Happy Baby Pose

I’m nearly always the first yogini to rouse from shavasana and jet out the door when class is over. It’s usually because I have to rush off to the next appointment, but not today. Today, it was because yoga actually put me in a worse mood. I was totally agro. I blame PMS; little mother f-er. Yes, I assure you, the hormonal repercussions of the monthly visitor can go on for weeks. A vicious cycle. Literally. 

It was also because I took a chance on a new instructor, only to be left in disappointment. Some instructors have rhythm; very fluid with their transitions from pose to pose. This one, did not. She also had an irritating voice; like she was trying obnoxiously hard to be soothing, but the intensity in her wide eyes was contradictory to her vocal inflections. She also talked to me like I was a child. Not feelin’ it. My gymnastics instructor, Ben, who normally works with kids, also claps for me when I do a good job on my mad tumbling tricks (like somersaults), as he would a child, but he doesn’t annoy me at all. His enthusiasm makes me giggle. Poor Ben. He’s had to deal with a hungover Angie and an emotional Angie the last two Friday’s. Such a trooper. And a kind soul. 

I was delighted when we took our final backbend because I knew the end was near. Besides the closing pose, the only good part about class today was my booty shorts. Luke washed these booty shorts for me, so every time I bent over and drew my face to my knees, my mind thought of Luke. Amazing how scents can do that. 

The moment I stepped out of class I turned Mr. Droid back on, only to see that my massage had been cancelled. My adductors are tight as hell (compliments of a workout provided by Sir Luke yesterday), so I was initially disappointed. I quickly diminished that disappointment with the opportunity to use two extra hours in my day. 

Instead of jumping in Mini to go home, I decided a stroll was in order. It was stormy out, but it didn’t bother me for a second. The wind was calming. The rain was serene. Plus, walking=bonus calorie burn. 

I moseyed down Queen Anne Ave and stopped by my bank to deposit checks, and then by the grocery store to get, what do you know, more egg whites. Oh yes, baby. I also needed more vegetables. I stood there in the vege aisle and for a brief moment I wondered if God had released a new green vege that tasted different than green beans, broccoli, asparagus, or spinach. Turns out, that was not the case. I stalked up on my regular greens. 

On the way back to Mini, my eyes shot into a local boutique. It smelled nice. And had bright colors inside. I was just in one of those moods; I ventured inside, only to leave with a new rock for my right pointer finger and overpriced tea lights that smelled of lemon and peppermint. God forbid I live without these treasures. 

Last night, for the first time in a very long time, I was able to frilly frolly around in a sexy nightie, with someone who noticed, who actually cared, and thought I looked beautiful. It was sheer but sweet. Not time for the French lingerie. Yet. 

I had a typical Monday; started my work at 6am and trained eight lovelies throughout the day to finish at 9pm. I also had my weekly Hot Mama class at noon. Mamas brought their babes to Full Circle; free to workout and nurse in a safe and loving environment. That’s what I want my gym to be; safe and loving. I want every single member to walk in knowing they are part of our family; that we are here to love on them and guide them in something extremely personal and extremely important: their health. 

My client this morning expressed that she has felt off for the last few weeks; vacations, lack of sleep, and being overcommitted will make anyone feel “off”. She said she was talking to her husband about it; that there was one thing stable in her life, keeping her going: Angie. My heart felt so warm hearing that. That just me being a friend to someone and providing a service that I love from the bottom of my heart, makes an impression. 

My loves trust me with their deepest insecurities; understanding where they are coming from is crucial in how I taylor my approach to get them to their healthiest and fittest state of body, mind, and soul. Body image is pivotal in how you carry yourself, how you build and keep relationships, how good your love life is, and many other important aspects of interaction.   

After torturing my last client of the evening, I zipped up to my apartment to grab a few overnight essentials (sheer nightie), and cruised with Mini over to Luke’s. I cranked “Airplanes” on the way over; that song is addicting, regardless of how overplayed it is. 

I opened his door to a spotless home; lit by the flickering of candles; enchanting music strumming at just the right volume. I could hear the guest bath tub being filled upstairs. I had mentioned, when we agreed I would come over that night, that I had not even showered since my first workout that day. And I worked out twice. Sweaty spandex. 

I floated upstairs and smelt the aromatherapy of bath salts before I even saw him; there he was, drawing the bath for me. Candles lit up the entire bathroom. He said he thought I might want to end my day by relaxing alone in the soothing warmth of a bath; that I had probably been on my feet all day and he thought it might be nice. Damn this boy is good. And he knows me way too well. I always end my day with a bath. It’s just how I roll. 

I smelt like I had spent hours at a day spa when I wrapped up my bath time. Much better than sweaty spandex. He smelled Luke-fresh when I walked downstairs to engage with him. Like I said, the only way to describe his scent, is heaven. 

He made me tea, and we connected; emotionally and physically. I was hesitant to stay the night, as my sleep is so precious to me and I didn’t know how well I would rest at his place. Turns out, I slept like a baby. A comforted, content baby. A happy baby.  

He said something to me that really stuck out; he said my body is the ideal body in his mind. It’s perfect. Every square inch. Now, I’ve already admitted that I, too, heart my body. I don’t think it’s better than anybody else’s; I just heart it. I take what my genetics offered up to me, and work to mold it into the strongest and healthiest physical being that it can be. But to receive praise from the man in my life; it means so much. It means so much because I spent three years with a man that told me I was too buff, too curvy, and too flat. A man that barely turned his eyes from Sportscenter when I pranced around in lacy lingerie. A man that only said he loved my body when my body fat was so low I lost my menstrual cycle. Imagine, just imagine, how that crushed my spirits. Every woman deserves a man in her life who will show adoration for her body. Don’t settle for a man too into the play of the day to grab your cute butt and pull it towards him. 

I left my charger at Luke’s house last night. I asked him to bring it by this morning, as I couldn’t possibly survive with a dead phone. Business owner suicide. He brought it by, in a bag full of Hershey’s kisses. I texted Mr. Chocolate that he’s killing me; he texted me back that he had to leave me with kisses. Killing. Me. 

So, here I am, typing away, on what feels like the first autumn evening of the season. And it’s still August. Luke is in the kitchen, grilling us bison burgers and blanching kale. We just returned from a twilight run around Discovery Park, cracked the fire, and spent hours lying on the magic carpet just listening to music. Just listening. We discovered new parts of each song together. “Eleanor Rigby” was my favorite song that came on during our listening sesh. Look at all the lovely people.

I couldn’t possibly conjure up a more perfect evening. Unless there was wine involved. No, not worth it. H2O is the way to go;  for the next five weeks. Happy place. Happy abs. Happy pose. 

It still seems a little too good to be true, but I’m going to run with it. I expressed this to my big sister; that I don’t know why God is blessing me so much. She replied, “God is blessing you because His love doesn’t change, babe.  It’s not conditional.  He’s going to bless you in your life, regardless of how much time you spend with Him or things done for Him.  I’m pretty sure all God desires is to know us more.  Which is totally weird to think about; you’d think He’d be so full of Himself. But all He wants…………is us.” So wise, that one.  

