New Year's Resolution: pretend to train to run a marathon.

I'm a little late for New Year's Resolutions, I know. But publicly declaring aspirations which one knows one will likely never see fulfilled is never inappropriate. Several days ago, I decided that it would be grand to attempt to run a marathon in 2010. Now, this is not the type of resolution one makes lightly. Quitting carbs--easy--just throw the bread away and substitute with hunks of cheese and gobs of peanut butter--delightful. Being 'nicer' to people--a little less honking of the horn and cutting folks off on line should suffice. But running a marathon--that's tons and tons of bloody work for, like, months at a time.

But in an effort to keep to this resolution which I may or may not have been tipsy while making, I'm looking at the bright side--the reasons why training for a marathon--or at least pretending to for a week or two--is worth my time.

1. Running sheds pounds, or so I'm told. And I've got a few pounds left to shed. Should the physical and mental benefits of training take precedence over superficial weight loss--sure. But...well, I have no excuse. I simply care more about the fat busting.

2. There are some really snazzy outfits out there for running. Tonight, for instance, I dropped over $300 at Lululemon, the overpriced outfitter for yuppy yogis and stylish runners. To put this in perspective, this is nearly half my monthly rent. But the pants I bought just shaped my butt so nicely. I had intended to hit the gym in my new gear this evening. After forgetting the shopping bag in my backseat, I decided eating dinner was far more pressing. I will workout tomorrow...I'm sure...possibly.

3. There is community to be built while you and your newfound running buddies kill yourselves over 26 godawful and unnatural miles. I look forward to start training with my enthusiastic friends--those who don't yet know I can't run over a mile and don't really like to sweat. I envision post-workout smoothies and rendevous at coffee shops to pore over running magazines. It's just the actual running together which I can't quite wrap my head around.

[Image Credit: BBC]

Elevator confessionals.

We've all had a moment in the elevator. The door closes. You're all alone. You know you've got at least 15 seconds to let loose and act on elevator impulse. The security cam might be rolling, but out of sight, out of mind.

What do I do in the elevator?

I do squats.
I do tricep dips on the railing.
Sometimes, I keep my finger on the Doors Close button so that I can enjoy my ride without your company. Yeah, you.
Often, I hope the elevator will break mid-way and I will get to take a nap.

How do you ride?

Aerosmith - Love In An Elevator
by Gunsnroses562

The RSVP Line: Do good. Get fit. Free.

Dear [female] reader friends,

You all say you want to do good, give back, etcetera, etcetera. But what have you really given lately [beside that chewing gum wrapper you accidentally dropped into that homeless man's cup instead of a quarter]? That's right. Nothing. So, here's a fun way to find out about an amazing non-profit organization, Step Up Women's Network, that supports mentorship programs for young girls.

Get your butts in gear for this Sunday's FREE day of fitness and awesomeness at The Sports Club/LA. Your registration entitles you to a free class, snacks and fitness tips from our guest speaker. As well as networking opps with all sorts of rad ladies. So, basically, Step Up is giving YOU all this free stuff. And all you have to do is go to the event and check 'em out.

Sunday, June 14th
2 - 5:30 p

For more info on the event and the list of classes to choose from, click here.

To RSVP: just send an email with your name, email address, and the class you'd like to attend to michelle@suwn.org. And let her know I sent you. Painless. And an impressive story to tell to all your do-gooding friends next time they start going on about their work with the displaced locals in that country somewhere.

Earth Day. Let’s fix this sh*thole up.

Happy Earth Day everyone! In honor of our planet--and it being the only on we can live on and all--here are my 10 tips for cleaning up the sh*thole we’ve let the place become.

1. Recycle your paper. Those flirty emails from your boyfriend that you printed when you first starting dating? He dumped you already. Chuck the evidence. And recycle all your old porn while you’re at it too.

2. Turn off the lights when you leave your house. I know your mother taught you this was a good idea so burglars would think you were home. But you and I both know that no one wants to steal your crap.

3. Use less toilet paper. I know with certainty that many of you are TP offenders. None of your parts are that delicate. You do not need half the roll to wipe.

4. Take the stairs. Your office is 5 flights up? Well, let’s be honest—your gluts could use the workout and that elevator could use the rest.

5. Hug a tree. No, don’t really please. Plant one with Forest Aid. Or pay someone else to plant one for you.

6. Stop buying leather bondage gear. And other leather goods. I know—they’re soft and supple. But they’re not eco (or animal) friendly.

7. Reduce your water consumption. I’m not suggesting you stop showering. No, no—none of us would want that. Just don’t shower for soooo long. It will help the water drought AND will save neighbors extra minutes of hearing you sing Les Mis in the bathroom.

8. Use a re-usable tote at the store. You’ve probably been given a hundred free ones by now. Stop using them for dirty laundry and start taking them to the bloody grocery store.

9. Don’t have 20 kids. I know babies make you happy. They make me happy too. But you don’t need that 20^th one. Seriously. I’m talking to you, Octo-Mom.

10. Utilize public transportation. Public can be frightening, especially here in LA. But no one told you to start dating that chick who lived all the way across town. And the mileage is putting a serious damper on the ozone.

* Feel free to ‘recycle’ these tips for green living with your not-so-green friends. Even your pals who hate granola and think organic is for dirty hippies can start to clean up their act.

xo * Jessie B. R.

Food Find: Mastro's, Johnny Rockets and Jer Ne at the Ritz.

From five stars to french fries and back. A weekend's adventure in overeating...

Saturday afternoon—about 3:00 p
Johnny Rockets on Melrose

A friend and I dove into this ‘50s themed burger and malt chain for some ice cream. About 10 minutes into our visit, the staff broke into song and dance. I am still not convinced (despite the below picture) that I was not hallucinating.

