, also.
Problem.
I has them.

So I do this thing where some entertaining event happens and I have no access to a computer for a while yet so I start drafting a blog post in my head. I'm grinning to myself and possibly chortling because I'm dang funny but unfortunately by the time I get home and have a chance to blog...the funny has been spent up. On myself.
But here goes trying!

The elements seem to harbor resentment towards my attempt to exercise and obtain a healthy body. Firstly, this past weekend the sun burnt me within an inch of sanity (itchy flaky redness all over does not promote calm, zen-ful thoughts) and then today, with the stormy sandy habooby-ness. I did work out 30 minutes this morning with my normal kickboxing routine and that went fine. But tonight I redeemed a fabulous groupon of 2 full months of "unlimited" Zumba for $29 dollars (which I actually got for $19 for some bizarre reason I'm still not sure of but terribly grateful toward). Only problem was, with this whole new "sweating" thing my body has discovered, when I left the class, there was still dust floating around and suddenly I morphed into a human churro.
A gritty, sweaty, salty churro.
If cannibalism was a thing, I'd be a delicacy.
It made driving an interesting achievement. Considering once it dried on my I was all cakey and stiff. And my lips taste really gross. Or at least they did. Obviously I enjoyed a nice cool shower at home.

Anyway. I might end up working myself to death with this Kickboxing-in-the-morning, Zumba-at-Night, Color-Run-Training-inbetween schedule that seems to be developing but maybe in the middle of all that I may end up losing a couple pounds.
Just a couple! That's all I ask. Pleeease!! Plee-hee-heeeease!

(btdubs, ^that was the result of all my sweating and work and still stuck hovering around 150 lbs)

(Yes, I did just share my actual weight on the internet)

(No, I don't regret it or feel embarrassed by it)

(Yes, I DO want it to drop)

The end.

(srsly)

Love is...Beautiful?

The more I live in married life the more I'm becoming a rom-com skeptic. Don't get me wrong, I still get a kick outta ole K Hiegl and James Marsden kickin' each other's verbal trash and with a good soundtrack, that reunion moment after the heartbreaking climax will indeed give my heart the flutters but GOOD GOLLY GRACIOUS, how unrealistic can they get?
I know they're called "romantic comedies" but when I say 'holy romanticized' I mean "pfffft, yeah. Sure. The guy would totally say/do/want that."
Or,
"Of course! Of course every candlelit dinner quantifies in revealing and bonding conversation ending in rampaging stripping of the clothes going upstairs...cuz that works."

I am not, however trying to make the point that rom-coms are dumb and need to be more realistic. That's why we like movies (most of the time). Because they skip over reality. Whatever.
My point is...
my husband and I are TOTALLY not a rom-com.

First of all, we're totally comfortable exchanging pictures such as these...

That would be the after effect of tonight's Zumba glass and I thought it looked remarkably like a terrified ghost-specter thing. So I said so in the picture message to Mark.

He replied with these gems of hilarity;

"You work out so hard it's scary!"

And for a moment I thought he was actually flirtatiously joking with me but then...

"Make the fat melt in horror!"

Oh, yay. Sweat/fat puns. Yes let's joke about my disgusting body. Wonderful.

After that little exchange, I'm trolling the interwebz and after scratching my itchy shoulder discover this lovely patch of...loveliness.

Poor quality picture, I know. But they're little bubbles all over this one patch of my left shoulder. So I sent another picture message.

Because that's what you do.

Mysterious, bulbous, possibly toxic (ahem, dramatization) pockets of bodily fluid? Send a picture to your loved one! Sure to rouse them into an incurable fit of stimulating passion frenzy something!

His theory?

Sweat caught in my burnt skin cells from the sunburn. 

"...or worms from the lake."

Thank you dear, for that lovely image.

Now, you may be wrinkling your nose to this post and asking yourself, "WHY would you share this with other people....people other than the one who agreed to spend his life tending to your fluidious mysteries?"

And to that I say

IT'S MY BLOG PEEPS.