Now that I’m done blogging my life away, and Luke is still cooking away, I will continue to work on Full Circle’s business plan. 

I’m probably the first person ever to put “sexy tee shirts” as a part of a reach & repeat marketing strategy. I just wanted to be very clear that these are the clingy, velvety soft sexy tees we will be selling; not oversized, scratchy yucky tee-shirts that aren’t even cute enough to wear around the house. Sexy. Only.  

Ciao for now! 

Platonic? Puh-lease

I’ve been told, many a times, that I come off as a bitch at the gym. As you know, I have urgency behind everything I do; my days are timed to a perfect T so that I can fit in all required tasks. Therefore, I rarely take my ipod off at the gym. I just don’t have time for small talk. Time is money, people. Combine that with the pissed off look I radiate when I’m working out, aka: gameface, and naturally, I must be a bitch. 

But sometimes, on a rare occasion, like a saturday when I have hours to devote to the gym, I bare my ears and invite conversation. 

The first conversation was with Andrew; my three-month stint I ended a little over a month ago. I walked right up to him and threw my arms around him for a big, sweaty hug. I’m all about sweaty hugs. Seeing his crystal blue eyes did make my face light up; we exchanged stories about the excitement of our lives and I eventually excused myself as I needed to start my intense workout. You see, Andrew, like Luke, wanted to remain buddies. But it was different with Andrew; there was sex involved. I told him no on the friendship, as I would most likely attack him if we were ever alone. I am so, so glad Luke held back, as I would’ve lost another friend. 

The next conversation was in the weight room; I was approached by a gym member. This acquaintance is always very complimentary of my physical form; he said I am looking better than ever. I said thank you and longingly sighed. I explained the sigh was because I absolutely love my body right now, just love it. But it’s not a competition body, alas, much more hard work is in store. It’s the name of the game. He also asked if I was feeling alright, as he had read my blog that morning about my heartbreak; I thought it was very sweet. I said I am doing quite alright, and then I excused myself, pressed play to blast my eardrums with “I’m Back”, and continued on with my silly challenging circuit. 

I completely lifted the shit out of that circuit, and then made my way to the elliptical, where I found myself in yet another conversation. Before I was able to pop my earbuds in, I was hammered with questions by the older man next to me. He first asked how many hours I spend in the gym; I told him it really varies, as do my workouts. I have to fit in time for lifting, cardio, flexibility training (static and SMR), yoga, routine mandatories, and routine choreography. He asked if I was a bodybuilder; I said no, I am a fitness competitor. I then described the differences. He then asked if I have to do crazy diet tricks the last few days before the show to make my muscles pop; I said I have to dehydrate myself, and that is one of the reasons why being a fitness competitor is so challenging. We have to show up the day of the show, malnourished, and be strong, enthusiastic, dynamic athletes. He then asked if I ever live a little; I told him I would be partaking in wine that evening, for the very last time. I swear. He told me good work; I said thank you and then excused myself and popped my earbuds in, as I wanted to listen to the songs in my routine and start envisioning the choreography. This act of envisioning often turns into a dance party on the elliptical; I danced my way through thirty minutes on dat bad boy. 

I then needed to wrap up on the stairmaster, where I decided to focus and return emails instead of jam out; my naked ears invited more conversation from the woman next to me. After a few minutes of climbing next to her, I heard her snicker; it was the type of muffled laugh that I assumed I was supposed to inquire about. I asked her what was so funny, and she said she was very amused by the old men walking by, checking out my ass. I cracked a smile and said “typical”, and then remarked that my tiny, flashy spandex could be an open invitation. Could be. She said she would don an outfit like that if she could. I told her she could, and she laughed again. I told her to enjoy her day, and then I carried on with my business, fluttering my fingers across my touch screen. Multitasking, as always. Not the best situation, though, because my touch screen freaks out when sweat drips on it. That’s when I know it’s time to chill the f out, and maybe just try to accomplish one thing at one time. Pssshh, yeah right. 

I spent extra time in the cardio room anticipating my last planned  (keyword: planned) cheat meal before the Ironman. Once again, it would entail a lovely evening with Luke. He had been conjuring up this sexy meal to prepare for myself and several close friends all week, and as we decided to remain friends, I remained on the guest list. 

I arrived before everyone else, to get some one-on-one time with Luke. It was the first time I saw him in person since the email; the email that crushed my hopes for us as a couple. 

I helped myself into his home and strutted in wearing killer, I mean just killer, skinny jeans. They are called the “pull-on jean”; absolutely, fantastically perfect for grasping on to my bodaciousness. I highly recommend them for girls packing junk in the trunk. 

He embraced me in a long hug, and as I started to pull away, he pulled me closer to hug a little longer. I could tell he cared for me. A lot. He then poured me a full glass of red wine, and I took a front row seat to watch him cook. And this boy can cook. Can he ever.  Chop, chop. 

He started the party off with some sort of puff pastry filled with olives, I couldn’t even tell ya, except that it was crunchy delight in my mouth. That was the first appetizer. He then put together flavorful and artistic salads: tomatoes, strawberries, basil, and goat cheese.  Then came my favorite part: the apple and goat cheese tart. Ode Joy. I demolished that, and then it was time for the main course: fresh salmon and asparagus, seasoned and grilled to perfection. Luke made banana bread for dessert, but of course did not neglect the port wine and both milk and dark chocolate. Little mother f-er; f-ing with my competition prep (PMS AND Luke). Goodbye abs, seeya again after a few cardio sessions and low carb days. 

Throughout this amazing dinner, chatting was going on all around us, and Luke was gettin’ dirty in the kitchen, but he kept gazing up at me to make eye contact. We locked hopeful eyes, over and over again. I was like, dammit, Luke, WHY are you giving me those goddamn James Dean glossy eyes after you made your platonic feelings so f-ing clear? It killed me. But I wasn’t going to attack; I had no she-wolf in me. Hard to believe, I know. But I just wasn’t going to go there; couldn’t face the rejection again. 

When our beautiful meal was over, the party gathered in the living room to enjoy more laughter, more discussions, and mango hookah. The hookah was so smooth and so, so delicious. It was like a fifth dessert for the evening. Except it was calorie-free. Oh, hells yes. Mas, por favor. 

Luke turned his apron in and joined me on the couch; it only felt natural to snuggle and nuzzle. And caress. And playfully kiss. And bite. Just a little. 

Amber went out of town this weekend before I gave her the key to my belt. Oh, shit. 

Without turning this blog into soft-core porn, as that was certainly never my intention... lack of sexual chemistry MY ASS!!! 

So, here I am, typing away, hungover as shit, for the last time, I swear. Smitten as a wittle kitten, again. Off to yoga and more cardio, again. And business planning, again. 

Luke washed my yoga-wear with his secret laundry detergent; it smells like heaven. That’s how he smells. Like heaven. Like, frolicking through the springtime forest, organic milk chocolate twisted with hazelnut flavor, mango hookah, heaven. 

Ciao for now! 

Strictly Platonic

I tried out this new thing on my run this morning: I smiled and whispered “g’mornin” to every single runner and biker heading in the opposite direction as me on the Elliot Bay Trail. My run was more joyous, therefore, I will continue this gesture from now on. 