Saturday night—9:00 p
Mastro’s in Beverly Hills

Scott and I headed to the famed Beverly Hills steakhouse to celebrate his birthday. Supposedly the steak is great there. Scott’s was overcooked and I don’t eat meat so I guess we’ll never know. I would give 4 and a half stars to the gorgonzola mac and cheese (pictured below), however.

While the staff at Mastro’s don’t sing, nor dance, they do whip their own cream. Perfect for cake…or other things.

Sunday afternoon—12:00 p
Jer Ne @ The Ritz Carlton, Marina Del Rey

For birthday celebration Part Deux we tried out the Ritz Carlton Marina Del Rey's brunch at Jer Ne. View: peachy. Breakfast: pretty good. Desserts (all 5 of them): f-ing phenomenal.

In an effort to burn off some of the weekend’s calories, we took a walk through the Marina Del Rey Parcourse, courtesy of 1975.

I don’t think my walk along the 10 inch high balance beam completely negated the weekend’s edibles, but I do feel a little bit better about the leftovers consumed Sunday evening—7 pm.

The Modern Day Prince Valiant: hunk or chutzpah?

This morning, on the way out of my early morning workout in Silverlake, I passed a gentleman getting out of his car. He smiled. I smiled. And I continued walking up the hill to my car. As I was climbing in, I noticed him all of a sudden beside me in his car. He'd clearly gotten in his Yaris, turned it around on the narrow street and driven up to meet me. He motioned to me. I gave him the thumbs up sign. He wanted my spot, I assumed, and I certainly didn't object to him taking it. I drove out, turned my own car around and noticed he was now standing outside his car. His hair was dark and longish--he was like a modern-day Prince Valiant if Prince Valiant were a bit bulkier...and Persian. I rolled down my window and he approached.

'Hello,' he said.

'Hello,' I replied.

He is really grinning now. 'I have a question. Are you married?'

I am smiling awkwardly. 'No, I am not.'

'Ah, I like you. You are so beautiful. May I give my number to you?'

'I am actually seeing someone. I'm just not married.' I wave my hand to show him my ringless finger.

And we part our separate ways--he, still grinning, me, smiling but not sure why. I can't figure out if I'm flattered or offended. Granted, my post-workout glow was surely alluring. And I had smiled. But does my friendliness seriously welcome such crazed approaches from tall, dark, accented courters? Am I a walking target for wooing until I get a diamond on my finger? Well, I'll be heading to the 99 cent store soon after work then to pick up a faux bauble to sport on my ring finger.

Aspiring beaus beware.

Spiritual awakening.

I woke up at 6:15 am today to attend a 7:15 workout class. In the haze of early morning I noticed, for the first time, the convent down the street from my studio. At just 7 am, the nuns were already outside, eating breakfast, decked out in their usual attire--and I had to wonder at their dedication to something so enigmatic. I spend nearly every day wondering how to find fulfillment--is is through corporate ladder climbing, relationship building, miniature crafting? While these ladies have chosen an invisible, unproven cause to give their lives to. And to me, I can't help thinking that they've chosen a cop-out. To select an entity so elusive, and yet so widely respected that no one will counter your choice, and then to spend your life--not seeking personal joy or facing your morality--but instead worshiping, seems like (perhaps?) the easy path.

And apparently, there are others out there who are in agreement. In time for Christmas, the American Humanist Organization spent $40,000 on an ad campaign stating 'Why believe in God? Just be good, for goodness sake.' Many of are 'good' because the bible threatens us with eternal damnation if we sleep with our sister's husband or eat the banana before we reach the supermarket check-out (not that I've done this. ever.). But being good just because it's the right thing to do, not because we fear a long and hot afterlife--now that is holy.

Trendcentral recently picked up on the theme of questioning God and religion. It's a recurring debate now amongst young (and old) theorists, laymen and spiritualists. And one worth us all engaging in.

Photo Credits: Bus Ad - American Humanist Organization

Thank you Daily Candy for the burning in my thighs.

There are few of us ladies residing in major metropolises that don't subscribe to Daily Candy, even if the editorial has gotten too bombastic for its own good. However, those of us who are savvy know better than to take too much stock in the daily newsletter's reviews. If we're in the know, than we've likely already heard of the new restaurant/boutique/sample sale its touting. If, by chance, the editors suggest something fab and unique, it will have been made common by by the time you get to the store after hundreds of other girls before you. And if the DC writers actually get the scoop on a new gem before word's out, it's often before the gem itself is ready for business. (I'm sure others out there were duped when Daily Candy told us about Mode Restaurant, the restaurant that would 'stay open around the clock' but never actually opened its doors at all--a fact I learned only after paying $10 for parking to find the eatery dark. Or remember when The Waffle was reviewed just days after opening, after impoloring DC not to run the item, and faced a rush of eager readers wanting items that were'nt yet stocked and service that hadn't yet been ironed out.)

So, after years of faithful Daily Candy reading, despite my sometimes bitter disappointment in its coverage, I was finally rewarded with an item I couldn't have been more pleased to discover--Pop Physique, an East side sculpting studio that I have, since reading about, fallen just a little bit in love with. Yes, the studio's logo and website design is a play on the American Apparel motif. And yes, the irony is sort of twisted when the studio is located in the heart of Silverlake which is nothing if not American Apparel hipster central, making me unsure if the girls in leotards and bleached hair is not supposed to be ironic at all. But still, design follies aside, I'm glad I allowed Daily Candy to direct me to the only healthy thing I've done for myself since I gave up heroin and crack cocaine. Kidding, kidding. Cause really--nothing feels better than a burning in your thighs while a rubber ball's placed squarely between your [you know what].