DBD #15 Detox Feast: handsome: check. educated:check. good conversationalist:check. Chris invited me to dinner after a few days of talking and I was quite thrilled. We met up at a charming little place in Sugar House, and he was holding a mason jar of vomit. Well it looked like pink vomit. We sat down and after the usual pleasantries, "nice to meet you", "you are cuter in person", blah blah blah, Chris says to me, "go ahead and order whatever you want. I'm on a detox cleanse so I'm not going to order". WHAT?! this charmer invited me to dinner and instead of eating, he was going to suck back his mason jar of beet, celery, carrot, kale, ginger, cayenne, spinach juice. Not only did it look like barf, but it made me want to barf when I smelled it. Needless to say I didn't order. I suggested we just talk outside and 45 min. later it was all over. Conversation was rough. Either he or I were dry-heaving at the smell of his concoction. Best part, his 7 day detox was ending the very next day. I would have gladly waited 24 hrs. and spared myself the smell of his mason jar.

Cake:no one ever makes a pastry chef a cake. I suppose the intimidation could factor into this, but still....birthdays need cake. This year, after almost a decade of no cake on my birthday, the trend was broken. Box mix, frosting from the store, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. One of the best cakes I've had to date. (and the piping was not half bad) xops

I #hate flowers and presents: well that is a bit of a lie, I love flowers but never get them so I have started just hating them :) I love presents but I always feel guilty getting them. Love giving them, don't handle getting them very well.  This year, on my birthday, the afore mentioned Pete gave me both....well not flowers but flours. Lots of flours. The perfect present, to make my celebrating 32 years of life, fun and simple. It's like it came from a movie! (it totally did) xops

Portobello Melt: Have you ever done something that is wrong on all levels, and if someone saw you would be mortified, but because you are alone you do it anyway? Great! And if you said, “No”, you are lying.

I was out of town for work, 3am start time was too early for the hotel's continental breakfast so I ran to work sans food. When 10 hour training shift ended I crawled back to the car and smelled portobello! I had my half sandwich from last night's dinner still in the car! The car temp was about 100°F so I figured it was out of the temperature danger zone, and I ate it. The once cold "veggie wedgie" from Oregano's in Scottsdale, was now a melty warm eggplant sub, that hit the spot. I half wondered if it would make me sick....as luck would have it, my iron stomach handled it just fine. 

It is mass generated, plastered all over glittery signs, quote, that quite often invokes my gag reflex. The quote your friend sends you when you have a bad day, the instagram that pops up when a friend has had a bad date. It is not new or revolutionary, it is the theme to every Nicholas Sparks-ian book/movie goosh.  It makes you want to slap a baby (not that I ever have or would, it's just something I've said once...or twice):

"Someday, someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together."

I hate this quote! And yet I find myself also loving it. All my pieces are pretty glued into place, I've steri-stripped the broken, like a boss, I have crazy glue on hand to mend the unexpected quick breaks, but I like the idea that mending isn't a sole venture. 

I drove by a golf course today and you know what....I want to be one of those women when I get older. Or at the very least I would like to try it on. You know those women, the ones who lunch, the ones who wear pearls on a Tuesday, the ones with madras plaid crop pants and cardigans and lemonade while the husbands' golf. The ones who get their hair done every other Thursday @ 11:am, and always have the perfect shade of frosty peach nail polish ( I can find the shade I just can't make it stay! Please refer to the photo to the right). The ones who never forget sunscreen and have always finished the best book. The ones who never have runs in their hose, and summer in Europe, the ones who sit and have breakfast in a sunny nook while watching the birds. Basically, I want to be selfish. (and let's not think for a moment I am saint, oh no!, I am a hot mess disaster selfish human quite a bit, I would just like to be more effectively selfish while looking great and never feeling guilty)

Razor: Oh it was a hot date, a real good one. I will spare you all the things that made the man a "hot date" suffice it to say, there were lots.  I put on a cute little skirt to show off one of my few physical selling point, my legs....and a pair of wedges to further highlight. I get to his house, quick hug, then ask to use the bathroom for a second before we leave. Nervous pee or too much water, who knows, but it was a blessing in disguise. I get into the bathroom and the fluorescent glow casts a horrifying light on the fact that I missed a strip of leg while shaving....looks like I had missed it for maybe a few weeks! (and lets be honest it wasn't just a strip, I had not taken time to shave in a while, but let's pretend it was just a few strays on my shins), luckily his razor was in the bathroom. I whipped off the wedges, sat on the edge of the tub, quietly splashed a little water on my legs, barbasoled those babies up, and shaved like mad. I rinsed of what I can without being too loud, and dried off. Wedges back on, now smelling a bit like men's shaving cream, I was ready. A few minutes in, to my horror legs are dry, legs are itchy, legs are driving me insane and nothing is to be done except for suffer in silence, which I did, like a boss. 

