A Layabouts Guide to Workouts

Source: http://www.sharenator.com/picdump_11/wine_drinking_hat-168007.html

I'm huge into simplification, procrastination and justifications. Which is why when I found the recent report in Science Daily about the consumption of red wine being equivalent to exercise extremely exciting news.  I'm a layabout when it comes to the workout. In fact so much so that when I was pregnant with my twins, I opted for a C-section just so I wouldn't have to push. 

Based on this new evidence, I've come up with exercises we can all enjoy -- sip by sip.  Here is a simple guide to an easier more delicious workout.

Mall of Amanda's Workout to Drink Up Conversion Chart...

Get Your Grill On: My First 'How To' Blog

First it was the passing of our beloved Beta Fish, Dooky-doo, and now our grill has died.  Though my five year old is still sitting shiva for his pet by eating lox non-stop, the family quickly got over the death of our Weber. We had it for almost 13 years. It was a wedding present from my siblings who generously gave it to their youngest poor sibling (me) after I said "I'd like this grill."  I figured after years of my older brother and sister using me as their production assistant, intern and peon I felt it was ok to demand a very nice grill as back-pay.  

My father-in-law would say the lack of cleaning caused the death of our grill.  But I think our grill went down in flames after an incident with a duck. It was a fowl event.  I'm grateful that my training as a cold-zone volunteer fire fighter with the Decatur FD could finally come in handy. Plus it's given me the excuse to use this awesome pic of myself on the Mall of Amanda Blog.

Me. Hot flames. Hot pants. --------------------->

But this brings us to the now. To the present.  My first "How To" blog. My husband got a great deal on a new Weber Genesis via Amazon. I brag that I'm great at putting together anything from Ikea, so I'm like "yeah, I got this."  However, after 38 minutes I've finally completed just step 1 of 34 in the assembly of this wonderful "Genesis Weber." I'm starting to think it means the genesis of hell. Maybe you've come to me for how to help and now you're feeling just as helpless as I do.  But my tips are simply one step and easy to follow. You'll feel much better after my guidance.

How to Assemble Weber's Genesis Gas Grill

Step 1.  Don't.

The Walking Dads

As talking and TV are two of my true loves, it seems natural to pursue a career as a talk show host.  But no one seems to be casting a 30 something Jewish girl from Alabama who is obsessed with the Beastie Boys, kale chips and red lipstick. Accordingly, I've taken matters into my own hands in exploring what I want to be when I grow up and created my own web-series -- The Walking Dads. Check out episodes 57 and 58 to learn some fantastic parenting and marital tips on surviving your family during the zombie apocalypse.  Because, ya know, it could happen.

Missed Confections: Love Letters to Sweet Things from My Past

"Life is a journey. Not a destination." But then again, Ralph Waldo Emerson was probably eating pretty crappy food in the 1880s. When I travel, it's not the museums or historical sites that imprint on my memory. I'd probably have to visit them for that to happen.  I prefer the food destinations.

So in memory of some and honor of others, I posted anonymous love letters to a few of my favorite sweets across the country that I miss dearly.  Of course, the most obvious place to post these:  the Craigslist Missed Connections section.  Here is a snippet of the letters. 

El Pinto's Sopapillas (Albuquerque, New Mexico)

JP Lick's Ice Cream Cakes (Boston, Massachusetts -- originally Jamaica Plains, MA)

Browdy's Cinnamon Raisin Bread (Birmingham, Alabama)

Momma's gotta brand new bag (full of crap)

My friend told me I'd never survive a zombie apocalypse because I use an app to remind me to drink water. But on the other hand, I have so much crap in my purse that I'm prepared for anything... especially motherhood. Join me on a tour of my purse and you decide what should stay or what should go. Either way, I'm keeping everything.

Pee-wee is the Mother of Invention

There are a few things I've been known for throughout my life: My Jew-fro, being a Beastie Boys fanatic and my ability to watch TV in bulk. But evidently, I have a group of childhood friends who'd add liking Pee-wee Herman to the mix. It was 1986, when Pee-wee's Playhouse premiered. The show was the impetus for my humor and a career in kids' television.  Almost 30 years later, it still remains one of my top ten favorite shows.

I was thrilled when Pee-wee's Playhouse became available on Netflix, so I could introduce it to my kids. And as I watched the pilot with them, I had a revelation just how before the times Paul Reuben was.  You often hear how science fiction inspired inventions, but Pee-wee should get credit for 'seen it here first.'  The following characters and Pee-wee moments perhaps also have a hand in inspiring the technology and terminology we use today.

