On Singledom... and Why I Need It.

(Note: This post was started way back on... January 2nd... as a response to this prompt at The Femme's Guide. I missed the deadline like woah. But I still wanted to share. So... go with it.)

On January 2nd, 2011 a friend asked me what my New Year’s resolution was. Not if I made one, but what mine was.

Every year before this one, I would have been able to honestly dismiss the question by saying I don’t make resolutions. I’d use my handy, “if it’s a good idea in January, then I should have done it in December” excuse.

But… this year… I’d made a resolution.

So… I took a deep breath and texted (yes, texted… judge all you want) this back:

My resolution is to be fabulous and single in 2011.

Her first response: Aren’t you already both?

Umm… not quite. (But thanks! ) If I were, I wouldn’t need the resolution.

Her second response (within the same minute, mind you): If you met someone great, why would you want to be single?

That, admittedly, is a more difficult question to answer. Why would anyone want to be single? Why would I want to be single?

When I think about cuddling up, holding hands on the sidewalk, having a someone who cares about my day, or arriving home to something more responsive than a KitchenAid mixer, I… can’t really say that I do want to be single. But… that is the exact type of thinking that I want to move beyond in 2011.

The past two or three years, for me, have been a continual bounce between being in love and searching for the same. In love, I daydreamed, smiled a lot, made a lot of gutsy moves, made even more mixed cds, and generally played my part as the 20-something, ditsy in love. Between great loves (cough, cough), I scouted for the next one. I approached women in bars and coffee shops. I chatted with them online. I followed them on twitter. I flirted with straight girls and I agreed to dates I knew were bad ideas. And… might as well admit it, I even found some chicky chicks on Craigslist.

It was fun (at times), and I eventually became that girl with the crazy stories. You know the one… the girl who only needs a “soooo…?” and a smile to launch her into the weekend recap? Well… that was me. Was me… in 2010. But it’s not going to be me in 2011.

In 2011, I am going to be fabulous and single.

Did I mention that? Because I am. In addition to all the normal things like cleaning the kitchen before going to bed, covering my firewood before it starts raining, and finding the perfect white gold earrings, I am going to tackle the much harder mission of being single and being happy about it.

I’ve painted a very impressive picture of this in my mind. It involves me, in the best shape of my life, happy, winsome, and beyond charming as I politely decline dates and wave off suitors left and right.

(In this picture, I’m also on the dance floor in an outfit that I could probably only afford in such a dream sequence… but that’s not the important bit, is it?)

So… that’s what I’m after.

I don’t want to be that girl who is tied to her phone, waiting for a text and wondering what it could possibly mean when she goes an afternoon without getting one. I don’t want my mood to be tied to someone else’s current take on me. I want to wear my favorite underwear on a Tuesday, if I feel like it, because I’m not the least bit concerned about who might need to see them and when.

I want to be the fun, together, productive girl that I know lives somewhere inside me.

And when former loves stroll up to introduce the new girls who are just perfect, I’ll smile wide (revealing beautiful white teeth) and raise my perfectly shadowed lids and mascara-ed lashes to make comfortable eye contact with both of them. My sexy heels clicking as I return to my car, coffee shop, or classroom, I’ll remind myself that my single and fabulous self won’t be angrily arguing something trivial that afternoon or getting its feelings hurt over dinner.

Then… one day… maybe years from now… someone will make me an offer I can’t refuse.

Annnd… I’ll refuse it.

But only so she’ll make it again, with more feeling.

Until then… it’s protein bars, P90x, platonic outings, and being the token lesbian again. I’m fine with all of that. I’m actually kind of looking forward to it.

Who's with me? Any 2011 singletons who (like me) need a jolt of fab in their lives?

My Weekend (in Pictures)

I could stop with this one picture...


but I won't. I'll expound.



I mailed my valentines just in time for the one week anniversary of Valentine's Day.



This strapping gentleman fixed my car after it overheated, an hour away from home. I swooned a little bit and he wouldn't let me pay him. It was all very Southern.


I went to the grocery an obscene 6 times. 3 times in one day. Largely so I could make the next three pictures happen...


I've begun feeding my egg habit with egg white wraps of all different sorts. This one was simple enough with chili powder and white cheddar, but tomatoes and mushrooms are also becoming regulars.


That's April. Eating leftover bacon from a ziploc bag. Wearing a shirt that I cried on twice that day. (Stay tuned!)

That night's dinner was a jaw-dropping batch of creamy white cheddar grits atop a fried egg, and sprinkled with crumbled bacon. O.m.g.


