The Pits.

Here’s something I would like to learn to do before I die: eat a grapefruit.

I’m not joking; I have no idea how to do it.

No matter how hard and try or what technique I use, all I ever seem to end up with is a pulpy mess, sticky fingers, and about two mouthfuls of fruit. Plus, I’m certain it’s disgusting to watch.

I’ve tried the use-a-spoon-to-eat-a-half technique, the peel-like-and-orange-and-eat-the-slices technique, and even the chop-into-bits-and-salvage-what-fruit-you-can technique. To no avail.

And thanks to Fresh Direct’s new policy of including seasonal fruits and vegetables free of charge in every order, I’m staring at four new reasons to renew my efforts in accomplishing this goal.

Well, three. I massacred one of them this morning.

Grapefruits: 1
Me: 0

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It’s a stretch at best

So some of you know that I attend yoga and pilates classes at my gym from time to time. I’ve always been more of a pilates person (I like the movements and the focus on my stomach and bum — though I know a yogi out there is going to tell me that yoga does this, too…), but my gym only offers pilates one night a week, and not until 8:30 at night — also known as the time I usually head HOME from the gym.

Result? I take about three yoga classes a week and the occasional pilates class. I’m not mad; yoga has actually grown on me quite a bit. The only thing I really can’t get comfortable with? The mindset.

People who do pilates are very different from people who practice yoga. For one thing, they practice yoga. It’s an experience. The poses have fancy names. It’s a spiritual connection with your body and energies and blah, blah, blah.

Needless to say, I feel differently.

I believe in learning to listen to your body. I recently read an article in a fitness magazine about how people who practice (ugh) yoga are less likely to overeat because they’re more atune to their body’s needs. I don’t have any science on me to back this up, but I do know that I used to be able to overeat fairly easily, and now I can’t. Does yoga deserve the credit? Maybe.

The thing I can’t get behind? The spiritual aspect. Now, of course this has to do with my own beliefs, but I also think it’s a little silly. Yes, yoga is good for stretching, muscle toning, and even in getting you to clear your mind and pay attention, but that’s it for me. Not knocking anyone else, just explaining.

People who do pilates? In my experience (and at my gym), they don’t take themselves nearly as seriously. Yes, they want to do the moves well and kick their butts into gear, but it’s more about the fitness than the experience. And that’s always been easier for me to get behind.

What I’m saying is, I’ll do your sun salutations (Surya-namaskar) and your downward dogs (Adho Mukha Svanasana) and your cobras (Bhujangasana), but I refuse to say the “ohms” on principle. A silly principle? Maybe.

But I come from the side that doesn’t take themselves so seriously, remember?

Most recent obsession

I don’t think I’ve posted about a nerdy thing I love since these pillows that I’m still silently coveting.

Well, that’s. About. To. Change.

Check it out, y’all. You should also just read the online version for good measure.

Don’t act surprised. You KNOW how I feel about the semicolon. And punctuation in general.

I know, I know, I’m the coolest person you know. I get that a lot.

New ‘do

Ok, the moment you’ve all* been waiting for…the hair reveal!

So as you can see, it’s not like BLINDINGLY blonde. It’s more coppery/reddish with blonde highlights. So no one (AKA, Shana and Jenny) should be freaking out. (Although it is a bit anticlimactic, isn’t it? If you want to see it before, go to my Get to Know Me section.) But it’s definitely lighter. Going blonde is a process unless you want to seriously destroy your hair. Which I don’t.

I’ll try to get a better picture in better light sometime soon, but for now, this will have to do.

Ok, we now return your to your regularly scheduled life.

*My parents. And Susan.

We’ve entered the stomach; next stop, heart.

So as you know, on Sunday I made the boyfriend dinner. This was momentous for two reasons:

1. I had never done this before. For really anyone besides Emma. Definitely not for a boy.

2. I decided to cook his two favorite foods: penne a la vodka and cheesecake. (But not just ANY cheesecake; peanut butter cheesecake. That was the “super-secret dessert.”)

Cheesecake, I discovered, is easy enough once you manage to track down the right pan. (Which is also what led me to discover Cheap Charlies — that’s really what it’s called. It’s this garage sale-like store with crowded aisles and floor-to-ceiling shelves of pretty much everything. Including spring-form pans.) Here’s how it’s done:

Take 2 pounds of cream cheese. (Yes, you read that correctly. TWO. POUNDS.)
Add about a cup of peanut butter.
Mix in sugar, flour, and eggs. Blend until smooth.
Bake for about an hour and a half in a water bath. (Tricker than it sounds. Wrap the pan in foil to keep water from leaking in.)
After you turn the oven off, leave the cheesecake in for another hour or so to cook all the way through. Then refrigerate overnight, if possible. (Doesn't it look cute hiding in there?)

So that’s really it.

The tricky part was the vodka sauce. The boyfriend has always made it quite clear that homemade vodka sauce never matches up with the kind he can get at a restaurant. I’ve had his favorite restaurant version, and it is seriously tough competition for a non-professional chef. The trick is getting it to the right thickness.

So with this is mind, I did my typical nerdy thing and researched. My final recipe was a combination of two I found online. My secret? Don’t be stingy with the cream and butter. (This is CLEARLY a heart healthy meal, right?)

The final result?

Pretty, ain't it?
He's very patient with my photo-taking obsession. But look, he's happy!

He took one bite, looked at me suspiciously, and subtly accused me of trying to trick him with a restaurant version. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a WIN. Combine that with the mind-blowing that happened when he found out there was such a thing as peanut butter cheesecake, and I think I have officially redeemed myself for not cooking him dinner in six months.

Cheesecake, served.
That's his 'Please stop taking photos of me. Please.' face. I have no idea why he likes me.
Oh right. THAT'S why.