liz. 23, follower of christ. graduate student in rhetoric & english at the university of houston. teaching fellow. alumni of the university of texas. lover of music, especially the live variety. avid reader. food obsessed. sports crazed. rap lover. sister, aunt, wife, daughter.

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Favorite sick day activity: finding new comedians (okay, usually women) on twitter and YouTube. Aparna Nancherla is a new favorite. 

I ran into one of my professors last week, who I don’t see a lot this semester. We were kinda of just saying hi in passing, then she stopped before going downstairs and said, “I love your life. You know, or what I see of it on Facebook. I think to myself, ‘I wish I did that!’ Then I remember, ‘Oh yeah, I used to do that, I was young too once.’” She’s also one of the professors who knows me well enough (and is hip enough) to be a Facebook friend.

It was odd how long I carried that compliment around with me. That validation meant a lot. 

Now, I could construct an entire “how you curate the image of life that you want to through social media” rant now, and I probably will eventually*. But her comment made me think a lot more about the pressures of youth. Youth is valued infinitely in our culture. Everyone wants to look younger, feel younger. “Youth is wasted on the young.” We need to adventure, climb mountains, go out every night, drink, spend recklessly, stay up too late, sleep too late, eat whatever we want. 

But oh, how rarely I actually do that. I had one beer and went to bed at 10:30 last night after taking in a few episodes on Netflix. True story. 

The pressure feels even greater since getting married. You have this window of time, this sliver in which you’re supposed to get everything done before you start popping out kids. Baby bucket list? Babymoon? The way my brother and sister-in-law who had a kid within a year of marriage make envious comments about our date nights. We should be soaking this up. We are living the best days of our lives.

We (along with about 3 other 20-something couples) are going over for dinner and drinks at one of Andrew’s coworkers houses tonight. They’re late 40s. They complain that their friends don’t know how to have fun anymore. But we do. Because we’re 20ish. That’s a lot of pressure to live up to. More pressure than I feel having dinner with my in-laws. 

I just think it’s funny. It’s hysterical, if it wasn’t so real: that we’re supposed to be having tons of fun because we don’t have the pressures they have — the retirement fund or the children or whatever. But we have lots of pressure. To have fun. And post it on instagram. #live

*Perhaps you’ve noticed, but I have many writing topics rolling around in my head. I like to write them here. So I’m sure that one will come up. Also related to this post: the hypocrisy how everyone wants to be younger but also wants to scold millennials about how they’re living their life. 

So the Amy Schumer “So Bad” video that’s getting passed around reminded me of my all-time favorite sketch from her show. It’s so, so painfully true. Women. 

That is my weight loss journey, decontextualized, without dates or weights. Almost 3 years. That’s what it’s looked like. 

As you can tell, I am no longer at my lowest weight. And since the beginning of the year, I’ve been actively trying to lose what I refer to in my mind as “the last 10 pounds.” I haven’t dared to utter that aloud, because we all know lots of people who have lost so much weight but haven’t been able to lose “the last 10 pounds.” And I never wanted to be one of those people.

It’s looking like I might be one of those. I’ve been doing good these last three months. And I’ve got very little to show for it in terms of losing mass. I’m stronger. I’ve tried out some great new recipes and improved my diet even more. I’m about to run my first 5k on Saturday (more on my active hatred of running and why I’m doing it anyway later). But I have not lost weight, or not much. I have not reached that magic number (or even within 10 pounds of that magic number) in my head that I’ve told myself will make me truly happy once and for all. 

But screw that. Seriously. Screw that. I started looking up juice cleanses and grapfruit diets and Self Drop10 plans today, thinking mournfully about not eating the delicious, health-conscious things I had planned for Keats and I this weekend (like turkey pepperoni monkey bread, one of my favorites). I started reading up about quitting cardio for good and doing full-on strength training only, even though I deeply love the cardio high and the energy it gives me daily. And there were so many websites and magazines and “health” companies welcoming me into their arms, telling me that they had all the answers.

Nope. No thanks. Screw them.

Perhaps this is a bit too abrasive, but I’m sick of falling into this trap that so many others have fallen into, being unhappy with my body because I’m told by every representation of female beauty everywhere that my body is not beautiful or perfect. I am safely in the middle of the healthy BMI range (which I know in itself is flawed) for my height, and I’ve got some hips and some boobs and all the women in my family routinely have 9 to 11 pound babies, so I’m probably going to carry a little more weight on my body than anyone on the cover of Self does. 

I’m ashamed that I got to this point of putting a number over my health. I feel great. I don’t think not eating food or becoming a weight lifter is going to make me feel healthier (or be healthier, but I’m not a doctor, so I’ll leave it at that). But I’m not falling for it anymore. Screw that. 


Ever since women (deservedly) got the vote, feminists have had to scrounge for stuff to gripe about. Take Ally McBeal, for example.”

These are perfect. You need to visit this tumblr, stat. 

HOW BOUT THEM TAN LINES?! First sunburn of the season but I aint even mad. The Pearland Crawfish Festival is bopping. 

131,931 plays


Paramore - Ain’t It Fun

Glad this is finally ending up on the radio. 

Mindy Kaling on Jimmy Kimmel

They’re like, “It’s so refreshing that Mindy feels comfortable to let herself go and be a fat sea monster.” I, by the way, I like, run and work out. It take a lot of effort to look like a normal/chubby woman. But I’m not like…the way they talk about it is like, “She’s a pioneer because she’s glued to her sofa!”

I love her. 

It’s Sunday so I’m meal planning, aside the Sunday paper with it’s endless supply of coupons and grocery store sales. I’m actually on a porch in Galveston while I do this (the weather, yall), making it the most glamorous meal planning session yet. I haven’t come to any decisions (though this Bacon Asparagus Pasta is looking pretty fine), but I realized that Keats and I had a reeeally good week in healthy eats last week. So I thought I’d share.  And one eat that is not so healthy, that I actually shared by bringing to one of my grad classes so as not to inhale 4,000 calories on my own.

Cauliflower fried rice. I’ve always been a fan of cauliflower rice in theory, but my actual creations of it haven’t been the greatest. This was different. This was really good. Packed with flavor, egg, veggies, and for a MUCH lower calorie count.

Baked Veggie Eggrolls. We are a fan of baked egg rolls around these parts. The key is flipping them halfway through and broiling at the end to ensure they’re crispy. These were perfect with the fried rice, especially drizzled with some of that terrible-for-you sweet and sour sauce from the jar. 

Buffalo chicken meatballs. I’d never worked with ground chicken breast before, but it was awesome in these. That’s quite a bit of blue cheese, and the spice level is nice. We had ‘em in a toasted meatball sub and then the leftover straight up with some carrot sticks and celery. Pare them down and they’d be an awesome appetizer, I bet. 

Cocoa Reese’s Krispies. We’ve been on a strange rice krispie kick lately after a friend in our small group made some pretty spectacular ones a few weeks ago. Andrew made the classics for work last week, and I made these chocolate/peanut butter bombs for a class with some gluten-free members. I mean. Just look at the picture of the recipe of the peanut butter sugar mixture. I just. Wow.