As a freelancer, I pay a lot in taxes. I’m not complaining. I’m just stating a fact. I’m used to writing out a sizable check each quarter and sending it off in the hopes that April doesn’t come around and put a dent in my savings.

Of course, if it does, that means the quarterly estimates based upon the previous year’s earnings were too low. Which means I made more money than the year before. Which, generally, is awesome.

I’m always, always nervous about tax stuff. Probably because I don’t understand it (which is why I don’t like clowns. Are you happy? Sad? I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU ARE SMILING BUT HAVE A TEAR DROP COMING DOWN YOUR FACE). But we’re big rule followers, and our accountant seems to have a reasonable grasp of how the tax stuff works, so I can generally keep myself from getting too worked up.

Except for when I get a bill in the mail from the IRS for TWENTY SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. For those of you who are more numbers than words, that’s $27,000.

In case it’s not obvious, we do not make the kind of money that would ever put us in a position to owe $27,000 after paying quarterly taxes all year. Or even without paying quarterly taxes all year, really.

But in the moment of reading this letter, as I walked back from the mailbox, all I could think was ZOMG TWENTY SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!?! WE’LL NEVER DO ANYTHING FUN AGAIN. EVER.

And then I started hyperventilating. And getting dizzy. And sitting down, then standing up, then sitting down, then standing up, then leaning against walls and yelling, “TWENTY SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?!?”

Fortunately, Jared retained his reading comprehension skills and realized that a 1099 we’d submitted in 2010 for $600 had been read as $60,000. And you’re damn right we didn’t pay taxes on $59,400 ON TOP OF what we made that year. Nope. That’s a few too many zeros for me.

The situation is getting squared away, and I’m breathing (mostly) normally again. But I will never, ever open a bulky letter from the IRS again without a fainting couch very near.

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AdvertisementThank you COOL WHIP for sponsoring this post. Join us on Facebook for inspiration and recipes for everyday treats. What you add makes it. #coolwhipmoms

The liquid diet (due to my jaw, not for weight loss) has come to an end! Well, sort of, anyway. I don’t have to stick to liquids and mush anymore, although I’m still having smoothies most mornings for breakfast because, well, the more I rest it, the faster I’ll be back to 100%. I’ve gotten a retainer to wear at night — it makes me sound like Cindy Brady, which Jared finds hilarious, but it’s definitely doing the trick. I can handle being a little lispy in the moments before my head hits the pillow if it means I’m cleared to eat crusty bread again.

This whole smoothie thing has been a real revelation for me, though — I’ve learned to view a well-made blended beverage as a meal (or at least a snack) rather than, you know, just a drink, and that mental shift made sticking to liquids SO MUCH EASIER. When I make a smoothie with the mindset that this is my breakfast, or this is my pre-workout snack, it really fills me up. Amazing.

Anyway, it also shifted the way I think about other meals and snacks and such. For instance, dessert. While I’m not normally one to order a dessert out at a restaurant (unless, you know, it’s REALLY spectacular … or the person I’m with orders one first), I do like to have a little something sweet in the evening. But it doesn’t have to be huge or heavy or chocolate or anything. In fact, I’ve found that some of my favorite smoothies can be turned into a delicious dessert with just a couple of small modifications.

Let’s look at my absolute favorite, shall we? The Orange Pineapple Mango Berry. It’s a (delicious, delicious) mouthful, I know, but it’s sweet and tart and creamy and fruity and super refreshing.

As a breakfast smoothie, I would make it with half a cup or so of plain lowfat Greek yogurt, a half (or so) cup of orange juice, a few pieces of frozen pineapple, frozen mango, and whatever frozen berries I have on hand (strawberry is my favorite, but raspberries or mixed berries are also awesome).

Here’s where it gets a little surprising. I add a scoop of chia seeds (ch-ch-ch-chia!), a scoop of protein powder, and, most mornings, a hearty helping of spinach (either chopped and frozen or fresh baby spinach).

Now, let’s talk about how to make it a little more dessert-y.

Don't you wish your smoothie was this pretty?

Mostly, I take things out. I don’t add the protein powder — I assume that, by the time I’ve reached the dessert point of my day, I’ve gotten enough. I might add the chia seeds, but, I mean, I don’t exactly use those for flavor, you know? And by evening, I’ve normally gotten the necessary nutrition for the day.