Pee-Wee's Picture Phone ----> FaceTime 

Jambi ----> Siri or gay best friend

Magic Screen ----> iPads

Conky 2000 ----> Google 

Globey ----> GPS

The Puppets of Puppet Land  ----> Judgmental Hipster Friends

Cowntess ----> Organic Grass Fed Beef

Randy ----> Anti-bullying campaign

Miss Yvonne ----> The Modern Day Cougar (always pining for Pee-wee and the Latino hotties Ricardo and Tito)

#tbt the things girls think

I was a sophomore in college when I thought I'd never fall in love.  Correction: I was a sophomore in college when I thought no one would ever fall in love with me.  Though confident that I was adorable and a catch, I convinced myself guys would never see me in the way I saw myself.  I would forever fall into the friend category.  I became obsessed with love: what it was, where it was, where was mine. And all I did was journal about love.  For you kids out there, that's what you may refer to as blogging, except no one saw it.  

But as a the good hoarder I am, I found my journal and something for my friends. Literally, this is what I titled it, "something for my friends."  It summed up all I felt and hoped others did too. I wrote it and felt the world was not as lonely.  Here it is for you -- a #tbt blog before blogs.

"Something for my friends" (September 1996)

I want to write something for my friends. Something about boys. Something that summarizes all that we feel written into a nice little package with a beginning, a middle and revelatory ending. Something that makes us feel good about what's lacking in our lives: the love of our lives (or something similar and close to that). Because I think about it all the time and write about it frequently. I thought it was alone in my thoughts until someone admitted that their journal entries were also about the same subject. It makes me feel better to write about it, to get it out of my head onto paper. Maybe the words will magically leap up and find this person for me. It feels better though to talk about it, to describe what I want.

I like playing the "what will my husband be like" game.

And the "let's take turns saying what qualities you want" game.

And "if you had to name three traits and only three what would they be" game.

It's like a stress release just to say them out loud and maybe he's listening and maybe he'll say, "Hey that's me you're describing."

I've been boy-crazy ever since I knew what a boy was. I used to chase them and kiss them and ask them to "go" with me. Ironically, the way I acted when I was six hasn't changed much.

But now it's different.

I don't want the attention.

I want the purest sense of adoration.

We all do.

We want guys to see what our friends see in us. We want them to do what we do… Walk past places where we might be just to see us. Stay an extra five minutes just to be with us.

I always try to keep myself from analyzing everything a guy I'm interested in does, but just like you eventually have to blink in a staring contest analysis occurs.

Like the fact he knew what I was doing last night and I didn't tell him.

Like the fact I caught him looking at me.

And he always makes sure he says goodbye.

I think these things mean something.

Sometimes I act stupid. I stare at his shoes, because I don't want him to catch me staring at his face. I play games. I act quiet, because maybe he'll ask what's the matter. I walk behind or ahead of the group to see if he will wait or catch up. And if you're having a conversation and he asks you questions that's always a good sign.

Isn't it?

I want to be chased. Chase after. And for things to happen naturally.

I want to fall in love. Be in love. Be loved.

I don't need it now. I don't necessarily want it now. I just want to know it will be there someday.

I want to see the future. I listen intently when my friends surmise about my love life-- what they think may occur, the reasons they haven't. But I really do want it to be a surprise. Almost literally – "Surprise, I love you!" 

I saw my friends as pretty before they were my friends. Now as I know them, they are even more beautiful. Now their souls shine through their exteriors. There's a visible difference on how you look at someone, how you see your friends when they go from being acquaintances to people you can trust. It's like putting new batteries in a flashlight.

I want a boy to see me this way.

For after each talk we have for me to become more beautiful, because he sees all of me. Because he sees something about me. Something I don't see or know of.

I tell myself it's not my fault I don't have this now. And it's not. It's no ones. Time is the reason. Because how amazingly coincidental does it have to be for two people to meet at the right time of place in space in life when they are ready for the same exact things. For me not to have this isn't unusual. It's unusual to have this.

At least that's what I tell myself.

I also tell myself my personality is intimidating.

I'm out going and hyper and I know what I want.

I'm outspoken and confident and kind of unusual.

Maybe boys aren't ready for me yet.

They need to be 24 so I'll have to wait three more years.

At least that's what I tell myself.

Other times I tell myself:

If I'm wearing lipstick, he'll think I'm sexy.

