I’m sure you’ve heard of that site that people have been using this week to guess how old you are by uploading a photo – – and people getting excited about posting their results. “Look how young it guessed me!”

People who know me always guess me to be way younger than I really am. My entire life, my mom has also looked a lot younger and guessed to be much younger than her actual age, so I must have inherited those good genetics from her.

I thought, well I’ll give this a shot and see just how much younger I look!

The first picture I tried was the one I use for my profile picture in my Twitter account (link to my feed in the sidebar).

It guessed me to be a fifty-six year old man. O_o


The fuck?

Next, I tried a photo of my mom and I that was taken last November. The photo was taken a few days after my mom’s 75th birthday.

Want to see the guess?








Nothing like being told by a robot – when you’re already feeling shitty about how you look because you’re overweight and stressed – is that you look like you’re nearly 20 years older and a man.

THANKS. THANKS INTERNET. I’m going to crawl into a ball now.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, everyone is stirring because we’re listening to the screeching and clunking of the garbage truck outside our window.

I get that this shit needs to be picked up, but you’re harshing my “Silent Night” vibe here.

All I need is the leaf blower guy to show up with the GRNNNNRRNNNRRRRGGGGGG GRRRNNNGGGGGGGNNNNGGGG GRNNNGGGGGGGGGINNNNG of his industrial-sized, diesel leaf wind destroyer to make things better.

By “better” I mean “STAHHHHHP.”


Last night at Crossfit, our evil coaches devised a new hell for us to the theme of “The 12 Days of Christmas”…you know the song…

"That partridge in a pear tree song, the only bit we like of it is the five gold rings. People go berserk at that point. The rest of it we don’t know." ~Eddie Izzard

“That partridge in a pear tree song, the only bit we like of it is the five gold rings. People go berserk at that point. The rest of it we don’t know.” ~Eddie Izzard

crossfit12Here’s a photo I took of the whiteboard last night:

This particular workout was done like the song: On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a beer. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: two turtlenecks, and a beer. And so on…

(It should be quite obvious to you that I prefer the Bob and Doug McKenzie version of this song.)

For those of you who don’t speak Crossfit, this is what the workout consisted of (and my weights/modifications for it):

  • One Clean & Jerk (45#)
  • Two handstand push ups (box-assisted version)
  • Three box jump overs (step overs)
  • Four sumo deadlift high pull (26# kettle bell)
  • Five hand release push ups (knee pushups)
  • Six pistol squats (squat to bench)
  • Seven burpees
  • Eight toes to bar (floor to bar variation)
  • Nine wall balls (10#)
  • Ten pull ups (ring rows)
  • Eleven hang power cleans (45#)
  • Twelve front squats (45#)

Once we began, we did one clean and jerk. Then we did two handstand push ups (or the modification), and one clean and jerk. Then three box jump overs, two handstand pushups, and one clean and jerk. You get the picture.

Hard as fuck. Took me just shy of 37 minutes to complete the whole thing. Needless to say, I’m a bit sore today. However, I am going to the special noon Christmas Eve WOD because they don’t have night classes tonight for obvious reasons.

Want to see a photo of me doing a 20″ box jump? Unbeknownst to me, they took a shot of me doing one. I don’t look TOO bad…

I'm impressed as hell that I can do box jumps. Seriously.

I’m impressed as hell that I can do box jumps. Seriously.

Tim’s been sick all week, so he’s been missing out on these workouts. I hope he’s feeling better by next week so he can suffer…er…join in on the fun with me.

Although I do gripe about how sore I am, I love how sore I am. It means I’ve been doing something with myself. Especially since I made another batch of cookies yesterday. Oops! O_o

Tonight, we’re going to have a Christmas Eve feast of charcuterie, cheese, artichoke dip, smoked salmon, and some bubbly. Tomorrow we’re not getting out of our pajamas and I’m finally going to indulge in some mindless movie/TV watching all day. I may make another post too, you never know! 😀

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night without garbage trucks harshing your mellow.

F*ck You, Eggplant!

I had an eventful weekend.

And by “eventful” I meant “let’s do stupid shit and hurt ourselves!”

Before you jump to conclusions, I did not hurt myself doing CrossFit. In fact, I just set my PR in the deadlift a few days ago. One hundred and fifty pounds!! That’s almost as much as my body weight.

Yeah, that’s right, you got a big-time badass over here.

No, the stupid shit I did was try to cut an eggplant.

My friend Elaine, when I visited her in NJ in June, showed me how she made eggplant rollatini. This weekend, I had a craving for it and the eggplant at the shops looked good so I went for it.

Now she cut hers by hand, but I’ve had a Pampered Chef mandoline for years, so I thought I’d use that to get nice and uniform slices of eggplant. BEST IDEA EVER.

Until that bastard eggplant got stuck when I was making slices. Stuck where I just pushed a teensy bit harder on it to get it to go through. Guess what happened next?

It unstuck.

And my pinky on my right hand met the blisteringly sharp blade of the mandoline.

I said words. Many words. Words that start with the letter “F” and “M” and I’m pretty sure my neighbors now know new, unique ways of swearing. This classic photo of Johnny Cash exemplifies just how I felt at that moment:


Pretty sure Mr. Cash saw an eggplant in the audience. Don’t blame him a bit.

Back to my idiocy.

After a few seconds of me creating new words in the English language, the bleeding began.

Don’t worry, I didn’t take a picture then (I did later, though), but I basically cut through my fingernail. And it bled – a LOT. I was quite relieved to see that I didn’t need stitches – the fingernail saved my actual flesh from being cut a lot worse.

Since my fingernail was still attached to my finger – it was just separated from the rest of the nail – it was just hanging on enough waiting to snag on things (FORESHADOWING). To avoid catching it on things, I bandaged it up with some bandaids and made sure to air it out once a day. The bandage made it difficult to type – just think how often you use your pinky when typing! I was taught to use all my fingers and never deviating from the “home row” when typing. My right pinky gets a workout!

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. I was airing things out when I thought “man, a soda would be nice” so like an idiot I walked to the fridge and opened the door. With my right hand. I’m pretty sure you don’t need to know what happened next. But, I’ll tell you anyway!

The nail that was hanging on was now hanging on by a fleshy skin thread. It was as gross as that sounded. My husband was alerted to my swearing and he said “you should just take it the rest of the way off.”

My first thought was “are you on drugs?” then I relented because then I wouldn’t need to keep wearing this stupid bandage that was getting in the way of me being able to type normally. But I made him take it the rest of the way off because I couldn’t do it. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as bad as I expected – clearly my ineptitude of opening a refrigerator door without hurting myself was the worst part.

Here’s how things look now!


It may not look like much, but then you remember those times when you’ve had a paper cut on your finger – especially those ones you get right at the base of your fingernail (usually from sorting through files in a filing cabinet) – and tell me how much those hurt. Then try slicing part of your finger off and get back to me.

Now that I took care of that snaggy nail that was going to eventually fall off anyway, my finger’s starting to heal up nicely. Still weird having a notch out of my fingernail.

Oh, and the eggplant rollatini was delicious. Fucking eggplant. 😦