Approximately 10 seconds later, I scarfed the whole thing down.

If I have orange sherbet, I may swap that out for the Greek yogurt. It tones down the tartness and gives it a slightly more dreamsicle-y flavor. Mmm, dreamsicle.

And then, I add the most important part. COOL WHIP Whipped Topping. Anyone who knows me well will not be surprised by this in the least. I’m not shy about adding that stuff to just about anything — I use it as frosting on cake, I dip cookies in it, I mix it into fruit salad (although I have to credit my mom with that one — COOL WHIP fruit salad was my favorite side as a child).

So, I toss a spoonful into the blender and blend it all up. And, generally, I add a dollop on top, too. A big dollop. You know, just to be safe.

If you’re really trying to be fancy, you could also top with some fresh, sliced strawberries. But if you’re anything like me, you’ll be in too much of a hurry to drink it up to bother with presentation!

Sponsored posts are purely editorial content that we are pleased to have presented by a participating sponsor. Advertisers do not produce the content. I was compensated for this post as a member of Clever Girls Collective, but the content is all my own.

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For a girl who’s used to going into the dentist and walking out with nothing but a zippy new toothbrush and a pocketful of compliments on how pretty her teeth are, yesterday was rough.

I made a last minute appointment, even though I’d just had my teeth cleaned a little over a month ago, for some jaw pain. I figured it was stress-related and that I was clenching and grinding my teeth. I figured they would tell me to take some more ibuprofen, pop in a mouthguard, and send me on my way.

I did not figure they would put me on a liquid diet for a week and tell me to stick an elongated cotton ball, which, yes, looks totally like a tampon, between my front teeth a few times a day. I also did not figure they’d tell me to come back in a week, and, if I’m able to open my mouth at that point, get a retainer.

I didn’t think for a second they would tell me that temporomandibular disorders (TMD, or, as you might better know it, TMJ) could be really serious and cause me to have problems chewing my food in the future if we don’t fix it now.

We didn’t even talk about how pretty my teeth are.

So, I’ll probably be posting a bit about this at Fit Bottomed Girls later this week (like, Thursday, when my weekly column runs), but thought I’d write a little something here as well because, ummm, I’m not much of a smoothie maker, and, if I’m going to get through the next week without being a TOTAL jerk, I’m gonna need a lot of good smoothies and other liquid meals. And I really do mean liquid — even mashed potatoes are off the menu.

Suggestions? Recipes? Just want to virtually point and laugh at the girl behind the computer who’s talking like Alyssa Milano (come on, I’m not the only one who notices she doesn’t move her mouth when she talks, right?)? Have at it in the comments!

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My lack of posting might lead you to believe that there’s not a whole heck of a lot going on, but sir, you would be mistaken. I’ve been to New York for the Westminster Dog Show, volunteered at a marathon (because you KNOW I wasn’t running it this time!), gone to Global Pet Expo in Orlando, and been down to the Keys for the wedding of a very close friend. And I’m sure I’ll catch you up on all of that soon (shut up and stop laughing), but in the meantime, I thought I’d snag this from Sarah.

1. Two shows you watch every week: Seriously, I have to choose just two? Umm, okay, let’s go with White Collar (even though it’s off until summer now) and NCIS (take your pick of original or extra crispy Los Angeles. I’ll take an extra side of LL Cool J, please!)

2. Top three places on your must-visit list: Hawaii, Greece, Australia

3. Current favorite decorating color combo: Red, orange and turquoise

4. Do you use the snooze button on your alarm? No. I used to, but I just get more and more sleepy. Of course, I don’t usually wake up to an alarm at all anymore, so that might be part of the difference.

5. Oldest, middle, or youngest: Only!

6. Do you collect anything? Not on purpose, although I’m certainly not a minimalist. But no, I don’t have a collection of anything in particular.

7. What is your middle name? Originally, Lynn, but now it’s my maiden name (Green).

8. What did you want to be when you grew up? A dancer, an actress, a professional basketball player, a lawyer, an astrophysicist, a dog trainer — I had a lot of dreams. But the biggest was to be a writer, and hey, what do you know!