If I look innocent, he'll think I'm cute.

If I make him laugh, he'll want me.

Then other times, most the times I think it shouldn't matter. He, meaning the Ultimate, will like me no matter what. I'll be sexy and beautiful and cute and funny and adorable even when I don't feel like it, because he'll see me as dynamic and special and unique. I don't know if I think about what I want to much.

I guess I do.

Sometimes I feel like I'm looking for something, for someone that doesn't exist. At least he doesn't exist for me.

Sometimes I think I'll never find that or be in love because I'm not meant to be. What if I'm here to teach the world not to miss out on things and the moral of the story is someone misses out on me.

It's not so important that I fall in love now or that it happens fast. Just that it happens, eventually, in a decent amount of time. And that it's good.

I don't really have a tidy precise package of thoughts here. I can't foresee what's to happen and I don't want to. I have faith that everything will work out-- love in particular-- because the rest of my life has and I haven't even tried. I know my thoughts aren't alone. I know my friends think about this. But what would make me feel better is to know that guys think about love too. That they wonder if the girl sitting next to them might be their future wife, even if they don't want to get married until age 27. I just want to know that they think of it, that they want love, are scared of love, and are scared of not finding love. And you never know, maybe I'm in one of their hypothetical situations. Maybe I'm someone's Ultimate.

Mason Jarring

Like most women in their mid-30's, I enjoy the Real Housewives (of any location), polishing of a bottle of wine and Pinterest. I've got all the important boards covered: the one on kale, home decor projects I'll never do and an entire board dedicated to "Things in Mason Jars" -- detailing everything from edible to adorable.  But here's my Pinterest secret, my big lie: The only reason I created a mason jars board is because it would be popular. Why? Women love shit in mason jars. We've been led to believe these pint size glass houses make everything look more delicious, delectable and desirable. But does it? So to answer this question, I've started a challenge... a challenge of one...where I've put shit in mason jars to see if it's more marvelous or just meh.  

This is the true story of five items picked to live in a mason jar to have themselves Pinned to find out what happens when Pinners stop being polite and start getting real... The Real Shit in Mason Jars.

1) A Mason Jar in a Mason Jar

This is like the next generation's Russian Nesting Dolls

2) Dog Food in a Mason Jar

My dog seemed way disappointed in my craftiness with his food. So I decided to put a candle in it.  But that didn't look right either. I added a bow.

3) My Retainer in a Mason Jar

Let's be honest. My retainer hasn't seen the inside of my mouth since the early 90s. I'm not quite sure why I've kept it this long, but perhaps that's related to my hoarding issues -- a story for another blog. But I do know that a mason jar is a much better way of retaining my retainer than the bottom of my Caboodle. 

4) The Marks' Family Duo of Lice Combs in a Mason Jar

Ah -- Club Head: The family vacation you never wanted to take. I was thinking of bronzing our lice combs as a keepsake for the kids, but perhaps just sticking them in a mason jar would be more cost efficient.

5) Expired Prescription Drugs in a Mason Jar

Okay. I know what you're thinking and please don't judge. I KNOW I'm long overdue to have a party with our old medicine, but let's get real. My bedtime is 8:30pm and there's only so much fun you can have with 800 mg of Ibuprofen. I've been meaning to throw these out, but isn't that bad for the environment? Instead I may just start putting old drugs in old mason jars and burying them in the backyard along with the dog's rawhide collection.

With my challenge complete, I think I've curated a wonderful array of unique ways of using our favorite little glass house. Whether you think marvelous or meh, only Pinterest can judge if I'm a winner. Will these gems make their way on someone's Mason Jar board? Check back in to find out. But please repin something of mine on Pinterest first. You'll make me feel good about myself.

Coldocalypse 2015

Unless it's rimmed with salt and has tequila in it, I don't do cold. I am not built to withstand the humidity and heat of the South, either.  Rather than be outside in Atlanta's July, I'd prefer to stand behind the exhaust pipe of a MARTA bus. Give me HVAC or give me death. And that's the only reason I survive any weather extreme -- because of man-made temperature control.

Today it's 13 degrees out.  Like most parents in Georgia, I too am suffering from PTSD from last year. Schools closed right after we got back from Holiday Break because though no snow or ice was present, it was just too damn cold. Then February of 2014 the Snowocalypse hit.  School closed again right after another week long break. This time there was a ridiculous amount of snow... for Georgia. 