After I kicked it off with my Coldplay opener, my ipod shuffled to “The Space Between”. A little Dave in my ears, a little rain trickling down the back of my neck, a little Puget Sound to my left, a little Space Needle to my right, a little Starbucks to congratulate me at my ending; I was just oozing Seattle.  Sweating it, actually. 

I heart Seattle. Big time. Whenever I leave for the weekend and am returning, and I make that slight bend around I-5 that exposes the indescribable skyline welcoming me home, I get nostalgic. 

I hear many complaints about the gloomy weather; it never stops. The weather or the complaining. I am not one to let the weather determine my mood. You can have the same day if it’s raining out that you can have when it’s sunny out. It’s just a decision. Life is too short to let the forecast determine whether or not you are going to spend every waking moment as happy as possible. I actually prefer the rain. I get strongly perturbed when the Fremont and Ballard bridges are up every ten seconds on a cloudless day. I’ve got places to go, people. Mini gets very impatient, too. 

Among various questions I pondered on my run this morning, one decision I came to is that I am locking the chastity belt on. Click. And giving the key to Amber. Because I trust her, and she keeps me grounded. As grounded as one can keep me. So logical, that one. She thinks with her head; I think with my heart. And with my pleasure-giving neurotransmitters. 

I decided this because I looked back on the incredible relationship I had with James,  and how we held off on sex until knowing each other on a very spiritual level. Our love was limitless before we introduced intimacy; I decided this would we the best approach with Luke, as I already cherish his friendship deeply. The email from my sister didn’t hurt, either. So wise, that one. 

I then decided I need new double-a batteries, and perhaps a trip to Broadway.

The last song I listened to on my run was "Don't Let Me Fall". I was thinking to myself how good life is, almost scary good. Like something is about to go wrong. What goes up, must come down; but don't let me fall. 

I had a wonderful day yesterday that culminated in yet another wonderful night with Luke. 

My day began, once again, with a run outside. My 6 and 7am’s had both cancelled, providing ample time for me to burn some calories in the fresh air before my 8am. Contrary to popular belief, running (without complementary strength training and diet), will not give you the body of your dreams. The reason it is so crucial to my training right now is because I need to strip size, and strip it fast. Especially off my legs. They’re friggin’ tree trunks. And running does that better than any cardio machine, in my professional opinion. 

It was one of those runs that I wished had no time limit, but alas, it did, and I made it home with just barely enough time to get glamourous. I needed to be extra glamourous because later in the morning I was getting my photos taken to be a featured female entrepreneur in the next edition of Crave Seattle. It sure felt good to have a reason to doll-up my spandex with some teased hair, fake eyelashes and chunky jewelry. Once a pageant girl, always a pageant girl. The bigger the hair, the closer to God. 

After the shoot and a few more lovelies, it was time for my weekly date with Liam, one of my massage therapists. He completely destroyed me with his deep tissue, as always, and left me slightly nauseous, as always. And, as always, I thanked him and let him know that was the most action I have gotten in, oh, nearly six weeks. I made him feel awkward with my comment, as always, and sent him on his way so I could conduct my next order of business; an owner’s meeting at Full Circle. 

I wasn’t super absorbed in the meeting, because I was excitedly anticipating another date night with Sir Luke: yoga and movie. It’s tough to put on my business face when I’m a silly sally. 

Luke suggested we see Eat. Pray. Love. after our hot yoga session. He also mentioned that he watched Pride and Prejudice that morning, by himself, just because. He simply enjoys drama and travel; I love his openness to just be. Just be, Luke. 

I took it upon myself to get our tickets online before he could. I’m like that; I love treating when I can. Luke has been spoiling me lately, no doubt, and while I appreciate a man who will spend on his woman, I too, like to take care of my man. Nonetheless, chivalry is not dead. Oh, hell no. 

We poured out sweat and contorted our bodies in fabulous ways together at yoga. When the class was over, he said he was admiring my body; how the curves glistened in the poses. Aw, hope again, for the chance that he may want to admire it more closely later on. We then returned to his home to shower (separately, mind you). He made sure my tummy was well-fed with protein goodness, and then I jazzed myself up with a long, curve-hugging, cotton dress and bling bling to match. He said he felt underdressed; I said get used to it. If I’m not in spandex, I’m dressed to the nines. It’s the extremeness coming out of me again. 

As I was buckling on my sassylicious stilettos, he commented that he has a fetish for shoes; especially when they are the only thing a woman is wearing. I quickly diminished the lovely fantasy brewing in my mind. “Keep your pants on!”, the angel on my shoulder told me. Funny thing was, I wasn’t wearing pants. Not even panties. Forgot to pack ‘em. Standard. 

Hand in hand, we entered the theater and walked by the speakeasy-ish bar inside. We already discussed and agreed that my alcohol intake is done until October. Competition is way too close. And I’m still way not lean enough. No more f-ing around. We found our seats and then Luke excused himself, only to return with two fine shots of tequila. Boy, does he know me well. 

I was amused that Luke wanted to get liquor in my system. Normally, a man will keep a drink in my hand at all times to up his chances of bringing me home. But I knew this was not the case with Luke, as his intentions with me have been made screamingly loud and clear. What’s funny is that I offered to keep buying HIM drinks, as I wanted to up my chances for fireworks at the end of the night. He turned me down; this boy was totally on to me. I am such a dude sometimes. 

We cozied up, held hands, and rubbed thighs during the movie. I felt so close and comfortable with him; can’t believe I’ve only known him ten days. 

The movie was about a woman who lost all fire for life, so she peaced out, ditched her material possessions, and searched for deeper meaning through her travels. To learn all over again. To find passion again. To love again. It didn’t surprise me one bit that Luke wanted to see this movie; it is comparable to his plans for Australia. 

We returned to his place after the movie and clinked our protein blender bottles to cheers to our lovely night. And I ate a few spoonfuls of natural peanut butter. Whoopsies. 

He then walked me to my car, and sent me on my way with a kiss on the cheek goodbye. I felt slightly defeated, but made my way home. I tried to shake the defeat with a dirty text about me wearing only those shoes, but no response. I decided he must be asleep already.

After my run this morning, I hustled my ass to make it to a meeting with a local entrepreneurship mastermind. My partner and I met with him to discuss the financials of Full Circle; we began discussing our income statement, balance sheet, and cash flow. I reverted to the knowledge I had gained in these areas at the U, but, unfortunately, it was during these lessons that I was either a) hungover as all hell, or b) too busy daydreaming to give a shit. I never skipped classes, but I was rarely immersed in any class. Unless the prof was a looker. 

It was during this meeting that I received a good morning email from Luke; I made the mistake of checking it during the meeting. The words on the email made my jaw drop, my heart fall out of my chest, and my stomach crumble. I struggled immensely to keep myself on planet earth for the last twenty minutes of the meeting. 

