trade secrets

Apparently, some of my coworkers have become convinced that I am the queen of all things Microsoft Office and document-formatting related. As if.

Really, I am just the queen getting on Google and typing in the following words: “how do you (insert problem) in (insert program)?”

Should I let them in on the secret?

Nah … It’s good to feel like the smart kid every once in a while. 


that’s right, I forgot I am actually solar powered

Have you ever wondered how they manufacture vitamin D? I mean, we’re supposed to get it from sunshine, but how to you make that into a supplement? I just had a mental image of a bunch of guys in swat suits running around catching sunrays in nets on sunny days. I’m sure that’s 100 percent accurate. Mystery solved.   

I think I’m vitamin D deficient. Or I was prior to Saturday, at any rate. Then I started taking vitamin D supplements which contain 500 percent of a daily dose. If I’m still deficient now, I obviously have some sort of vitamin-black-hole problem going on, which really does sound serious. So let’s hope it’s not that. At any rate, I was feeling pretty sick over the weekend and couldn’t get motivated to do anything productive, or even to wrench myself out of bed for a large portion of the weekend. Of course, by Sunday evening, my lack-of-productivity guilt complex had kicked pretty badly, at which point I leapt out of bed and started going through all the clothes in my closet to try and figure out what still fits over my crossfit-enhanced butt and what only looked good before I actually bought it.

So the one productive thing I chose to do with myself basically involved me standing in my freezing cold bedroom (our central heat only seems to head certain parts of the apartment) repeatedly stripping off various articles of clothing and trying new ones on. Until I just gave up and left my pants off entirely.

I know, there may have been a FEW better uses of my time than a major closet overhaul. But, in my defense, I DO need to get rid of stuff because Roomie and I are moving next month (just down the road, sort of), and I won’t have as much space when we do. It would be complicated and boring for me to explain how we came to this decision. So just know that we’re moving. And when we do, it will be like a party. Mostly because I plan on having a lot of crossfitters help us move, and lifting heavy things with crossfit friends followed by eating food together describes most of the parties I attend. Yup, you’re welcome friends.

Is twitchy leg a symptom of vitamin D overdose? Because my one leg has been twitching like mad all day, and it’s freaking me out. Probably it’s just a symptom of too many back squats last night. HOW DO I MAKE IT GO AWAY?  

a sudden lack of time management skills

Guys, I’m having the it-snowed-and-now-I-can’t-start-my-car-or-see-out-of-my-windshield-when-I-do-manage-to-start-my-car problem again. I had plenty of time to get either or both problems fixed since the last time this happened, and I just haven’t.

But you’ve already heard enough about my car problems. So my question today is this: how did I ever manage my life back when I actually had a lot of stuff to do? I mean, there was a point when I went to school full time, worked about 20hrs a week, and spent at least as much time riding as I do crossfitting now. And I STILL had to do all those darn little things like shopping for food, cleaning the bathroom, and KEEPING UP MY CAR. What gives? I should be wallowing in hours of free time, but instead I still seem unable to actually remove the cups and plates that have accumulated on various surfaces in my bedroom or put away the basket of clean laundry sitting in front of my closet (I feel the need to point out that the laundry IS folded though–one point for me). God forbid that I should actually go through the trouble of making an appointment to take my car to the mechanic.

Yesterday, I had a whole bunch of extra hours in the afternoon because crossfit got snowed out, and what did I do? I made Roomie take me to her gym instead (where I then proceeded to make her do back squats—poor girl cannot escape from my crossfit obsession no matter how hard she tries) and baked cookies. Because it was snowing, and life requires you to have something sweet and delicious in the oven when it snows. And I might have make a s’more or two in the fireplace. Okay, I guess I’m starting to understand where all my hours of free time seem to be going.

On the bright side, I realized this morning that I HAVE developed the weird habit of multitasking while sitting on the toilet. Overshare. Sorry, but I assume that nobody except Roomie, L, Kate, and my sister actually read this thing anyway.

I think it stemmed from the fact that I am always in an absolute mad dash to either change from gym clothes to work clothes or work clothes to gym clothes. I spend a lot of time changing clothes in random bathrooms. And I frequently find myself tugging on a sports bra while trying to pee. This morning, it was un-strapping my lifting shoes. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until I got halfway through the process and, by then, it was really much too late to pretend I don’t engage in that kind of behavior.

Such is life. I guess you hurry when you have to. Maybe my time-management-mastery will come back to me one day when I really need it. 