I refrained from splaying it all over facebook, be glad of that.

"splaying" may not be the correct verb there but it's a very colorful and pungent word. So deal.

PS- I die

My feelings exactly.

Must. Self. Destruct.

Welp.
It happened.
I finally did it.

I may or may not have mentioned how I'm legitimately forcing myself to exercise almost every day (somehow, I can't actually consider yoga "exercise". It's more like human-pretzel-palooza and I mostly feel confused and like my organs got all jumbled up inside afterwards...). But I generally do a good job of it. I don't have a gym membership but I do use our movie projector and stream netflix which is surprisingly well stocked with exercise and fitness videos. I randomly chose a five, 10-minute series of kick-boxing routines and it's been treating me well so I stuck with it.
I was very disappointed with my body (and self) when I first started out considering I could hardly get through the "basic training" warm-up routine. Wheezing and coughing I skipped 2-4 and went into the washboard abs sequence and mostly lay sluggish on the itchy carpet watching shiny, buff Keli Roberts show me up to the 10th degree.
But gradually, it got "easier" as I got tougher and more accustomed to pushing myself beyond short-of-breath and oh-my-muscles. So now, like today, I went ahead and tried 4 of the routines back-to-back. Two days ago I attempted going straight through the entire 50 minute (more like an hour) video and found I had to cheat a lot and let myself take a few of the moves "easy". So I had to back up a little.
And thusly, a week and a half later I've lost 5 pounds and have currently hit a brand-new "first" in my life as of today.
I actually, really, legitimately sweated today.
My body does not sweat. My friends call it lucky but I call it halfway-sucky because living in a dry, desert valley would be just the place to have a working network of sweat glands. But I don't. So I mainly stay dry, baking HOT all the time. Even in exercising, PE and playing sports I just get kinda dewy. No sweat.
But I tell ya what, since starting this kick-boxing boot camp thing, every day my body realized more and more that the natural thing to do is to cool itself down and today?
I actually had drops of sweat running down my temples and arms.

You may call out "TMI! Hope, ugh geez!" but I'm kind of in a celebratory mood and I feel like I've just accomplished a great goal that has plagued me my whole life.
Plus I have less back-fat already. HU-FREAKING-ZAAAAH!!

Although, my most recent klutzy accident has not been aiding in my attempt to be healthily active...

Those of you who live in Arizona know that it is our stormy season and just this previous weekend there was a small, baby sandstorm and we had some old couches out in the backyard that needed to be brought inside. Only, our backyard is more like a junkyard storage arena and due to that fact, as I was stumbling around hauling my end of the heavy, fold out bed couch piece I ran into and about tripped over a small pile of junk, culminating in the gashing of my leg on a sharp piece of rusty metal.

I can hear your thoughts right now, "Tetanus!! Booster shot! AAhhhh!" But it's alright. Thanks to some handy-dandy doctor peoples in the fam-bamily we're pretty sure I'm not getting any lethal diseases anytime soon. It does, however, appear as if I've broken my ankle or some such silliness from all the bandaging the hubby keeps forcing me to upkeep.

And if you look back a couple posts you will indeed find that I had previously injured the same leg in a cooking accident resulting in bandaging again. I just love hydrogen peroxide and triple antibiotic ointment! Apparently.

In other news, this weekend is going to be one of the most super fun ones of the summer (thus far) because tonight, well...actually here's a kind of short story about how tonight's gonna go.

Mark works (most days) the typical hours of 9-5 (though, ahem, he usually goes till after 5 which is obnoxious for the good little wifey trying to cook good hot dinners and KEEP THEM HOT....xP) but the drive to work is obnoxiously long considering he has to drive into scottsdale without a legal reason to use the HOV lane. Yaaaay traffic. So he leaves the house a little before 8. So on the good days when we get up together to exercise it's at 6:20 in the morning.