Moral of the story: if you're too lazy to shave, don't wear a skirt.  xops

Work started at 2am. I had a corporate meeting at 11am. I was only supposed to be working on training a pastry chef for a few hours starting at 2am. She showed up sick. I had to cover her shift, in a foreign kitchen, with 1 assistant who was just hired. I stayed more than a few hours. I didn't have time to run home, shower, and get fancy before my corporate meeting. I had a bag of clothes to donate in my trunk. I rummaged through them and found an outfit. I changed, did my hair, and a quick make-up touch up all while driving en route to the corporate meeting. Moral of the story: cruise control is a girl's best friend, people with completely cleaned out cars are up a creek without a paddle, and I think I will take concealer over Harry Winston.

Handstand: Ah Valentine's Day. Glorious day of love and pink and flowers and candy and overpriced food and love and romance and love.  I am not going to tell you a story of love, but I will tell you a story that may prevent it.

It was the Friday before Valentine's Day and *[Pete] had come over after work. I had worked a 12 hour shift that day and was a little frayed around the edges. Background on Pete...he is quite easy on the eyes, not that that is pertinent to this story, but I thought you should know as you picture this story in your mind. Right, back to the story. Pete coaches, breathes, and does CrossFit 5 times a week, and he is quite good. So, quick recap, I'm exhausted and Pete is a real version of Captain America.

"Hey why don't you try a handstand push up"

"okay"

I say okay because years ago when I worked out 5 times a week, this may not have posed a problem. However lately, I eat cookies for breakfast. Do you see my dilemma? Next thing I know, with hands on the floor, I am launching my exhausted legs up in the air as hard as I can, praying that by some miracle I will land in a perfect handstand against the wall. I am hoping for this, but let's face it, the actual image in my mind was one where my giant foot slams through the dry-wall and or my wrist snaps under the weight of my body. What happened was potentially worse.

Trying my very hardest to get my legs vertical, I keep going. I was determined I was going to stick this, and Pete was going to be real impressed, and basically fall in love with me on the spot. I digress..... I almost get the handstand twice,  but now getting just a bit light headed from all blood rushing to my head. Don't worry I don't pass out, that would have been a blessing. Instead, I continue feeling like the fat kid in the gymnastics class who can't touch her toes. At this poing Pete decides to help me. He grabs my legs mid air and pushes them towards the wall...and I do it! Sadly, in the process of all the jumbling and flailing feet and gases churning as I move from standing to hand standing, and just as he is pushing my legs against the wall, just as his face is close to my rump, it happens! The gases release. (and I don't mean I burped. Other end people.)  Just enough gas to make a little whistle! Mortified I crumble! I get up quickly, and look at Pete in horror. He says nothing. Phew I am safe! He must have terrible hearing. I at this point make up an excuse as to why I cannot continue. [note to self: make up excuse before trying next time]

The next day it comes out during our dinner conversation, it turns out he had heard. Turns out his hearing is damn near perfect. I'll never sneak a gas release again! What can I say, the epitome of grace and beauty at all times. #winning.


* for the protection of the male in this story, his name has not been changed. His real name is Pete.

I woke up from a dead sleep! Frantically jumped from my bed at 4am. What was the root cause....my car was being towed!! *run on sentance is coming*Well actually no, it wasn't, people don't get their cars towed in rural Utah, what I thought was the beeping from a tow truck was actually the garbage truck, but it sounded eerily like the beeping of the tow trucks in DC, and while I was in DC if your car was on the east side on Tuesdays, or the west side on mondays from 7-12:00 it would get towed because those are street cleaning hours, and mine got towed a time or two because I forgot! So that sound is forever engrained in my memory as the sound of DC street terror. That's all.