9a. Are you city or country? I’m pretty good at standing with one foot in the shit and one on the carpet, as my dad likes to say, so I guess both. I grew up in the country and have no desire to ever live in the sticks again, but I’m perfectly comfortable there. I love being in the city, but don’t think I could live in, say, New York with my dogs. I’d love to have the convenience of great restaurants and bars and groceries within walking distance, but still have a guest room or two and a backyard for the dogs.

9b. Tomboy or girly girl? Both. I love hair and makeup and shoes and clothes, but there’s nothing girly about the way I watch basketball. Or play basketball, for that matter.

9c. Talker or listener? Apparently I’m just indecisive, because I feel like I’m both here, too. I can talk for ages, but I try to be a good listener. I don’t know, maybe I’m giving myself a little too much credit there.

10. Fancy label for your decorating style? Evolving eclectic. I truly hope that, by the time I’m a Real Grown Up, my home will truly reflect my/our taste and our lifestyle, but it’s certainly a process to get there.

11a. What would your friends and family say is your best quality? Ummm … I don’t really know, so I just asked Jared, and he said I’m caring, easy to talk to, and funny. So, that.

11b. Your worst? I’m kind of hyperorganized about certain things, and I can be a bit of an ass about it, to be honest. I don’t mean to be, and I usually back off when called out on it, but I can be pretty bossy when I think I need to take charge. This is good if you need me to get shit done. It is less good if you need me to be charming to your mother-in-law and she’s in my way.

Your turn! If you do this on your blog, leave me a link!

Jared (calling on his cell phone telephone): I’m stopping by Publix. You want anything?

Me: What are you getting?

Jared: Printer paper. And chips, to eat with my sandwich.

Me: Oooh! Yes! Chips! And Brussels sprouts!

Jared: Ok … why do you want Brussels sprouts?

Me: Because I also want a sandwich. *eye roll* So get me salty chips, alright? Oh, it’s gonna be so good. Tomato, too, please!

Jared: So, chips, tomato, and … Brussels sprouts?

Me: Yep. I cannot wait for this sandwich.

***

We hang up, and 30 seconds pass. The phone rings again.

***

Jared: Are you sure you meant Brussels sprouts?

Me: Of course I am oh my god why won’t you just get me things to make a damn sandwich?

Jared: So, you do not want bean sprouts? You actually want Brussels sprouts?

Me: … Oh. Oh jeez. I … oh my god, I hate Brussels sprouts.

Jared: I know.

***

And then we both fell over laughing and I realized that I will always have to be married to him because someone else might actually bring me Brussels sprouts and, obviously, then I’d have to kill them. The end.

 

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Spoiler: My haircolor isn't natural.

While I try my best to share what’s new with me, both work-wise and in general, sometimes, I don’t do such a hot job. For example, have you seen my cool new pink hair? Oh, right. I actually did that at the end of September. Whoops.

And if I can’t even keep y’all up to date on what color my hair is, I’m probably not batting a thousand at posting my work that’s scattered across the web.

So, like so many bloggers before me, I’m going to try to do a weekly (or semi-weekly, or whatever) roundup of things I’ve written, and maybe I’ll even take a cue from The Bloggess and use it as an excuse to share things I think are super cool but maybe you haven’t seen.

Fit Bottomed Girls

ING Miami Half Marathon race report. Read it and weep (with me).

My 2012 fitness goals. I guess I’m going to have to keep working on that PR.

How to become a runner. This is awesome advice and it’s okay for me to say that because I just asked the questions. Susan Lacke (follow her on Twitter now) gave the answers.

War wounds. They’re embarrassing as hell, but at least I know I’m not alone.

Jared’s getting in on the fitness action. He’s so cute. Seriously.

Rules of the run. What are yours? Is there beer involved? There should be.

Vetstreet

Goldendoodle Smiles for the Camera. Sometimes I do research-intensive, hard-hitting pieces. Sometimes I post cute videos.

Orphaned Baby Otter Finds Home at Shedd Aquarium. And now I need to take a trip to Chicago.

TODAY

They want to be buried in a pet cemetery. Read it before you judge.

MSN

Popular puppy and kitten names. Yet another hard-hitting expose. I know, I should really lighten up.