The email went a little something like this:

“So this conversation we've been having about sex and why I'm not equally as eager to tear off your clothes as you are mine...Well, you know how you mentioned in your blog that you thought I might be gay...I'm NOT!  (had you for a minute there didn't I?)  Very sorry about all the comedy/levity, but I'm really trying to keep this light hearted.  Anyways, I've wracked my brain on what the hell is up, because it's true that I think you have an AMAZING body, an incredibly smack-able ass, you're very pretty, vivacious, and bubbly, kind, generous, you seem to like the food I cook, AND peanut butter (huge points for that!), you’re fun.....and even SEXY!  And yet despite all these fabulous things about you, I really am struggling to feel sexual energy toward you.  I just don't really feel it.  There.  I've gone and said it. I really wish I could, but unfortunately, chemistry just isn't something that can be manufactured or wished into existence.  If that was the case, I would manifest it, trust me.  I see the disappointment in your eyes every time we hug and kiss goodnight- a feeling that you want a deeper something (that I'm not able to deliver), and know that you're feeling let down each time.  I don't want to let you down, Angie.  You totally want and deserve a guy who cannot keep his paws off of you!  You're f*cking hot! That's the glue that holds all the other stuff together.

Now let me tell you what I DON’T want.  I don't want to stop hanging out with you!  I love love love our time together and feel like you and I will be extremely close friends, if you'll allow it.  We have so damn much in common, and the affection I feel for you is like that of a close friend and a sister.  Seriously!  I'm not sure how you're going to take this, or if you'll feel the same way about wanting to maintain a friendship, but I promise you this, I will be a true friend to you, will jump through hoops to help you if you ever need it, and I will ALWAYS have your back.  That's no bullshit.  I'm crazy loyal like that.   

Just like that guy in that film said, everyone we encounter in life is our teacher, and I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Angie Lewis!  I bet there is a lot that we can learn from each other, if we give our friendship a chance. I admire your enthusiasm, your good nature, and your can-do attitude (AND your ability to say F- it and live in the moment when you want to. That's so rare.)  I'm aware that we may be in different spaces in our lives right now, and whatever you decide, I respect you.  Call me selfish, but I really want you to be a part of my inner-circle posse, and I want to be a part of yours ;-)  I hope you agree.”

I have never, ever experienced this response from a man. Ever. Once, a frat boy I was into told me he was only attracted to blondes; I called bullshit on that one. And made him like me, regardless. Key word: made. I come on strong. So sue me. 

Initially upon reading this, I wasn’t sure how to feel. Bummed? Definitely. Rejected? Maybe. Shocked? Not really. 

It simply was too good to be true; thus, I was not shocked. Luke, as I previously mentioned, instantly captivated me. So much in common, it blew my mind. His goddamn Jude Law-ish looks, and those James Dean glossy eyes. Just. Too. Good.

I called Luke and agreed that giving up our friendship would be too much of a loss; he is cooking dinner for us tomorrow night. I momentarily wished he would’ve just let me get on my knees and convince him that he surely could feel something. Oh, you better believe he would’ve felt something. But, nah, it’s time to retreat. And be a good friend. 

He was right about one thing, though. He did break my heart, just as he said he would. I didn’t expect it quite so quickly. But he did it quicker to lessen the pain, because that’s the kind of guy he is. 

I was en route to my gymnastics lesson when we ended the call; I turned on “Love the Way You Lie” and let it out. Loud, choking, gasping sobs. Partially from the situation with Luke, partially because I’m still PMSing. Little mother f-er (PMS, not Luke). The last time I can remember crying like that is when I made the final call to end things with Apollo. It was bad; I was hoping my neighbors wouldn’t come check on me to see if I was dying. 

Found out what was bothering Apollo at the gym that lonely Saturday night. Turns out, he did something awful to someone in his inner circle. Doesn’t surprise me. I began to think of the awful things he was capable of doing to me during our time as a couple, but I quickly decided it’s not good for my soul to think of the possibilities. Thank you, Jesus, for protecting my heart so that my ability to love whole-heartedly and willingness to trust unconditionally were not damaged from that relationship. 

I didn’t feel like a celebrity leaving gymnastics today; I had my sunroof popped and my aviators on, but this time, instead of covering up my tired, hungover eyes like last week, they were covering my sad, puffy eyes. Instead of my Swagga playlist, I clicked on my Gameface playlist. I blasted “On to the Next One” and instantly felt empowered. On to da next, on on to da next. 

So, here I am, typing away, alone on a Friday night, re-focusing my thoughts and goals. Yet again, I am crushless. And yet again, it surely won’t last long, given my track record. 

Just got a text from Justin, my perfect rebound, inviting me out in Belltown. Random nation; haven’t heard from him in months. I haven’t responded.  

My to-do list is so overwhelming, I don’t even know where to begin. Obviously, writing this blog beat out updating Full Circle’s business plan, returning emails, and paying bills. Priorities, people. 

Ciao for now! 

Eager Bunny

Today, I did something completely uncharacteristic and utterly American: I had a vente americano for breakfast. Granted, I took extra Catalyst to ensure the maintenance of my beautiful muscle, but it was so unlike me. Sometimes, I’m just like, screw you egg whites. 

The truth is, I ate like a fiend last night when I got home from an evening with Luke. He cooked yummylicious thai lettuce wraps, but I was still left with an emptiness inside of me. PMS=bottomless stomach. Little mother f-er; f-ing with my competition prep (PMS, not Luke). I plowed through three servings of Muscle Gain and probably a whole cup of oats. At midnight. Literally, 600+ calories right before bed, which I decided could count as my breakfast this morning, since I only awoke four hours later. Sometimes, I’m just like, screw you hormones. 

I move fast. In everything I do. I have a sense of urgency. In everything I do. It’s what makes me a good businesswoman. Unfortunately, it carries over into my approach to relationships. Apollo told me to stop thinking about men as one of my to-do lists; finding the right man is not the same as landing a business deal. He has a valid point; I make separate to-do lists for every one of my businesses. And then I make to-do lists to make to-do lists. 

Also unfortunate, in some instances, is my libido. It’s just stupid, stupid high. Sky high. Lifting weights will do that to ya. So will being comfortable in your skin and confident in your abilities. Out. Of. Control.  

I’ve now been celibate for five weeks. Holy moly. Definitely the longest duration of sexlessness in my life since I lived in Milan. Webcamming and pre-recorded home videos totally don’t count; although, they got me through those dark times. So did Mr. Blueberry. 

Luke and I enjoyed yet another lovely evening together last night. What we we haven’t enjoyed, however, is our naked bodies. I mean, each other’s. 

For only knowing him a little over a week now, we’ve actually enjoyed quite a few moments together. Sweat sessions at my gym, at yoga, and at the track; dinner with his friends, bbq with my friends, and sharing our music with one another. He’s like my new buddy...my new partner in crime...almost like, dare I say, my gay friend? Except we hug and kiss at the end of the night. 

Here’s the thing: Luke is very in touch with his feminine side. He is perfectly groomed, he likes to cook, he likes to bake, his home is immaculately clean and is decorated like it was featured in a magazine spread. He loves fashion, he loves fancy, he loves sexy, he loves art and music. He doesn’t watch sports. He knows the SATC characters. He says thank you when I give him kisses. It makes my lips curl up, every time. 