Now that that's clear, we have tickets tonight to the midnight showing of BRAVE and I'm about to stuff this keyboard into my mouth to keep from exploding with excitement. I would eat the whole thing up. Really. But midnight showing and early waking up for 8 full hours of desk job just sounds horrid. So today, when he comes home around 6 we will promptly hang a dark sheet up in our bedroom and take a good restful nap and probably end up having dinner at like 10:30 at night. 

I love date-night adventures!

And then, tomorrow morning I'm travelling with the best friend to north phoenix to the Social Security office once again to act as moral support during the process of changing one's name. And moral support meaning someone there to talk to and laugh with...cuz I'm hilarious and wonderful.

After which we will venture to the gym for a Zumba class! I can't wait, I haven't been to zumba since...a while ago. A long while ago. 

THEN. When Mark gets home tomorrow, we will pack up the truck and head out to Apache lake for a family reunion thing of sorts with his dad's family. I wanna swim, swim, swim till I almost drown and then swim some more.

Action packed lives, we live. Sometimes. Every once in a while (read, "blue moon").

Hopefully I'll take a page out of the besties book and take loads of pictures. Yes, I think I shall.

Go out and climb a tree or something (good luck finding a climbable tree).

Saving is Nice

So! Speaking of foodly items.
I'm just really excited.
Cuz I mentioned, in my previous disaster post, about how we're on a budget correct? Of course we are, everyone is. Woot economy.
But here's the thing. Produce? BEEP THAT. I don't wanna pay $3.69 for a small bunch of measly bananas that have been manhandled by every Walmart hobo that took a second look at 'em. Who needs celery?! Or apples, or any fruits and veggies of any kind???
I suppose people that are conscious of their atrocious eating habits would.
(ahem-hem...that would be me)
But they're just so gosh darn expensive! Okay? It's terrible that it's so hard to justify paying so much for what I know will treat our bodies better than the processed, mashed with extra sugar and syrups and who knows what all else packaged food will. Hello, guilt-trip.
And yet! There is hope (you can snerk, it's ok. I did too). My bestest friend and I went grocery shopping together today and ventured out to a Farmer's Market seriously only a couple minutes drive away from my house.
First of all, that place was LOADED. Not only with food and jars of all sorts, shapes and sizes but as well as people...of all sorts, shapes and sizes. We realized only about 10 minutes into the spree that the immense trail of people winding in and around the barrels, carts and shelves of produce was actually the checkout line. Oh, boy. It was like a ride line at Disneyland. During peak season. Christmas peak season. We ended up sharing a cart and speaking of Christmas, it looked remarkably akin to Santa's sleigh it was so heavily laden.
Lettuce, tomatoes, apples, bananas, zuccini, bell peppers, onions, potatoes. There was no end to the splendor! And the entire time we were practically hysterical at the prices. Those beautiful neon signs of cheap glory.
I ended up buying a head of romaine, a stick of green onions, three bell peppers, four apples, five bananas, five cloves of garlic, two packs of strawberries, one onion, two broccoli florets, one [extremely long] cucumber and probably other things I'm not remembering because I do that. I don't remember things. It's terrible.
But guess how much that cost me.
Go on. Think of a number.
We got back to my apartment and I took the three bulging, heavy plastic bags in to where Mark was pulling apart a very tricky and important piece of car machinery and I asked him the same thing.
"Guess how much this all cost, honey. They're chock full of fresh produce."
He said, "I dunno, maybe thirty dollars?"

$11.77

ELEVEN DOLLARS and SEVENTY-SEVEN CENTS.
The cashier lady probably was concerned for my mental health the way my mouth dropped and considering the sound that came out of my mouth I don't blame her.

We had to go to Fry's to get some other items the market just doesn't carry and the first thing we run across, Allie picks out four packages of raspberries and two of blueberries and already that's half of what she paid at the Farmer's Market and she got six or seven full bags of produce. We were ecstatic.
Funny how the things that get you the most elated change over time.
One day it's getting to ride your bike down the street to go play in a field and the next it's buying food to feed your family.

What a world we live in :)

Never a Dull Moment

As a matter of fact, these moments I'm about to relate to you were pretty sharp. Sharp indeed.

