It started innocently enough.

All I wanted to do was make a recipe for rosemary chicken, and before I knew it my borderline hoarder dad and I were embroiled in a “how long do spices really stay good” battle and cabinet binge that began the moment I discovered some rosemary that was purchased in 1986.

For the record, it’s one to two years. They won’t ever make you sick, but after a couple of years they lose pretty much all flavor, and you’re basically just sprinkling little bits of sand in your food.

Serendipitously, and to the detriment of my own self-righteousness, I discovered a use for the ancient (freshly emptied and cleaned) little tins after a nice evening of Pinterest perusing:

BUT I need more. So I have a favor to ask you. When you’re home for the holidays, take  a tour of the fam’s spice rack. I guarantee they will have something equally ancient. Feel free to chastise your parents, but if the tin is pretty or unique looking (and you don’t want to do this project at home yourself) send it my way?

Here’s what I have so far:

And here’s a bunch of ridiculously overpriced ones I found and favorited on Etsy, to give you an idea of what I am looking for:

While last week the family and I felt the wonderful relief of knowing that Aaron had in fact officially passed the Texas BAR exam, I began to practice a different law – Murphy’s. And of course I fell on my usual fallback – food.

It began with me breaking the lid to one of my more prized possessions - a pink 1940s depression glass sugar bowl – and ended with an all-out binge on all things evil, carb-filled and Oreo-cookie-crumb-crusted once the realization hit me that Aaron passing the BAR does not equal instant job + income. In between, I managed to give myself a black eye.

(My first ever – and all I have to say is, thank God my favorite eyeshadow is eggplant purple. Also, I apparently bend down with a mighty force when putting shoes back on my feet. Who knew office chairs were that sturdy?)

Just as I predicted, the death of any good plan begins with digital immortality.

But, as the next weigh-in for Biggest Loser tomorrow morning looms over me, I am going to jinx myself once again by saying that I am not going to let this fall-back stop me. A million times before my all-or-nothing will to do things perfectly or not at all has brought attempts such as these to a screeching hault after just one culinary transgression.

Not this time! I may be back to my original weight tomorrow, but I’ve still got three more weeks to go right? Dust off, keep going.

Dear Lord, help me.

Turns out self-improvement is not a big enough motivator for me. In all the diets I’ve half-assed tried and all the times I’ve said I would start something new, at the end of the day I am reduced to nothing more than someone who responds extremely well to the promise of cold. hard. cash.

(cue my father’s conservative rant about capitalism)

About a week ago (eight days to be ravenously precise) my coworkers started a Biggest Loser contest. Five weeks, whoever loses the highest percentage of body weight wins. Buy in was $50, and the pot is $450. Winner takes all.

So far I’ve lost a whopping 4.6 pounds. Yes, greed (and lust for these otherwise unaffordable boots) is a powerful motivator.

My system:

• Enjoy absolutely everything I eat. AKA, don’t eat things I don’t like just because they are “healthy”. Find alternatives.
• Limit carbs and sugar as much as possible (although not entirely)
• Complete embargo on baked goods
• Stay around 1,200 calories a day (extremely easy to track thanks to the “Lose It!” iPhone app)
• Lift weights 3 times a week with Aaron
• Attempt sporadic acts of fitness whenever possible (my commitment to a jogging regime has yet to materialize)

So far, so good. I definitely have had my moments already – including an extremely vivid dream about drinking chocolate milk out of a carton beside an open fridge door – but generally, things have been going well. I’m really liking the philosophy of enjoying everything I eat. It’s already lead to some pretty incredible meals.

A generous sampling:

My breakfast of choice. I love apple butter, and the slivered almonds make it feel a little like eating a danish. Whole thing is only about 130 calories.

Pacific salad roll from Whole Foods. Extremely delicious.

Vegetarian sandwich recipe I found on Pinterest - way good.

Revised lox and bagel for lunch. Triple health English muffin, unflavored Greek yogurt instead of cream cheese. Also pictured (but sadly not as delicious) is green gazpacho from Whole Foods.

Really great rosemary chicken recipe, that I cannot for the life of me find now.

Recipe Aaron found for one fantastic salad. Grilled Flank Steak Salad with Roasted Tomatoes & Blue Cheese (substituted feta).

So yeah, that’s what happening. Hopefully this will be the start of something good. Usually these sunny optimistic blog posts about self-improvement are the harbinger of the end, despite the conventional advice that putting something in writing makes you more likely to see it through.

More food pictures to come?

In the meantime, check out recipes, motivation, etc. on my Biggest Loser Pinterest board.

Just admit it. Maybe you’re a little sick of pink ribbons this month. Breast Cancer Awareness is ubiquitous – and sometimes it may seem like a bunch of bandwagon-jumping, but the closer I get to it – the more I work with MD Anderson, the older I get, the more people I know – the more I see it really affecting people’s lives around me.

And for the first year since all the pink kitchen accessories started rolling out at Macy’s, my jaded little bubble has begun to show some wear.

The chances of a woman getting breast cancer are one in EIGHT. No wonder pink is ubiquitous – if you know ten women, chances are you know at least one who has or will be diagnosed. In just the two short years I’ve been working with MD Anderson, I’ve known personally two friends and family members who have been diagnosed and treated for breast cancer.