… and just because:

This video is my favorite thing I’ve seen all week. You don’t have to like hockey or beer or even sports to enjoy this, although if you DO like any of those things, oh, man. Hold on to your butts.

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32

Today, I’m 32. Or, as I like to say, I’m celebrating the seventh anniversary of my 25th birthday.

But, here’s the thing — I don’t mind being another year older. I mean, yeah, I’d be okay if certain parts of me, like my boobs and metabolism, were still 22, but overall, I like where I am. I’ve lived through enough sadness* to truly appreciate the happiness, I spent enough time working for peanuts that I still get giddy over being able to purchase something nice without saving for a year (not that I can do it often, but it happens). I’ve got enough life under my belt to feel worthy of respect, but young enough to know that I have a lot more to do and see and learn. Yeah, I’m okay with it.

To kick off 32, I’m having dinner with Jared and some friends tonight, and, on Sunday, I’m running a half marathon. Oh, did you forget about that? Because, believe you me, I haven’t. I’ve been working my ass off to get ready for it, but — get this — I’ve kind of loved it. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve made good use of my vast store of running buddies, or because I’ve taken the pressure off in terms of pace (I’m taking a cue from Susan and mostly aiming not to die, but other than that, I just want to beat the time of the only other one I’ve ever done, which was just under 2:30). I actually have a decent amount of confidence that I can do that. Either way, it’s definitely been an enjoyable training journey.

And if I can’t meet my goal, there will still be beer at the end, so, you know, there’s that.

 

*Thank you all for your comments (here and on Facebook and Twitter and via text and email) about Meeko. Your support has been an enormous help.

This weekend, we had to say goodbye to our cat, Meeko. She was, as Jared put it, “the best foot-warmer, sink drinker, and bathroom buddy ever.” She was all those things and so many more.

Jared already had Meeko when I met him, and his obvious love of her was one of the things I immediately dug about him. It took a long time before I ranked anywhere near him in her eyes — I could be petting her, feeding her treats, but if he got up and walked away, she’d jump off my lap and trot on after him. Nothing personal, I know, he was just her world.

Little by little, she came to love me — not as much as Jared, of course, but I think I became a very close second. In the last few years, after he started traveling more for work, she started falling asleep over on my side of the bed. A purring cat is better than a warm glass of milk when it comes to facilitating relaxation and sleep, let me tell you.

In addition to loving those of us who fed her and scooped her poop, she also loved sunbeams, balls of paper, chewing on plastic bags, running water, and curling up on available laps.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you might remember that we almost lost Meeko a year ago. Her kidneys were failing, which is pretty common in older cats, and she was having some crazy thyroid problems. We got her stabilized (although she continued needing a pill twice a day and fluids injected a couple of times a week), and, well, we got an extra year. We knew it was borrowed time, but that doesn’t make it much easier when you see the end coming.

We spent her last morning petting her, feeding her tuna, and memorizing her sweet little face. She died very peacefully in the arms of the person she loved most in the world. For that, I’m thankful. I’m also a little surprised at the different ways she made herself part of my day, and all the ways I’m missing her.

I knew it would be weird to work without having her lay on my desk, batting pens off the side and drinking out of my water glass. I assumed it would make  me sad to look over at where her cat tree and litter box were. I didn’t realize I’d tear up every time I went into the bathroom and didn’t have to wait for her, or how I’d turn the sink faucet on — just a trickle — for her to drink and then realize she wasn’t there.

She was pretty talkative, too, and every time I hear a strange noise, I look around to see what she needs. The kitchen is sad because she’s not standing in the middle of it, staring at us and willing us to give her food or a new water bowl or attention or who even knows what she wanted. When I let the dogs out in the back yard, I realized I could leave the door to the screened-in back porch (which we got for Meeko) open, because we didn’t have to worry about her getting outside.

The first night I slept in our bed without her, I kept thinking I felt her jump up on the bed. Jared found himself being careful when he moved so as not to kick her.

The dogs know something is up — I don’t know that they really realize she’s gone, or, if they do, if they, like, miss her, but they definitely had their own little dynamic. Mainly, Meeko was in charge. They could come up and sniff her, and even put their noses right on her, as long as she wasn’t looking at them. If they approached her head on, forget about it — she’d let them know who was boss and encourage them to find another route. They always listened.