DBD #16 Cougar Feast: This DBD is brought to you by Tinder :) He was cute, 28, skiier, seemed funny via text, and then we met for thai food. The first 30 seconds of our date are as follows:

"Hi, I'm Monica, nice to meet you" followed by an awkward first date hug

"Hey, I'm [Cole]" his real name was Patrick

"So Monicccaaaa, you look younger than your age. Your profile said you were 24, 25 I think, but you look like you are 22." and then he winked. I knew it was all down hill from here because I wanted to poke his winking eye.

"Actually [Cole], I'm 31" his real name was Patrick

"Whoa! No way. So that makes you a cougar!" for those who don't know, a 'cougar' is a 45+ish woman who dates 20+ish men. I, am NOT a cougar, that little moron was only 3 years younger than me

"Wait [Cole], how old are you?" his real name is Patrick

"28, but I've never dated an older woman. This is cool."

It was a painful meal, and my perfect pad thai couldn't compensate for the cougar comment, his look of horror, nor the endless monologue of why he never wanted a "real" job because being a caddy meant he never had to wear a tie to work.

I've been in glorious Singapore for 10 months. Things that were once "new" to me, are now just perfectly normal. For example, it is normal to:

• have people on public transportation take pictures of you because you are taller than most, and more caucasian than most
• have a guy or girl or old woman spit a loogie on the pavement mid conversation
• have sweat run down your back anytime you are outside, even if it's 5am
• eat noodles with fish bits for breakfast
• and my personal favorite…..it is now perfectly normal to pay any bill at an AXS machine. cell phone, credit card, utilities, none of this can be done online! I get to go find one of these little machines every single month, for every single bill.

Hot Yoga: this doesn't sound right, not in Singapore. Just bending down to tie a shoe outside feels like hot yoga. Hot yoga sounds like an excuse not to use air conditioning! But there was a groupon, so why not. When I called to schedule my class, "yes Mr. Moore we have mats and towels here for you when you come" (pronouns can be so tricky on the phone). When I arrived, I was handed a small hand towel and found my mat. I looked around and everyone else had a full size towel on their mat, everyone but me. Towels are provided, for your face, not your mat, something they neglected to inform me. So to keep it short, it went like this, 3 minutes into the first pose, my sweat is dripping onto my mat. 4 minutes in I try to go into down dog and I step in my sweat and slip. Basically the next 56 minutes were no different. It was like yoga on a slip and slide…I was a hot mess. I was the only caucasian in the class, the instructor couldn't stop staring, and to make matters worse, I had makeup on, so by the time I was done with yoga, my mat was a Jackson Pollock-esque masterpiece of medium beige face sweat. But I will be back, with a towel, and a fresh face.

Control: it is one of my long time, on and off again, loves. Oh how I adore the crisp sharp feeling that comes from a life in which I have, total control. Oh how I bask in the personal gratification that fills me when I know I have complete control of a situation…..but what of life when it is spiraling like a kite without a string? What of me when the situation is jagged and seemingly awry at every turn like a hungry toddler at nap time? What then? ….well, then I realize I have been lying to myself and I never, nor do any of us, have control over life or situations. There is really truly only thing I have control over, my weather.  I cannot control who says what,  who does what, when the post will come, or how long the queue at the bank will be, I cannot control traffic, or train times, or the language comprehension of the guy on the other end of the customer service call, but I can control my reaction.  I can appear on site like a tsunami, taking no prisoners, showing no mercy, dominating the scene with great force. This will ensure my presence is known, but rarely if ever does this type of behavior rectify an issue. When a situation is less than prime, I can retreat and allow giant pools of lava to boil beneath my surface as I find refuge in bag of orange cheese flavored crispiness (cheetos, lays, ruffles, there are so many delightful choice), this will again, solve nothing. Storms come from time to time, that is true. Rain is necessary for growth; some tears are important. For the most part however, life is best on clear calm days. Sunny days, with a light breeze and mild temperatures. Life happens regardless, it takes no breaks, there are no time outs. Crisis' and joys will be unwavering and constant, and the only solace is sometimes found when I am at peace knowing full well I can control only one thing, my "weather".

