Getting the GiST

Finding grace in everyday things. Join me!

1. Girl Scout Cookies. And boyfriends who buy them for you!
2. Pure Romance parties. What’s better than buying a few sexy time items and catching up with friends?
3. New haircuts. Totally rocking a new cut and dash of color and loving it.
4. iPod playlists. Finally set one up last night (after over a year!) and it prevented all the shuffling I typically do in a day.
5. An extra 20 minutes on the stationary bike. Kind of a pain after an hour-long workout, but it’s definitely justifying my indulgence in #1.

A weekend of conversation

This weekend was full of conversation. Some deep, some not so deep, but all worthwhile. Kind of rare when that happens, so it’s definitely worth noting.

First up was Friday night. DD and I met up after work and relaxed a bit before heading out for dinner at Small Plates, my favorite place for good conversation mixed with good food presented at an enjoyable and relaxing pace.

I hadn’t anticipated using this relaxing meal for any meaningful conversation, but it came naturally. It took almost the entire dinner (and the past 6 months) for it to happen, but it finally did. We began talking about marriage in very general terms, and it quickly became focused on our relationship. DD expressed his hesitation and unreadiness to be at that point, and I jumped on the opportunity to (finally) express all the thoughts running through my head.

It felt good to be able to express some of my own hesitations…until his phone interrupted us. His friend, who was flying in that night, calling with a bit of a snag resulted in our conversation being derailed for the moment.

Throughout the rest of the weekend we were able to keep coming back to the convo, and I was eventually able to tell him what has really been weighing on my mind — that I’m just not sure if he’s the one. That the thought of ending it doesn’t sound good either, but that I’m just not sure.

And the thing is? Neither is he. And that’s OK. We’re both in the same place, just moving through the relationship, trying to figure out what it is. We’re just putting pressure on ourselves that we’ve been dating a certain amount of time and feel like we have to make up our minds, when in reality, we don’t.

At one point, I even said a lot of my confusion has developed as our relationship has changed and, dare I say it, become boring at times. It’s not the infatuation-fest it once was. Instead, we’re in this very unfamiliar place where we don’t always HAVE to see each other, where we’re choosing to sleep together instead of sleep together, and things are just kind of everyday. He agreed and completely understood where I was coming from.

Don’t get me wrong, he still pissed me off here and there this weekend. A misunderstanding led to me being stranded at his place on Saturday night — alone — while he went out with friends. I can’t really blame him though as my other commitments that day threw off the timing for me to be out with his friends. That, and I HATE going to the bar. Not just dislike it a little, I just really, REALLY hate it. I have absolutely no interest in sitting around slowly dying of second-hand smoke while getting wasted.

I know, I know, I’m an 80 year old trapped in a 27 year old body, but seriously. What’s the point? So I suppose if DD is going to go to the bar (one of his loves) and I’m going to date him, then I better get used to staying home alone once in awhile.

On the other hand, I’m a big fan of drinking at home, and we were able to do some of that with his friends on Friday night after our dinner date. I had a great conversation with some of his female friends, and it felt nice to feel like I was finally part of the group after a year and a half.

Overall, a good weekend full of good conversation. Without even realizing it, it really was just what I needed.

My latest affair

For the past month or so, I’ve been having an affair.

I’ve been sneaking out of work a few minutes early so I can rush home and don my finest clothes.

Workout clothes, that is.

You see, I’ve been having an affair with my new yoga instructor. And by affair, I mean that every Tuesday I show up to his Vinyasa class and sweat through 75 minutes of him kicking my ass. In the most unsexual way possible.

The thing is, I sort of dread his class. I mean, I get excited to wrap up work and get home in time to get to class. I get excited at the thought of how I’ll feel after class. But the second I start walking to the studio I dread it. I think about how there’s no way I can make it through the class. That my stomach hurts. That I should turn around and go home. When I get there and the studio’s excessive heat hits me in the face I look at the instructor and seriously contemplate walking out before the class even starts. But for whatever reason, I keep myself rooted until the studio door closes and the instructor begins barking out instructions. Because let’s face it, this ain’t no new age class. We’re flowing to Snoop and classic rock. We’re not meditating and finding our chi, we’re sweating through each pose and pushing ourselves to the edge.

That’s when the magic happens. From the first down dog to the final Savasana, I work. And that’s when I realize this yoga instructor and this studio are exactly what I need. I’ve been doing yoga for almost 5 years now. I’ve practiced in my living room, at the local community college, and at my name brand gym. I’ve had great teachers but I’d hit a plateau. I was by no means a yoga goddess, but I was also not advancing my abilities.