So this "cooking" thing. I would very much like to say I'm good at it. But actual, edible, nourishing food just escapes me.
Now baking, hah! I can bake you a cake no problem. I have made that much very clear in previous posts (that I am far too lazy to find and link so just have a go and adventure through my blog!) (yes that sounds a lot like plugging for your pageviews but I'm serious. Too lazy here.).
But anyway.
The past couple weeks we've been eating like poor college roommates that went to a foreign exchange program in some dark, isolated corner of Siberia. Ramen and tortilla's, FTW. Due to the fact that we are on a budget and I had to wait until June to get a renewed grocery fund. So thank goodness it's June today! Going shopping later.
And so! Last night was the first in quite awhile that I actually went into the kitchen preparing to cook an actual, legitimate meal. I even texted the hubby and said, "cooking hot food here for tonight!".
Thusly, I picked out the Tuna Helper box and two cans of tuna (blech, smelly) and set about finding the right size pot for this lovely adventure in cooking. It said to use a 10 inch skillet but we don't really have a skillet and our frying pans looked a tad shallow for 2 and 1/3 cup water along with 1 and 1/3 cup milk...and all the rest of the stuff you gotta throw in as well! So I skipped out on that and went to get a sauce pan. I had just cleaned our large, metal one and it's brand new so I thought to save it the pressure of producing yet another difficult meal so early on in it's career.
(I actually hated the thought of using such a huge pan for such a small amount of food to be cooked)
So I sought out a more size-appropriate pan. And all I found was a maybe 16 qt. glass pan that, let me just say, we have used SO MANY TIMES for things like mac and cheese and other pasta's and even baking! In the oven! So you would assume that would be a safe bet, right?
You have never been wrong-er.
Or I guess I haven't.
In any case.
It didn't even get to boiling before KABLAM!
Explosion.
Glass shattering, milky-buttery-watery mixture spreading over hot stovetop. Sizzling, bubbling, steam and always more glass. Everywhere.
It looked a lot like this...

Except that was taken about 10 minutes after the fact.
At the initiation of the blast, my thought process went a little like--

[gasp]
ohhhh mama.
Glass. That's a lot of glass.
Oh my gosh! Steam! Turn off the stove!
I should take a picture.
Get phone.
Picture message husband.
"Um, come home quick. I messed up :("
Ummm, oh clean. Yeah. I should clean.
[whirl around like lost puppy]
Trash! Yes!
Glass. Everywhere. Bare feet.
[look down at feet]
Oh! Blood. That's good. That's...hmmm.
Paper towel!
[wrap bottom of foot, who cares where the blood stems from...]
garbage can, garbage can
attempt to scoop mess into garbage can with tiny wooden spoon


I'm a genius when it comes to emergency situations. My children are SO. LUCKY.
Mark was apparently right in the driveway when he got my text and he came running in the door just a couple minutes after I sent it. Good timing? I believe yes.
He comes walking in, totally bewildered look on his face and exclaims,
"What happened?? What did you do?!"
Not in a demanding, blaming way but a "omg what did my klutz wife get herself into this time?" way,
as I'm holding the now disgusting, appearingly puked-on garbage can up to the side of the oven with my waist and trying not to laugh hysterically like a crazy person though I just really have the urge to.
He was quite the hero. Cleaned the whole mess up and told me to go sit down and stop bleeding all over the place....
(Alex, look away)

And then he cleaned me up and bandaged my leg as I sat there shaking and feeling like I might cry but still wanting to laugh. My shock response is overloaded and sort of like a brand new puppy wiggling and peeing and wanting to lick everything. Hyper and over responsive.

SO we went out to eat. With friends, too! I guess fate decided we needed to go out, on a date, have fun and laugh. Thanks fate.

I'll also probably get a nifty scar.

Who knows how it cut me there and nowhere else.

And that concludes this episode of "Cooking adventures with Hope". 

Join us next time for "House burns down in pb&j accident".

(Not seriously, and knock-on-wood)