You know what else I’ve learned in those two years? Taking care of yourself is a BIG deal when it comes to preventing cancer. So that’s my new goal these days, taking care of myself. Eating healthy, walking the dogs more, baby steps. (For a little more on the subject, check out a little post I wrote last week for my company’s blog.)

In related news, did you know 8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong bra size? This last week I was invited to attend a blogger event for Wacoal’s super-chic b.temp’d line of bras. (As full disclosure, I was promised a free bra and cocktails in a 12th floor suite at Hotel Zaza. Who in their right mind would pass that up?) Before going, I perused their website and found out that they too have decided to do something for Breast Cancer Awareness Month – for every one of these bras they sell, they’re donating $2 to Susan G. Komen. Too awesome, and really, why wouldn’t every lingerie brand do this?

Love their ideas, and in person, love the bras. I ended up choosing this Wacoal Retro Chic bra for my free bra – which I have to say, is insanely comfortable. Can’t wait for it to come in the mail!

This morning on the drive to work I saw a piece of sod on the highway. I’m assuming some landscaping vehicle lost a patch (really, who is planting in this weather?) but seeing that one perfect square of green, that island oasis of life laying just so across the center lanes, protruding as if nature was fighting through all the concrete and heat and dry lifeless terrain, was kind of poetic. Very avant garde.

Yesterday, I turned 26. The chances of me committing feats of genius after this age grow statistically dim. Let’s face it, the rest of my life is a fight against inertia. Or gravity. Or whichever force pulls us towards chaos and cellulite. Morgan Freeman, where are you?

In other news, my family gave me $150 for my birthday towards a $300 Kate Spade purse I’ve had my eye on. What they didn’t tell me is that they had already ordered it in the mail, so basically my choices are to 1. Give them back their money and pay them another $150 for the purse or 2. Return the purse and keep their money.

I’ve never seen the movie Sophie’s Choice but I’m pretty sure it felt something like this.

I’m now in that push-and-pull “Do I $300 love it?” battle. Rational Lauren is telling me to return it, but selfish Lauren just keeps telling me how much it already matches the things I own:

Help?

So after hearing about all the madness and seeing all the cute new items at Target, curiousity overwhelmed me. Here is what to expect at the Target at Highway 6 and 59:

bare shelves:

sparse clothing racks: Note the “my grandma would wear that” shirt on the left and a “I’m pretty sure I wore that sweater in the 90s” knit on the right – guessing this was all that was left after the raid on cuter things in the AM

Decent selection left in the PJ section, and just 2 more pairs of my favorite shoes (if only I wore a size 11, they would have been mine):

My favorite part – fully stocked desk accessories and scented candles:

Even with the recent rise in popularity of the chevron,  I’ve never been that big of a Missoni fan. (I have a love for 1960s aesthetic, and a generally disdain for 70s color schemes) While generally underwhelmed by what apparel remained hanging in the women’s department, I was pleasantly surprised to find Missoni’s updated color palettes and Emilio Pucci-esque patterns amongst their office supply/stationary items.

My loot:

Tonight the fam and I are going to see Mamma Mia! as a Mother’s Day present for my mom. In honor of the woman who gave me life, appreciation for life, and a little bit of mischief to laugh my way through anything:

From the Archives: “Secrets”

Some of the most delectable words in the English language are “it’ll just be our little secret.” For as long as I can remember, my mom and I played our mischievous mind games and inner battles against our fellow family members. I was always her shopping buddy; companion amidst the thousand boring errands no others would endure, and thus default to witness her otherwise secret indiscretions.

Sideswipes of the curb in the car, temporarily lost credit cards, purchases we knew my father would not approve of; her spoiling me in a thousand ways no one ever knew about- all fell subject to this secret little world of ours.

As our latest “crime” against the family, I will be getting my teeth professionally whitened for an undisclosed exorbitant amount of money. And all the while as I gazed at the dental hygienist’s glistening white teeth bob up and down with each word of careful instruction, I was reminded of all those small moments that defined our world. I remember trips to Old Town Spring and that grin on my mother’s face as she revealed truffles carefully and secretly purchased as I meandered among the knick-knacks. I carry that look of mischief with me deeper than all others. On that look, our own little world of “it’ll just be our little secret” resides.

A little speechless. News coverage of ground zero is making me a little too teary for 8 am. Here’s something I wrote when I was fifteen.

Getting me out from inside my own head is hard to do.

I’m debilitatingly shy at times, my inner dialogue rarely makes it outward. I over-analyze, over-think and generally obsess about everything.

The last several weeks of insanity at work (really, months is more accurate) have pushed me so far beyond what I thought I was capable of – emotionally, socially, academically – I’ve blown past pure stress and too the point where I’ve begun to sickly like it.

(I imagine this is akin to the point where athletes work through the burn and hit that endorphin I-can-do-anything rush. I wouldn’t know.)

Why? Because when there’s no time to overanalyze, no room in the day for self-doubt, all that’s left is action. Delicious, unambiguous action. Making decisions, taking names. Sending emails without reading them four times first.

It’s liberating. Addictive.

This is why the idea of ventures like furniture restoration, painting have always appealed to me. I can’t imagine what it’s like to take a quick trip through your intuition, experience, and just go for it. Have something tangible, physical at the end of the day and be unapologetic about how it all turned out.

I hope when all the adrenaline wears off and things eventually settle back down I can maintain a bit of this new, bolder incarnation of me. Minus the frazzled nerves and the binge-eating of baked goods.