I love my kids, but maybe there's such a thing as too much quality time and we quickly ran out of activities. The Momma-made Scrabble game only lasted for 10 minutes and no one wanted to do yoga with my five-year-old girl. Winter in my house was starting to feel like Orange is the New Black. To make matters worse, our craftsman style prison was being repeatedly taunted by the Robocall Lady.  Every hour, it seemed, we'd get calls to remind us that school would be closed again. I began to despise Robocall Lady.  But who is she? Does she have a family? Is this her full-time job? Does Robocall Lady know Siri? 

That Time I Quit My Job

I used to work for an amazing Creative/Digital Innovations agency called The SuperGroup. The co-workers were inspiring. The work trips were amazing (Disneyland and Dominican Republic). They let me work from home when needed, paid me well and had a kegerator. I loved it. But I quit. I wanted to spend more time with my kids and take on freelance projects instead.  

Actually, wait. I'm lying to you. I didn't want to take on side jobs (though I have).  I honestly wanted to be "Domestic" for a while, have the flexibilty to volunteer and needed to figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up.  A year later, I'm still trying to figure that out, but think I'm a little closer. Maybe.  One 'job' I've been trying on for size is being a Standup Comic.  At this point, I'm more of the intern in the mailroom. I've got a lot to learn.  Watch my latest performance at The Atlanta Improv from December 2014 and let me know what you think. 

My going away party at TSG with a face cake, and shots of Manischewitz all displayed on an ironing board.

Why Not a Beastie Resolution?

I know myself. I’ve been the same person since I was 5, except now I can buy my own candy, I’ve got boobs and I’m a much better driver. So every year my New Year’s resolution is the same: Don’t make New Year’s resolutions. Because whatever I could resolve to do that’s different than my usual, I know I will cease doing within a few weeks.  It’s not because I’m lazy (which I am). It’s not because I’m not motivated (which I’m not). It’s because I am (like most) a creature of habit. I watch too much TV. I take pride in the fact that I don’t run. And I’m very judgmental and wary of people who do not like the Beastie Boys.

Around the New Year we reminisce, reassess and resolve. And this year, I'm thinking maybe I can resolve to live differently or at least, maybe I should think about it.  So I looked towards the Beastie Boys as my influence for a 2015 of resolutions I can perhaps achieve.  Here are some lyrics that I have found hidden meaning from to inspire a Beastie Resolution in my life.

• The Lyric: Coolin' on the corner on a hot summer day; Just me, my posse and M.C.A. (Album: License to Ill; Song: The New Style)

The Hidden Meaning: Spend more time with my friends and family. Make them listen to the Beastie Boys. Also maybe create an Atlanta MCA Day.

• The Lyric: With bottle in hand at the microphone stand (Album: License to Ill; Song: Slow Ride)

The Hidden Meaning: I seriously need to do more karaoke....while drinking.

• The Lyric: I got trees on my mirror so my car won't smell (Album: License to Ill; Song: Slow Ride)

The Hidden Meaning: I've got a bouillabaisse of kids' snacks available at any given moment on our minivan's floor board. I need to do a better job of keeping our swagger wagon clean.

• The Lyric: What's up with your bad breath onion rings (Album: Paul's Boutique; Song: Shake Your Rump)

The Hidden Meaning: Stop telling my husband his breath smells. It hurts his feelings. But also stop making him onion rings.

• The Lyric: It's finger lickin', finger lickin' good, y'all (Album: Check Your Head; Song: Finger Lickin' Good)

The Hidden Meaning: I had been a vegetarian for 19 years but kept on having reoccurring dreams about Publix's fried chicken. So I ate it.  I've been questioning this choice, but now I realize it was a good one. I'm going to eat more fried chicken in 2015.  It's finger lickin' good y'all. And frankly, tofu doesn't cut it.

• The Lyric: 'Cause life ain't nothing but a good groove; A good mix tape to put you in the right mood (Album: Check Your Head; Song: Professor Booty)

The Hidden Meaning: Things don't make people happy in the long run. But music does.  In 2015, I vow to stop purchasing toys for my kids for their birthdays and Hanukkah and instead find my old double deck boom box and make a solid mix tape for them instead. They'll totally appreciate the thought.

• The Lyric: If you want a doodoo rhyme then come see me (Album: Ill Communication; Song: Sure Shot)

The Hidden Meaning: My kids are afraid of the toilet, which is why they always need my company. In 2015, I'm going to get more creative about getting them to be independent poopers by penning my own rap about the potty. Something like "These trips to the potty are making me a bit petulant. Wipe your own tush or you're out of the Will and Testament."