One may start jumping to conclusions, but I did not, as my eldest brother is quite similar, and quite straight. I think it’s a musician thing. And I saw Luke check out my ass, just a glance. 

You know what’s interesting is that I also questioned Apollo’s preference when I first met him, because of how he was put together; and then I saw an ESPN magazine in his car, and decided I was good to go. 

Oddly enough, James was also one of the girls. He was the guy with more girlfriends than guys. The one girls went to for advice. The one that would rather play sax than sports. Nonetheless, he too, was turned-on by women. 

Last night I found myself in a similar position with Luke as the last few nights we have spent together: straddling him, with my clothes on. I was burying my kisses in his sweet-smelling neck, waiting for him to make the next move. I was raring to go. 

He slapped my ass and told me I have a very smackable booty. I agreed, and told him he can smack it again. And again. He said I have one of the sexiest bodies he has ever seen. I said thank you, and thought to myself, WHY don’t you want to see it in its organic form! Hellloooooo, nurse. 

I thought this, and then I just decided to say it. Life is too short to not say what’s on your mind. 

“Luke, I want to rip off your clothes. I’m wondering why you don’t want to do the same?” 

Luke preceded to tell me that he’s going to break my heart. It wasn’t even a maybe. It was a statement, “Angie, I’m going to break your heart.”  

My mind immediately started bumping “Break Your Heart”. Whooooaaaa. 

My initial reaction was confusion; then it shifted to challenging. It’s true, I always get my heart broken. I never break hearts. It breaks my heart to break hearts. Actually, I broke James’ heart. I was confused, then. Much of life is about timing. 

Luke said I wear my heart on my sleeve (duh). I said I can’t help it; it’s who I am. If I’m falling, you’ll know it. I’m a lover. I have a lot of love in my heart. And I’m a giver. I want to give my all. 

You know what is so sad? It’s so sad that I am so used to being taken advantage of, I was SHOCKED he didn’t want to throw me on my back (or side, or on all fours, or over the couch, etc.) and have at it. Shocked. Clearly, I have not been respected for what I’m worth. And clearly, Luke is an awesome dude. He is only watching out for me- and him. 

So, as my good friend, Amber, always says, it’s time for me to pump the breaks. Don’t love-tap the breaks, pump ‘em. 

My good friend, God, tells me the same thing. Patience, Ang.

My good friend and sister, Melody, tells me the same thing. In fact, it’s as if she knew exactly what was on my heart today, because I just received this email from her an hour ago: 

“Sis, I’m reading a book called, “Bringing up Girls.”  Working on how to raise my daughter. 

There are a few pages on a study that a psychiatrist from UCLA’s Student Psychological Services Division,  did on how casual sex affects our brains.  The doctor talks about how they can examine a person’s brain directly using MRIs, PET scans and other imaging technology.  Shows the wiring of the brain and how it functions.

Three neurotransmitters in the brain:  Dopamine, oxytocin, and vasopressin. The chemicals explain why sex partners often have “flash backs” or recurring memories of that first experience that make them want to continue having sex.  These chemicals in the brain operate to give pleasure during sex and then bond you with your partner emotionally.  If a person has multiple partners outside of marriage, the bonding mechanism is interfered with and he or she loses the ability to connect in the same way.  Basically, the more sex you have, the weaker the bond with whoever you marry.  Illustration?  The band aid.  The first time you put it on, sticks firmly.  Each time you pull it off and put it back on, the stickiness gets weaker and it will no longer stay in place.

So they did these tests right? And found that you can actually see brain activity when a person is lusting.  When a person is experiencing genuine love a different part of the brain is stimulated, and it shows up on PET scans.

Summary:  When a couple has a sexual experience but then does not stay together, it affects both of them emotionally, which then tinkers with the function of pleasure-giving neurotransmitters.  That, in turn, rewires the brain.  The bond that should occur in marriage is weakened.

Don’t tinker with your pleasure-giving neurotransmitters, Sis! 

Protect your future marriage. If I can eat eggs whites with no salt and no butter, and plain oatmeal and salads every day, take supplements, and work out my body every day, then you can withhold yourself from sex.

The Bible talks a lot about sex.  1 Corinthians 6:18 says, “All other sins a man commits are outside his body, but he who sins sexually, sins against his own body.”

Don’t damage your body, sis.  Don’t damage your emotions.  When you let that desire go, God will bring you the desires of your heart and bless your socks off with a fabulously perfect husband.  He is going to be amazing.

You are one heck of an incredible woman. I’m always impressed with you.  The plans that God has for you are bigger and more unbelievable than you even know.  He desires you.  He LOVE LOVE LOVES you.  He wants you.

I love you, Ang.  Excited to hang with you next weekend and be outside, swim, and lay out in the sunshine.

Kisses.” 

I love my sister. 

I channeled all that giddiness from last week into the inspiration I needed to finally start my routine for the competition. I’m integrating gymnastics, break dancing, and typical Angie flavor (hair flips, booty shakes, and random MJ-ness that comes out of me) to a mix of “Love The Way You Lie”, “Whatever You Like”, “Kashmir”, “She Wants to Move”, and “Not Myself Tonight”. Honestly, I haven’t even had the track mixed yet, but these songs paint my vision thus far. 

I met with a local breakdancer yesterday; he taught me some freezes and cool “tricks”. I whipped some advanced shit out in no time; one move he said had taken him years to get down, and I nailed it. That was rad. It will be even more rad when I lose these last 15 pounds. Easier to hold myself up, ya know? Midnight binges on oatmeal and protein powder aren’t helping my efforts. 

So, here I am, typing away, sore as shit, per usual. About to strip down for my naked nap before I hit cardio, per usual. Taking a more relaxed approach to men, not per usual. 

Ciao for now! 

Smitten Kitten

I’ve been a silly-sally this week. Could be the magic carpet ride, or could be the fact that I finally lost a few and my thighs aren’t rubbing together quite as much. Either way, I’m giddy as hell. 

Do you ever go to bed excited for the next day and just want sleeping to be over with so that a new day can begin? Lately, I’ve been waking up far before my alarm clock tells me to, eager to start the day. I actually get disappointed when it’s not time to start. So, unlike a normal person who would roll over and go back to bed, I rebel and start my day regardless. Even if it is 3:30am. I had one such day on Thursday morning. 

I woke up long before sunrise and took my pre-workout supplements in preparation for my morning run: Advocare’s MNS Max E, Slam, Spark, Catalyst, Clear Mood, A-Supreme, and my thyroid medications. As my supplements settled, I cleaned my apartment. I tell ya, even a 1-bedroom is tough to maintain. I focused this particular cleaning session on my bathroom; it’s usually time when the counter is coated in a layer of bare minerals. I then made note to find the number of a house cleaner. 

My supplements hit me twenty minutes later. It’s not a scary hit by any means, it’s like a hit of energizing happiness; preparing my mind, body, and soul for the physical demands of the day. I threw on my bright, plaid lulu running shorts and bra top. I dig when it’s warm enough to run sans shirt. Excitement washed over my face as I realized my size 8 shorts were no longer cutting into the fat on my sides. Sweet success. 