DBD #15 not a full date, just a text: Sometimes normal really great guys, send Dive Bomb Texts! Not much description is needed, it's pretty awesome. The following is a conversation we had a few days ago. (I mention being 152, that's most likely only at 5am naked on a scale after peeing and not eating for a week.)  He is on the left, my responses are on the right Enjoy:

Nothing like adding a picture of a ripped athlete to make you feel awesome right? And this is why somedays I am slightly momentarily terrified, sure I should just accept my fate and start adopting babies and forget about dating….technology has ruined dating. At the click of a button you can show me where I could be…slick. Somebody please pass the nachos with a side of wings and mac and cheese. Andrea Ager, you are tight, but I am fine being a bit loosey goosey.

Singapore is small and so bustling, and most days I am in love with being here. It has allowed me beautiful introspection, growth in areas I thought that were deja grown, and a deeper appreciation for family and the importance of dear friends. These discoveries often come at this, my favorite time of day:

on the balcony at night when the weather cools, the day is done, one can fully exhale without distraction or menacing thought and just look at the beauty in the silence of the moment. Exhaustion fades, and gives way to a peaceful end of yet another day. 

So intstagram and Facebook and blogging mom friends of mine are always posting awesome smoothie recipes. "My kids love it and they didn't even know it was packed with kale", "Our awesome morning routine, I love my #blentec #soogood#healthnut" "Getting fit for summer with this awesome coconut water, chia, patchouli, squash, oregano, dill, berry shake #30hereicome, #takethatironman" okay those aren't real quotes but you get the idea. So tonight after a long swim, I was too tired to chew so I took what was in the fridge and blended the crap of it. Voila dinner:

1 avacado (cut the moldy bit off)

1 over ripe mango (peel first)

1/2 cucumber

1 really ugly frozen banana

1 of my roommates blueberry yogurts (that guy never takes out the trash, leaves the door unlocked, leaves his clothes in the wash for days! so I can't use the machine….he owes me! rant over)

1 small handful of mixed greens

3/4 c raw rolled oats

2 c H2O

mix on high for about 2 minutes. And enjoy…..actually no! What on earth made me think this would be awesome? This was the worst tasting smoothie ever, it looked like baby puke and had an overpowering overripe mango flavor, with a hint of spa day from the cucumber. #iwillneverbeasmoothieaholic. #seriousfail, #noiamnotasmoothiechef, #shouldveeatennoodles

just once i'd like to:

don't get any ideas, this isn't a bucket list of natural wonders I'd like to see before I die, think shallower, like more shot glass than bucket......just once I'd like to:

summer in the Hamptons*have a wild tantrum, like toddlers get to have all the time, in public*get in a police chase and drive real fast and furious*own those multi colored spikey Louboutins*drop on entire stack of dishes on a tile floor*attend the Kentucky derby wearing a fabulous hat*kiss a totally random hot stranger-without a wedding band-without hesitation in public*drop a water balloon of the Empire State Building*eat an entire package of oreos in a single sitting....wait, silly me, I've done that*look rocking hot and all ripped in a white bikini ....which will never happen (see previous statement for clarification)*have Kate Middleton ask me to come over just because she needs a friend*tase a rude teenager

There are those nights,
when the uneasy internal tremors are a bit more than usual.
When you feel the quakes,
and they quietly shake the very tears from your eyes.
In silent moment, helplessly frantic
to avoid full thought at any cost,
life unrelenting comes to a head
and everything combines in one glorious minor chord,
a twisted symphony that won't be silenced.
But dawn will come, and you will be more for
having let the melody play its course.

m.k

This photo has nothing to do with this post....I just adore this place....Henderson Waves, singapore.

Sparkletail: I love being wrong. LIES! that's a lie, and a truth at the same time. Let me explain.....I love thinking I know who I am and what I want, only to find that I was wrong! Only to realize that while yes, I am living and breathing, and aging, my character is as well, changing, living if you will.  Being out and away from everything familiar, everything comfortable, I am left most days with my own thoughts and very few distractions. Yes there is work, and meetings, and calls, and kitchens, and frosting, and and and, but it has been quite nice to have time with my thoughts. Time with just me. I should tune out more often. I digress....I always thought work would come first, I would be determined and focused and cut throat. I knew it....and I was wrong. As my professional life has matured, I realize work and opinions aren't the driving factors, people come first in my life. I am determined and focused and cutthroat at times, but I find that people matter to me more than most anything else. The products and the deadlines are crucial, but the person holds a greater weight. Sometimes you think you're a total badass....then you sit down and realize your really a pink unicorn with a sparkle tail on the inside.