Within a month of this class, I’ve done just that. Little by little I’ve been able to do things I could never do before. It seems like every week I find at least one a little breakthrough. Whether it’s achieving a one-arm balance (and lifting my leg while doing it!) or bending my back knee up and grabbing my back foot in pigeon pose, it’s something. And it keeps me coming back, lazy thoughts and all.

Luckily, I think I’ll be able to keep up with this affair. After all, why would DD say no to the svelte upper body I’m slowly gaining.

Psychic guidance

On Friday, a few of my girlfriends were able to get together for a very rare girls night. In typical fashion, we headed to our favorite psychic for a little guidance. One by one, in we went, searching for answers in the tarot cards our psychics laid in front of us. Sometimes they’re right, sometimes they’re wrong, but it always makes for an entertaining evening.

This time around, I’d say she was 75% on, 25% off. As she lay the first cards down, she said that she sensed I was having anxiety over the man in my life. Which is true. I sort of nodded and she went on to say that she got the feeling he travels a lot (SO TRUE!), and that’s where my anxiety is (SO FALSE).

She eventually got closer to the truth; that my anxiety lies in figuring out whether he’s “the one”. She mentioned that she sees a proposal in the near future (most likely false!) and that the ball really is in my court. This was slightly creepy since the last psychic I saw used the exact same phrase when discussing my relationship. We talked further and she reiterated that she believed DD is the guy (which is similar to what the last psychic said), and that my anxiety is normal!

And yes, this psychic felt more like my therapist and less like your average fortune teller. But that’s OK, these days, I’m looking for insight from anyone when it comes to walking down the aisle.

The other big topic was my career. She saw a big change in the next year, and also saw relocation as a possibility. As she put down the cards and continued down the path, all I could think was that I am definitely getting fired. After all, we are going through layoffs someday soon; it’s on my mind. I asked whether these “big changes” would be my choice or by force and she quickly reassured me it would be my choice and that she doesn’t see me losing my job.

Then again, as Ursula would say, we basically pay them to say nice things, so if she did see a layoff speeding down the highway of my life, I doubt she would bring it up.

The things they pick up always fascinate me; most notably this time was the thing about DD’s travel. There’s nothing in my body language that suggests that, and she hadn’t gotten to far in her fishing when she sussed it out. Still, at the end of the day, it’s by no means a science and serve my entertainment quota for the week.

Entertainment that I’m sure made each of us a little more thoughtful that night.

How are those resolutions?

Since I only made a few New Year’s resolutions, I’ve been doing surprisingly well at keeping them. Reusable bags are my new norm — and they’re wayyy more convenient than those globe-hating plastic ones — and I’ve read 3 or 4 books already, which is about twice the amount I used to read in 2 months.

Then, there’s the cooking. Which gets the award for resolution most likely to fail. I spent most of January doing my same old routine and falling back on my same old “recipes”, a.k.a boiling pasta and throwing cheese on it.

This month, I finally sat down and went through one of my new cookbooks (a Rachel Ray classic), and picked 4 new recipes to try. First up was the Cheesy Spinach Tortellini, which, in a rare moment, DD helped me cook on our perfect Sunday together a couple weeks ago. Next I sampled the portobello mushroom burgers, with red pepper, mozarella and prosciutto sandwiched between two portobello caps. That, along with the rosemary french fries made for an excellent solo V-Day dinner.

So far, both will go into my recipe rotation. But, tonight, I didn’t have the same luck. I tried out her crab and corn chowda mac. It bills itself as macaroni chowder. Sounds odd, right? Except, I loved all the ingredients. Macaroni? Check. Crab? Check. Cheese? Cheeeckkkk. So, though it sounded like a strange combination, I persevered and diligently followed the recipe.

Which ended in some yellowish “sauce” that was neither cheesy nor particularly “chowdery”. And I have an entire pot of this since I decided to make the whole recipe in anticipation of leftovers. Whoops? I guess it wasn’t awful, but it didn’t merit seconds.

Oh well. All in all I still consider my foray into new tastes a success. I still have a balsamic chicken to try this week and then the difficult task of keeping up the resolution with more new recipes. The problem is, I’m very picky in what I eat. Part of the reason I made the resolution was to venture out and get away from my usual pasta. Except? I am addicted to pasta. I’m not a fan of cooking meat (notice only 1 of the 4 contains any chicken or beef). Yet so many recipes are very meat focused. I also don’t know that I could become a full-on vegetarian; I wouldn’t even know where to find things like tofu at the grocery store, much less be able to cook it. I don’t mind cooking fish, so maybe I need to explore that route.