I begin every run outside with “Viva La Vida” chiming in my ears. This gorgeous song paints a positive picture in my mind; a positive picture I want to carry throughout the day when the run is over and appointments, computer work, and further workouts consume me. 

I decided to make this run a hilly run. Get some glute action. Love me some glute action. I headed for Queen Anne and made it up to the top. It was just me and a couple buses making early routes. The rest of the city was sleeping. And then I had a moment. One of those moments when all you can do is start praying to thank God for what He’s blessed you with. Tears swelled up in my eyes and I shifted my running to a brisk walk. Sometimes I’m just so overwhelmed with all the goodness in life, I really don’t know what to think, so I give thanks. 

I rallied my sappy self back to my apartment and decided an americano was in order. Yes, I am a caffeine-aholic. Yes, my adrenals are shot. I wasn’t even sure if Starbucks was open it was so damn early, but they didn’t fail me, and sent me on my way with a warm treat to soothe my soul. 

So, that new man I met last Sunday on a magic carpet? Turns out, it was truly that: magical. 

Firstly, this was a blind date. Well, as much of a blind date as Facebook allows these days. I was told to add him as a friend by my Advocare advisor and client, Holly. He was also one of her Advocare advisors and she said that when she met him for the first time she instantly thought of me. 

I added Luke and gave him my number. I really make it easy on guys. I just think life is too short to not go after potential. Potential is found few and far between. 

A week and a half later, I got a text inviting me to meet him on Sunday. I agreed, but mentioned that I am competing and thus cannot partake in fine food or drink. He promised to only serve carrots and protein shakes. He was already catching on to me.

I then took it upon myself to do some brief Facebook stalking of his profile. What I gathered was that he was unabashedly good-looking; a classic look. A James Dean-ish look. Very stylish and fit. I also gathered that he was a musician. And 31 years old. Hello, points. 

I was getting my hair done on the Friday before our date, and it just so happened that a mutual friend who knows Luke is a hairdresser at the salon I go to. I told her I was going to meet Luke on Sunday and she gushed, “Oh, Luke! Such a sweet guy. So handsome...so thoughtful.” I then asked why he’s 31 and single, if he’s got so much going for him, to which she replied, “He is verrrrrrry picky.” Great. That’s good to know, going into a blind date. I then made note to get a tan and my eyebrows waxed to up my hotness a little bit. Couldn’t hurt. 

I was really looking forward to Sunday. That date was the only planned distraction from my business and workouts for the entire week. 

I had this sassy little summer number to wear; eclectic, flirty, silk, and just the right amount of showy. I also had perfectly matching earrings and a chunky ring to complement it, of course. 

I completed my hair and makeup, soft but glamourous, and then started tackling the dress. Literally, I tackled it. I lost a few pounds, but apparently was still cutting it close with this one. For ten minutes I sweated it out, trying to zip this damn thing. I tried different angles, I even had a conversation with it, “You WILL get on my body, dammit!”. Now I was almost running late. I refused to secede. I gave it one last chance and, baby, I got it on. Whew! Close one. I might’ve been forced to wear one of my other twenty thousand summer dresses instead. 

I hopped in Mini and blasted “I Gotta Feeling”. I did have a feeling. 

I arrived at the park and as soon as I stepped out of my car, I saw a big smile and a big wave from a super adorable male walking in my direction. Luke greeted me with a hug and told me to follow him to the magic carpet. I instantly felt comfortable with him. Still nervous, but comfortable. 

We walked through the park to the carpet together, which of course was a setting for our picnic, and he began talking away. So bubbly. So smiley. So freaking hot. He told me he drank two Sparks before he came, because he had a long day. He was already speaking my language. I speak Spark. He apologized for not having it all out and ready; he had been bustling around to get there on time. I told him it was certainly not a problem, and thought to myself that a man has never done something this thoughtful for me in years, let alone someone I don’t even know! He then apologized for not changing into the shorts he was planning to wear because he got too busy. I thought his soft, white shirt and Diesel jeans looked absolutely quite alright. 

He said he was really excited about the dinner he prepared; that he stayed up late the night before just making a special pesto sauce for the main course. He totally reminded me of my big brother, Shawn, as I could tell he delighted in the creation and presentation of good food. 

He said everything he cooked was completely clean, and even so, I didn’t have to eat anything that wasn’t conducive to my fitness goals. So thoughtful. He brought water and green tea to drink- and wine, just in case. He didn’t even bring a wine opener, as he presumed I wouldn’t have any and he wasn’t about to drink without me. 

I wanted wine. He opened the wine with a knife, providing laughs as I watched him pull this one off. It tasted like velvet. So, so good. Perhaps because it was complemented with good company, or perhaps because I hadn’t partaken in wine for several weeks. Or perhaps, because he has fabulous taste in wine. Regardless, it was delightful. And definitely not on my meal plan. Sometimes, life happens. 

Also delightful was the appetizer he prepared: ahi tuna with a special sauce he whipped up. He sprinkled a garnish on the ahi, to ensure it’s quality appearance and taste. He even brought chopsticks. This boy doesn’t miss a beat. 

He brought his ipod player to set the mood with music, but we never used it, as there was never a need to fill a gap or silence from our engagement in conversation. 

We had a lot to talk about. He’s avid about fitness, he practices yoga, he loves to cook healthy things and understands the importance of supplementation, he’s a businessman, he’s a musician, he loves to travel, and he loves nice things. And he's goofy. I love someone who can laugh at themselves. It is both wonderful and eery how much alike we are. 

The entire time we were sitting there I felt something I hadn’t felt on a date for a very long time: he was INTERESTED in ME. Like, not getting me to go home with him at the end of the night. He actually wanted to see what the inside of Angie was all about. In fact, my dress was super low-cut and never once did he lose eye contact with me. He even said he didn’t read my blog, as he wanted to experience the real thing in person. So refreshing. But honestly, I couldn’t tell if he was interested in anything besides making a new friend. Hard to read, this one. 

Not long after we finished his perfectly presented bison kabobs and broccolini, the sun had set. He asked me what time it was and I told him 9:10. He said we still had time to make it to St. Mark’s cathedral for the Sunday night chant service. I didn’t know what that entailed, but I was so down. 

We quickly gathered up the picnic, polished off our glasses of wine, and hopped in his sporty Lexus to speed up to Capital Hill. His car had more get-up than Mini; I was so down with that. 

You know what I’m not down with? Wearing my seat belt. I hate it. Always have. My parents never enforced wearing it, and I liked it that way. His car started beeping at me in annoyance to my disregard for the seat belt. Luke said he hates wearing seat belts too. We decided to let the beeping continue until it gave up all hope in an effort for us to obey the law. This boy was right up my alley. 

We made it to the church and heard the chanting hymns through the doors. We made our way inside and laid on our backs, staring up at the timber ceiling together, side by side. It was intimate, but not sexual. We were connected in a different way. It was like we were two good friends on an adventure discovering new, beautiful things about life. And appreciating the artistic sounds of the melodies coming from the men's choir. 