36 baby blue, baby shower cupcakes, perched neatly on a white stand. You'd never guess I had a mid-kitchen, icing-enduced, ugly cry breakdown over those suckers, wouldja?


Tony Horton praises his protein and vitamin packed Recovery Drink in each of his P90x workouts. Sure... that's nice and all, Tony, but after the aforementioned kitchen breakdown, I turned to a very different recovery drink. Whiskey and a splash of coke. And now, if you'll indulge me... a bit of dialogue from that evening...

April: *nods at my drink from behind her beer* How strong is that?
Amanda: Not terribly. *hands jar over for sniffing purposes*
April: *sniffs* Woooo... I don't know what "not terribly" means to you... but that's pretty strong.

Gimme a break, all of you. I usually drink it straight.


And... even better than the protein shake that helps me recover from P90x or the whiskey that helps me recover from bad days... is fro yo that makes the world (and especially my corner of it) a better place. This picture was taken so I could ask a friend what that pink squidgy bit was.

She didn't know either. And... after this weekend of ups and downs, that really just figured.

Week 1: Soaring Soreness

On day one, I thought... won't this be fun?!

On day two, I realized my arms were too sore to exert enough force to crack my knuckles.

On day three, I discovered just how much ab work is required to roll over in bed.

On day four, I wondered if my back and shoulders would ever be the same again.

On day five, I actually gasped out loud when I lowered myself all the way down to sit on a step without bracing myself with my hands.

On day six, I am happy to report that my body (all bits) registers only the slight soreness that would accompany more normal exertions.

*I should maybe mention that I have yet to complete my Day 6 workout.*

Eggs

Or... The true expense of P90x.

Today I did this workout...


for the first time. We did moves like the one you see pictured above. That's called "The Flying Heinsman." I'm not even kidding.

And I looooved it. It was very Jillian and I liked that. It felt like home.

So... I finished the workout, sweaty, exhausted, and very sore from yesterdays Chest, Back, Abs situation. Tony has mentioned this "recovery drink" mess a few times, but until that moment, I hadn't really considered it.

Well... I'm still not to the point of drinking sludge for fun, but I knew I needed protein... so to the P90x recipes I went!

I mixed a couple of recipes and came up with this:


6 egg whites (6?!)
about 6 grape tomatoes
3/4 oz mozzarella cheese
sprinkling of basil

And... when cracking and separating all those eggs... all I could think was...

When I was a boy I ate four dozen eggs every morning to help me get large. Now I'm a man I eat five dozen eggs, so I'm roughly the size of a barge!

In the end, I dropped about an egg white worth of the scramble on my left sneaker. Don't ask. And... I left about an egg white and a half on the plate. So... did I eat half a dozen egg whites after all? Nope.

There's always tomorrow.

P90x: Day 1

Picture it, my livingroom around 7am.

I've been at this for over an hour. My arms are tired. My hair is mussed from sleeping. My bright fuchsia socks don't match anything else I have on.

Tony is making an X with his arms and encouraging me to make everything "X-like," though I'm not at all sure what he means by that. There is a German woman to his right who, by comparison, makes my hair look amazing but my stomach look flabby.

From a seated, abs-engaged position on the floor of his dungeon-esque gym, Tony calls out, "Imagine doing 100 of these!"

I know this is meant to be encouraging. But... honestly, who is that helping?

If I had enough breath to say it out loud, I would have. Instead, my brows dropped, my limbs flopped to the floor mid-crunchy turtle (or whatever the flip we were doing) and I thought, "But I would never imagine something like that, Tony..."

And just like that... I crossed the threshold between people who had never and would never imagine something like that... to someone who... I guess... will start imagining reps. Le sigh.

P90x: Wait... What?!

Hello, friends.

You may have forgotten me and my little ol' blog. I all but did!

I have many reasons for this, none of which you are probably interested in.

I'll list some of them anyway. (I lost my memory card. I got distracted by something shiny. I stopped cooking for a bit. I started and abandoned a tumblr. I started baking for pay and stopped doing it for stress relief. [I've corrected this... don't worry. ;)] And I resolved to be single and fabulous in 2011.)

See... nothing you're interested in.

So what are you interested in?! Why are you here?! What DO you WANT from me?!

Hopefully... a video about the P90x situation that is about to go down in my life. Because... that's all I've got for you today. Well... that video and a promise that I will be back with more awkwardness.

Maybe food. Maybe P90x. Maybe shoes. Maybe sass. Okay... definitely sass, no matter what.

For now though... the video.



On review... I've noticed that there are at least three ridiculous cartoon-y type voices in this video about P90x. You're welcome.

Love and Pull Ups,

A