Or maybe I should just give it up and go for an all chocolate diet.

A weekend of grace

Lots of moments of grace this weekend.

1. Not wearing a coat on the walk to brunch. I was still chilly in only my Tigers sweatshirt, but it was a good chilly.
2. A day with DD. So often we just spend the evenings and mornings together, we rarely have a full day, much less a full day alone. Yet this weekend, I somehow used my powers of persuasion to rope him into an entire lazy Sunday together. At MY house, no less! He jogged, I read, we brunched, we ran errands, we lazed, we cooked. It was the best Sunday in a long while.
3. The sun. Enough said.
4. The act of making tea. Just putting the kettle on and getting out the tea bags are enough to relax me.
5. Having a handle on work. Should only last a day or so, but it’s nice to not be running in 5 directions this week.

Finding love in the dairy aisle

If I’m ever single again, I have devised a new way to meet a man — the grocery store. Better than match.com or eharmony, this unassuming locale is really a hotbed of hook-ups.

If you’re looking for a creepy middle-aged dude, that is.

In the past few months I’ve been hit on twice at the grocery store. That’s two more times than it’s happened in the past 27 years.

The first time, I was waiting at the deli counter, when a 30 something man walked up and asked me where the shallots were. I, too, was in need of shallots and hadn’t been able to find them and I told him so. I was friendly, but by no means flirting. He asked the deli clerk who directed him back to produce.

A few minutes later, he returned with his shallots — and brought me a few as well. I laughed (still not meaning to flirt, but what can I say, my laugh brings ’em in), and thanked him. We continued on our separate ways. After I’d finished my shopping, I was loading my bags in the trunk and he drove up to my car and asked for my number. He seemed gentlemanly enough, telling me he normally doesn’t do this (yeah, right) but that I was just so beautiful, he couldn’t help but talk to me. I politely told him I was seeing someone and skirted away from the nice by not my type potential suitor.

It still put a smile on my face. Who doesn’t like to be flattered?

Fast forward to today. I got up to head to the store and felt that since it was a Saturday afternoon, there was no reason I had to take a shower. Or get out of my pj’s really. I pulled on a pair of sweats, put a coat on over my t-shirt so no one would notice I wasn’t wearing a bra, and brushed my teeth. My hair was sticking up all over the place, but I didn’t care. It’s just Kroger after all.

In the produce aisle, I was methodically checking stuff off and trying to find the Arugula when I noticed a guy looking my way. Similar to my last suitor, this guy was also in his 30s or 40s. I didn’t think much of his glances, and kept moving through the deli aisle and into the dairy aisle. As I was picking out my heavy cream, he stopped in front of my cart and blurted out: I just have to tell you that you’re really cute.

That’s it. It was rather creepy and I was a bit taken aback. I told him thank you and made a beeline for a different aisle.

Seriously, since when do people just walk up and randomly tell someone they’re cute? In the grocery store of all places! Since when is the grocery store the new singles night?

Finding some grace

So, one of my daily reads, Heidi, joined the Grace in Small Things bandwagon, and I’ve decided I could use a little bit of that up in here.

It’s no surprise my blog can be a bit of a negativity fest. I’m a skeptical cynic, through and through, and besides, there’s way more drama (and blog fodder) in the negative than the positive.

Except life is entirely TOO negative right now. I have no idea if I’ll have a job come April and while I love my job, it’s currently making me feel a little dumb. Home life is fine, but with that niggling lack of job security, I know it’s going to be very easy for that to infiltrate my happy home.

Enter Grace in Small Things. The goal is to make a daily list of five positive things. I doubt I can do it daily — heck I can’t even write a blog post daily. But even the occasional reminder of the little things in life that are, in fact, pretty damn good, is a start.

1. My father’s ability to take care of a car. Because I’m clueless, so when my car breaks down in the middle of an intersection, I need somewhere to turn before calling AAA in hysterics. That’s where dad comes in.
2. Ben & Jerry’s
3. Leftovers that you forgot existed. Makes making dinner after a challenging evening that much easier.
4. Heat waves in the neighborhood of 35 degrees. Every little bit helps.
5. 11:30 Seinfeld. I’ve been trying to avoid staying up late to watch, but it’s a guilty pleasure that ropes me in when I AM up.