When the service concluded, Luke and I concluded that our night was not ready for conclusion. We plotted to pick up more wine and chocolate. It’s totally cool, I was still 7 weeks out from competition. He’s going to be dangerous, though. I’m already seeing a pattern of our love for these fine things. 

I let him choose the treats, as I knew he had more experience than I, and we made our way back to the park where we originated the evening. 

With the magic carpet packed up, we made our way to a bench that overlooked the water and had a front row seat to the stars. They were bright and lovely. I mentioned that I couldn’t remember the last time I made time to just gaze at stars. Sometimes the little things in life can truly bring so much peace. 

At this point I still couldn’t decide if he was interested in anything more than being my friend. 

I decided either, a) he’s gay, or b) he’s a very, very rare perfect gentleman. I banked on the latter, as I am a positive, hopeful individual. And I saw him check out my legs, just a glance. 

It wasn’t until the breeze picked up that he made a move by wrapping his arm around my bare shoulders. Before our night was over, I was straddling him (with my clothes on, mind you) on that bench. I’m fairly certain I went in for the first kiss (I’m a go-getter like that), but I’m not totally sure because I was a bottle deep at that point. So fun. And tame. For me. 

We knew we eventually had to end the night, as we planned an early workout together the next morning at Full Circle (a workout with me; my true test for eligible bachelors). He walked me to my car, like a perfectly behaved boy, and I grabbed him for one more lip-lock, and grabbed his ass a little, like a perfectly turned-on girl. Meow. 

I’ve loved every second getting to know Luke in the first week of our friendship. 

What I’ve gathered is this: he’s the type of man that would watch the woman he loves as she peacefully sleeps, with a soft smile on his face. The type that thinks you’re more beautiful without makeup on, and the type of man that can walk into a room full of strangers and light it up with his warmth. The type of man you want as a close friend. And regardless of what our future holds for us as a couple, he has made me realize how I deserve to be treated. I will never, ever settle for less again. 

He treats me like James used to. When Michael passed unexpectedly, I was Apollo's girlfriend, but James was the very first call that rang to express his sorrow for me. I then called Apollo, with tears streaming down my face, still in shock that I would never see Michael perform live and that his life abruptly ended. Apollo actually laughed at me. He LAUGHED. I'll never forget it. I need a man like James. 

So there must be some sort of catch, right? Right. Well, besides the fact that there is obviously so much more to learn about him, get this. He just sold his home and is moving to Australia in a couple months. Awesome. I’ve decided to not think about it and just live in the moment. I tend to take that approach with most things in life. It works nicely. 

I felt like a celebrity leaving my gymnastics lesson on Friday. I had my sunroof popped, my fatty aviators on, and “Flashing Lights” bumping. Something about that song being paired with my stunna shades, just makes me feel legit. The whole week felt that way, really. Legit. 

So, here I am, typing away, gearing up for the week, still giddy. Excited to see my lovelies this morning- really excited. I have an amazing group of clients. Truly amazing. A blessing to my life as I hope I am to theirs. My clients share the good and bad on their hearts, and I get to be there for them through it all. 

I also get to see Luke’s cute face later in the morning, as he’s coming to my gym for a workout together. He’s taking me through one of his workouts, kind of nice when someone tells me what to do for once. AND we won’t be hungover this time. Always a good thing. 

Ciao for now!  

Starry Night

Conversations and connecting under the stars kept me from my bed until 2am last night. My head is pounding, and my mouth is dry, but I can't shake this grin.

Just wrapped up my daily nap in an effort to alleviate these symptoms. Not much luck. Must. Rally. For. Cardio. Now. More Spark. Annnnnnd go.

Ciao for now!

Ang In A Box

A service light started flashing in my car a few days ago. My blood pressure immediately rose as I anticipated taking time out of my day to get the problem fixed. I pulled out my manual to see what this annoying, exclamation point symbol meant; turns out it was my flat tire warning. I got out to see if I could pinpoint which tire it was. All tires seemed fine so I got back in and carried on. I still haven’t checked the air in the tires. And the light’s still blinking. I’m mechanically challenged. 

I drive a Mini Cooper S and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Me and Mini have been through a lot together; Mini represents my freedom. It was the first large purchase I ever made on my own when daddy cut me off.   

We’ve made hundreds of trips along I-5 together, mostly when I was serving as Miss Clark County last year. It was often a struggle to fit a weekends’ worth of pageant wardrobe in Mini’s trunk, but I looked past its small storage capacity and loved it for who it was, because it is so damn cute. 

Mini always pulls through for me. When I was moving into my very first apartment, I transported my entire life in Mini. I made trip after trip after trip (the move was only a mile, or so), by myself, because I hate, absolutely hate, asking people for favors (like helping me move). I don’t like being a burden, not one bit. This was an empowering moment in my life; I was ending things with Apollo and moving out. I didn’t need his big muscles or his big truck, me and Mini had this in the bag, even if it took us two trips to move my shoe collection alone. Take that, bitch. 

Really, the only thing Mini is not good for is an off-road make-out sesh. I don’t recommend it for high schoolers. 

Mini is fast and flashy, but it can easily hide. It’s sporty, but it’s chic. It’s sexy, but it has a cute factor. It’s trendy, but it’s classic. It’s souped up, but it’s dinged up. It’s Seattle, but it’s European. It costs a pretty penny to maintain, but it gets excellent gas mileage. Me and Mini have a lot in common. 

I was the the popular girl, but I was not the mean girl. I’m a soldier, but I’m a princess. I’m blond, but I’m brunette. I’m Britney, but I’m Alicia. I’m a bodybuilder, but I’m a yogini. I hate school, but I have a higher education. I’m a big city girl, but I have small town roots. I’m a vixen, but I’m a serial monogamist. I’m demanding, but I never nag. I love pumping iron, but I always look glamorous in sparkly jewelry and hot-ass spandex while I’m doing it. I’m liberal with my actions and words, but I’m a Capitalist. I raised thousands of dollars for the promotion of abstinence at my middle school, but then I lost my virginity a year later. I’m Samantha Jones, but I’m Carrie Bradshaw. Ok, I’m way more Samantha, but I do like to write. I fight for what I believe in, but I avoid confrontation at all costs. I was the captain of the soccer team, but I was the drum major of the marching band. I have an alarming collection of athletic shoes, but my French lingerie collection can compete. I’m self-sufficient, but I’m a laughable damsel in distress when it comes to fixing or building things. Ew, tools. The only tool I have mastered is Mr. Blueberry. I could have been an awesome stripper, but I could have been an awesome Miss America. I’m the life of the party, but I have no problem spending Saturday nights alone. I don’t believe in soul mates, but I believe in the sanctity of marriage to one person for life. I drink egg whites straight, but I can drink vodka like it’s water. I love spoiling and pampering myself, but I’ve contributed much of my time and resources to charities and organizations dear to my heart. I’m Under Armour, but I’m Lululemon. I have a distinct laugh that fills the room, but I often stay quiet and smile with my eyes. I love being around people, but I hate having roommates. I’m a she-wolf, but I need a man who takes charge. Put me in my place, dammit. I’m a tease, but I’m a pleaser. “Buttons” is on my most frequented playlist, but so is “Absolution Japan”. I’m rebellious, but I respect boundaries. I’m savvy, but I’m naive. I’m a terrible driver, but I’m an excellent parallel parker. Could be the car. I like watching True Blood, but I like watching golf. I can’t seem to give up two hours of my time every week to go to church, but I’ve never once doubted or forgotten that Jesus gave His life for me. I’m fergalicious, but I’m bootylicious. That doesn’t make any sense. Anyways, you get the idea. 