This is going to take some time to get used to. And even though it hurts, I’d rather have the pain that goes along with the memories than forget about her easily. She was just a tiny little thing, but the hole she left behind is bigger than I can explain.

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Something happened. Something bad. It was a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t write about it right away. The terror was too fresh, too real. But now that it’s all relegated to the occasional ‘Nam-esque flashbacks and night terrors, I think I’m ready to relive it. After all, writing is a good form of therapy, right?

So, here it is.

Ready?

You guys? I … I tried …

Dammit, I can’t do this. (Yes you can. Be strong. You never know when your story might help someone else.)

Ugh, fine.

I tried on Mom jeans.

It started innocently enough. I was shopping for some new jeans — something straight, or maybe even skinny, but definitely not with a flare. Between the cruise earlier in December and the holidays, I wasn’t really wanting to shop in the Junior sections. You see, when you’re a size 10 or 12 in Regular People clothes, that equates to different kinds of numbers in the Junior section, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to try on a size 19 or something … and not be able to button it. And so, to the Grown Up Ladies section I went.

I was optimistic, and with good reason. Macy’s and I tend to get along very, very well. I have several beautiful dresses from the Grown Up Ladies section that I got on wicked sale and couldn’t be more pleased with. And it’s a department store, for god’s sake. They should have a little of everything, right? Including hip but not Juniors-sized pants.

I saw the denim section and approached without hesitation. Hanging on the wall there were numerous styles, and they were even displayed in such a way that I could tell what was happening at the bottom. Flare, bootcut, bootcut, “slimming” bootcut, and, there they were. Straight. And not a million dollars, which was my other issue. The wash looked good, the price was right, and they appeared to be slim enough to tuck into my new boots. Into the dressing room I went.

It’s funny how you often receive NO WARNING that your life is about to change.

I pulled them on, pleased with the softness of the denim. I may have even congratulated myself a bit for navigating away from the elastic waist jeggings and trouser jeans with rhinestone-studded back pockets. Hahaha, I’m so smart, I thought.

But then it happened. I buttoned them, and my heart began to race. As I zipped them, I felt like I was in a Guy Ritchie movie, with everything slowing waaaaay down so that I could hear and see everything. I heard the laughter of a mother and daughter shopping for a Christmas dress two doors down, and a subtle grunt from another woman trying on a bandage dress that probably should have been a size larger. I could see the particles of dust falling from the fluorescent lights above me.

And then, I looked in the mirror. And there they were.

Mom jeans.

It was awful. I couldn’t look away. The waistband easily came up to my bellybutton, and the back — oh, the back! Let’s just say that I’ll never use the term “long-ass” (as in,  “Man, that is a long-ass drive!) without thinking of how my butt appeared to be the height of an encyclopedia in those jeans. *shudder*

As I unzipped and stepped out of the high-waisted catastrophe, my terror began to turn to confusion, with a touch of rage. How could this happen to me? Why weren’t they clearly marked? This isn’t right!

I speedwalked out of the dressing room, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him away. “Take me someplace stylish, right now,” I begged. And, as he looked into my eyes, he understood the trauma I had gone through. Well, after I explained what the innocent looking pants I’d taken into the dressing room did to me, he understood, at least. And so, arm in arm, we walked directly to Banana Republic and never looked back.

 

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Just in case getting to meet Janet Evanovich wasn’t enough for one lifetime, I had another brush with celebrity. No, it wasn’t Sean Connery on the phone (again), but it got my heart all aflutter nonetheless.

It was this:

Wait, you don’t know Aldis Hodge? He’s on Leverage and totally one of my celebrity crushes — definitely above the Clooneys and Pitts of the world, but not quite as high on The List as Zachary Levi. Then again, you know, ol’ Chuck there has never Tweeted me back. And The List isn’t carved in stone.

And, yes, I’m aware that I have a type. Tall, handsome, athletic-looking, computer geeky. Those of you who know my husband will not find this surprising in the least.

(There’s one exception to the type: Alex O’Loughlin. What can I say? I would be at least as tall as he

Anyway, all that is pretty much just to say, damn, I love Twitter. (BTW, are you following me? Drop me a line at @kgseymour! Tell m who’s on your List and I’ll bestow some of these “smooth” points on you!)

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