All in all these are resolutions I can stick to.  Whether or not I keep them after a month is another scenario. Even if life is status quo come February,my motto about life is: I get it, I got it, I know it's good. Happy 2015, y'all!

Are there any Beastie Boys rhymes that inspire you? Share below. 

#RIPMCA

#theRealAnnie

When I was five, there were many things I obsessed over: break dancing, charm bracelets, eventually having boobs like Dolly Parton's. Hey, it was the 80's. At least I had a Cabbage Patch Kid habit and not a cocaine one. But my ultimate obsession was Annie. There were characteristics in her I saw within myself -- her precociousness, her tenacity and of course, that Jewfro. 

With the new theatrical release of Annie out in theaters, I can't help but feel forlorn for the original Annie.  I'm also left pondering: Where is the real Annie now and what has she been up to?  Does she think of me? 

So like any good fan-girl, I hired a private investigator to search out and find #therealAnnie. Evidently, she's leading a quiet life in Atlanta.  Check out some pics he got!

Here's the real Annie walking her dog (what a good citizen cleaning up the dog poop as well... that Annie!)

Annie likes beer at Hop City, too, just like us!  (I'm betting she may have been hitting up Daddy Warbucks' liquor cabinet in those teen years though).

She was spotted recently working behind the counter at Grand Champion BBQ at The Krog Street Market too. 

The real Annie on The Atlanta BeltLine. She must live in   Midtown. Seriously, who wears  shoes like that to get their exercise on?

As the private investigator is still on the payroll, I'm hoping to get more pics of the real Annie. But if you happen to spot her anywhere, please send me the pics and location and I'll update the blog! 

Top 8 Hanukkah Gifts for the Hipster Jew

As procrastination goes, this list of the Top 8 Hanukkah Gifts is hitting the inter tubes pretty late I know. But inspiration strikes when it does and I've been busy playing with my dreidel.  We all have special people in our lives: Spouses, best friends, the cashier at the package store.  But this list is dedicated for that Hipster Jew in your life. Ya know, that millennial cousin who's usually judging your parenting AND social media skills during Thanksgiving dinner -- that guy! So here's the list. I've checked it twice.

#1 The Hanukkah Sweater (A lovely variety at ModernTribe)

#2 The Dr. Dreidel (By Artist Hannah Rothstein)

#3 Tickets to Heeb Magazine's Heebonism Xmas Eve Party

#4 Moses Action Figure

#5 Take My Wife, Please! Henny Youngman's Giant Book of Jokes

#6 Beastie Boys Cross Stitch Artwork

#7 Dog Yarmulke and Tallis (For the future Bark Mitzvah)

#8 The Nice Jewish Guys 2015 Calendar

An Open Letter to Ryan Gosling

Dear Ryan Gosling,

Let me be frank, I stalked you today and it was disappointing.  The only reason I went looking for you is because my friend Brooke, who is 40,000 weeks pregnant, was stuck at work and she couldn't stalk you. I was her proxy. My only lead was: The Facebook. And the fact that you had been in Criminal Records about 20 minutes before I arrived on scene.

I'm not built to be a Paparazzi, Ryan Gosling. But I did come up with a check list of what I needed to do to prepare, much like The Meisner Technique.

Evidently, I was either not incognito enough or you had left the locale before I got there. Either way, I was looking good and I was looking for a Hanukkah present.

Unfortunately, I did not really find what I needed: Neither you, nor gift.  But as the saying goes:  

It wasn't over. It still isn't over.

Perhaps, tomorrow I'll head Downtown, where you're shooting a movie. Plus, I hear there's great shops at The Underground.

Yours truly,

@mallofamanda

What did the bookcase say when she got an iPhone? Time for a shelfie.

I'm obsessed with my reflection. I'd like to say this was a problem I've had since childhood, but honestly I see it as a benefit. I've been posing in front of the mirror, since I first glanced at a looking glass and haven't stopped.  It's an art form really and a confidence booster.  A self-confidence booster and you cannot get that from anywhere else, see, because only yourSELF can give that to you, see. Like most girls, I've come up with a jillion justifications to need a picture of myself-- Facebook profile update, artistic prowess, lipstick application.  Judge me all you want. I'm judging myself. And I vote ADORABLE. You're looking pretty cute yourself. What's the most ridiculous selfie you've taken?