My extremes can be confusing, I know. I was confused for a very long time. Which Angie was I? Was I the introverted, highly motivated, do-gooder Christian girl? Or was I the outgoing, promiscuous, buttons-pushing seductress? I figured myself out when I moved to Italy. 

Studying in Milan gave me a blank easel to start creating on. There were hundreds of students on this exchange program from around the world- all new faces; there were no expectations for me to act a certain way. The only stereotype that could be made is that I was an accomplished student, as was everyone, because we were attending the highest ranked business school in Europe. 

It was instantly made aware to me that I was far more focused than any other student on this trip. Focused on enriching my mind and body with new experiences, opposed to partying the four months away. 

I bought a bike immediately upon arrival so that I wouldn’t have to wait on a tram or metro system to get me around AND I could burn extra calories. Again, always trying to manage my time. And again, always wearing spandex around town. It’s even more absurd to do so in Milan, one of the most fashionable cities in the world. But I really didn’t give a shit. 

I then joined a pricey gym and called it home. All the trainers there were men; men that eyeballed me but were never bold enough to chat. Or they didn’t speak English. Actually, there was one. Rinaldo. He asked me out but I stayed true to Apollo. I wouldn’t go there. He was yummy, too. C’est la vie. 

I wanted to use this time to learn even more about training; I knew it would be the last time in my life I could focus on just myself and school, without a job thrown in the mix. Nonetheless, I did inquire about being a trainer at the gym. Turns out, speaking fluent Italian was a requirement. 

When most students were getting home from clubbing, I was getting up for my morning workout before class. When most students went away on the weekends, I was following my daily routine and immersing myself in the Milano culture. The culture of shopping, that is. When most students were experiencing men and women of different countries, I was experiencing webcam sessions with Apollo via Skype. Yes, Skype served its purpose in my life. My poor roommate. She was the quietest, most modest little thing from Harvard. I must’ve scarred her for life. It was good for her, though. Hopefully I brought out a little she-wolf in her. Rawr. 

I found my way into a clique of friends and agreed to going out every so often. And when I planned for it, I went out hard. I mean- dancing on tables, wearing the flashiest thing I could get my hands on, and drinking men under the table- hard. 

My most memorable experience was when we travelled together to Paris. It started off with a good laugh, as the attendant of the airline screamed at me in front of the entire line because the bag I was checking was ridiculously heavy. How was I supposed to know you shouldn’t pack apples? I was just trying to be prepared so I wouldn’t get hungry and reach for a croissant. 

The trip got even more exciting when we visited the Moulin Rouge. Sexy stores galore. My friends got a kick out of the gleam in my eyes. 

It’s hard to sum up the experience, but what I want to illustrate is that I became comfortable not putting myself in a box. I didn’t need to be one way or another, I could just be. As long as it never hurt anybody. 

Most people don’t worry about understanding me and accept that I am not easily definable; they leave the judgement for God and love me for who I am. I surround myself with these people. There have been some, however, that are intimidated by my extremes and judge me without knowing the whole story. There are a few in particular who I will always thank and remember, as their malicious delight in trying to take me down only resulted in the motivation for me to push harder towards my dreams. 

I was the only person in the weight room last night. Granted, it was 6pm, 90 degrees out, and one of the last saturdays of summer. I enjoy the energy of a bustling weight room, but I also enjoy when I can prance around freely and do my circuit routines like a madwoman. And do body rolls between sets with nobody raising their eyebrows. 

So, I was all alone, rocking out to Jay Z, and in walked Apollo. We both have memberships at this big gym, even though I own a gym and he works out of a studio. We are total gym junkies. Pretty much the only thing we ever had in common. 

I knew instantly that either a) something was wrong, or b) he was feeling insecure about the size of his biceps/abs/calves and wanted to get a pump before going out. I know him too well- he never hits the gym on Saturday evenings.  

We chatted as usual, as we are on good terms (it was very easy to be a friend to him again when I realized he wasn’t my husband), and then I began to pick up that something was severely bothering him. I didn’t pry, but I let him know that he could talk to me about it if he needed. It was never my job to be there for him, but I always have. It’s the trainer in me; the trainer that wants to help solve problems and help people realize their potential to feel confident and complete. 

When we finished our workouts, I asked him if he wanted to grab some clean food with me. He complied and we made our way to Counter Burger. Yes, you can eat clean at a burger joint. I ordered chicken breast on a bed of lettuce with an ice water. Done. 

He opened up about what was bothering him, but not in much detail. I really didn’t need details, as I could see how torn his heart was in his eyes. We finished our meals and said our goodbyes. 

I headed to Fred Meyer for some late-night shopping. I popped my headphones in (I listen to music while I shop because it makes for a much more enjoyable experience), and put on the new One Republic song, “Secrets”. It was the the only song I listened to as I strolled around throwing everything from turkey breast to makeup remover in my cart. Something about that song...puts a smile in my eyes but a sadness in my heart all at the same time. That’s a well-written song right thurr. I still felt burdened from whatever was troubling Apollo. My life is filled with so much happiness and positive things, but I was solemn for him. I can’t help it. 

I had no choice but to veer to the left of the Fremont bridge on my way home. John Lennon said it best when he compared songwriting to being possessed: I had a demon to get out of me. 

I detoured to Full Circle, where I keep my electric piano, and started pouring myself into a new melody. I completed the chorus and it took care of the demon for the time-being. 

I didn’t set my alarm clock, but I woke up at the crack of dawn this morning. The sun was streaming in, and the peaceful pavement outside was calling my name. I felt like I was the only person awake in the whole city; I had the streets to myself to carve my running feet in. I listened to “Secrets” on repeat. Totally crushing on that song. 

I refueled with some egg whites upon my return, and then headed to the top of Queen Anne for some yoga lovin’. Ginger, the instructor, seemed to bring out every single square inch of tension in my body. It’s like she knew exactly what would kick my ass and improve my game. She also made a joke when we were doing a shoulder opener about the strap being a long sexy ponytail. I lost my game face and busted out my loud laugh. I dig her. She’s the type of person who doesn’t allow people to put her in a box. 

After yoga I got my monthly mani/pedi before returning home for my daily naked nap. Now, here I am, typing away in the conference room of my apartment building where the ac is a-flowin’, avoiding my food prep for the week, because it’s just too damn hot to cook. 

I’m meeting a new man tonight. I’ve been too busy to make my Match profile, so I’m glad there is some sort of progression with men in my life. I’m particularly stoked because I finally have a reason to don a flirty summer dress instead of spandex. 

He told me to meet him at a park; he’d be the guy on a magic carpet. Not sure what that means, but maybe a ride is in store.  

Ciao for now!