I become extremely devious under the influence of too much sugar and red food coloring

I ate fifteen Twizzlers yesterday.  FIFTEEN of those individually wrapped, strawberry flavored pieces of heaven. I have no willpower in this area. A truly giant container of these things appeared in the office yesterday, and, even though I have a strong suspicion that Twizzlers are probably made out of plastic, sugar and red food coloring, I continued to shove them into my mouth as if I was 100% convinced that they were the cure for a post-crossfit-competition Monday hangover.

The problem with all those individually wrapped little pieces of candy is that now everyone could tell who had eaten half the container just by looking in my trash basket. I can’t imagine that anyone really has all that much interest in my trash basket, but it was very incriminating nonetheless.

At one point, our resident candy fiend, John, came over and started wondering aloud how many calories were in a Twizzler. It was discovered that there were exactly thirty calories per piece. I’m sure for John, who once ate 1,400 calories worth of York Peppermint Patties in one day (I am not exaggerating), this number wasn’t in the least bit alarming. But I started to feel slightly disgruntled. Hmmm, 30 calories a piece multiplied by … a whole bunch.

This was the point at which I whipped out my otherwise empty trash bin and started counting the wrappers. And this is the reason I had such an accurate number to start this post with. I did not eat ABOUT fifteen Twizzlers, or ALMOST fifteen Twizzlers, or AT LEAST fifteen Twizzlers. I ate EXACTLY fifteen Twizzlers. Which, in case you don’t want to go through the trouble of digging out your calculator like I did, is equal to 450 calories.

Now, I’m not the type of person who is at all worried about the number of calories I consume. But really. 450 calories worth of strawberry-flavored plastic?? I decided I was done with Twizzlers for the day (not too taxing on my willpower, as I only had a half hour left at work). I also decided that, while I had all the wrappers neatly piled on my desk, I may as well get rid of the evidence. I went looking for John and when I made the happy discovery that he was not at his desk, I threw them all in his bin instead.

Mission accomplished.

I have only eaten three Twizzlers so far today … but it IS only lunchtime.

Mission sort of accomplished. 

can someone come be my personal mechanic for the winter, for free?

Omg, winter. My ability to handle normal life situations goes completely to hell when I am faced with any sort of real winter weather. Though less-than-10-degree days DO provide exciting opportunities to conduct science experiments with your work buddies. Did you know that a cup of hot water thrown into 8-degree air will vaporize before it hits the ground? How does that happen?? Mind. Blown.

So anyway, back to that first thing I was saying, about how winter and I don’t get along. Well, ACTUALLY, the most pressing problem is really that winter doesn’t get along with my car. Or maybe just that I’m approaching the point where I need a new car . . . or need to spend a significant amount of money fixing everything that is wrong with the old one.

One of the most recent car troubles that I’ve been choosing to ignore is the fact that the washer fluid no longer sprays onto my windshield. It’s spraying somewhere. Under the hood somewhere. But not where it’s supposed to be. This problem isn’t usually all that much of a problem, until it snows. And then the windshield becomes a magnet for every grain of salt on the road.

Last Thursday night, it snowed. Quite a bit. On Friday morning, it took me a whole bunch of tries to get my car started. But before I could even begin that fun activity, I had to actually get into the car which was putting up a pretty good fight. I was a little worried that, if I just yanked full-force on the frozen door handles, one of them might fall off (after all, I did once dent the passenger side door by slamming my butt into it). Super woman, that’s me. So I resorted to kicking at the doors to try and loosen things up a bit. I admit, this was a slightly questionable tactic, but eventually, I got one of the back doors open and sort of slithered my way into the front seat.

Whatever works, people.

I got to work, busted my way out the driver’s side door (much easier to accomplish from INSIDE the car), and proceeded with my day.

Fast forward to the afternoon when I was nominated to go pick up some drawings from the printer’s, not something I usually do. I must have looked bored, or maybe it was just because half the office had been smart enough to stay home when they got snowed in. And while I was driving back and forth to the printer’s, holding my driver’s side door closed because the latch was now either frozen open or broken, and peering through the only 2-inch portion of my windshield (near the bottom left) that was not completely covered with salt, it occurred to me that most people would probably not put up with this. That, perhaps, grownups make an effort to fix things when they break.

So when I got to the printer’s, I wiped some of the salt off the windshield and started tinkering with the door latch, trying to get it unstuck. And managed, somehow, to get it STUCK IN THE LOCKED POSITION. While the door was open. Now I was not just unable to latch the door, I couldn’t even get it all the way closed.

Amendment: grownups pay other people to fix broken things that they don’t know anything about.

By begging, pleading, and raging at the car, I eventually got the door shut and latched again (probably by kicking it). I spent the rest of the day climbing into the driver’s seat through various other doors. I was afraid to open that one up again.