Misc. tidbits / granola confessions

1. I. love. the. sun.

2. My running jacket, which also happens to be my second favorite article of clothing, often ends up being my all-the-time jacket. Problem is, it is made of all kinds of synthetics that eat b.o. for breakfast and have nasty breath all day long.

I may or may not have just sprayed the inside of said smelly jacket with the "wasabi green pea" room spray we keep under the counter at work. Jacket still reeks, but now with vegetable undertones.

3. This week's resolution: to run every mile on my training program. This woman is no slacker, dammit!

4. I'm resigning to my fate: I am that asshole "granola child" only borne of a middle-class suburban upbringing followed by a liberal arts college education.

Perhaps everyone else has already identified me as such. But I have long been in denial, affirming myself with lies from the pit of hell, e.g. "I am a well-rounded, balanced individual!"

No, I am not.

I am suspicious of microwaves and televisions. I refuse to work anyplace where I only know the owner by a 8 x 10 framed portrait on the wall.

I buy organic, local, local organic and vegan. Exclusively. I describe your dinner using terms like "flesh," "animals," and "baby lamb-ie." It takes me half an hour to order a restaurant meal, and that's after the waiter has gone back three times to check the ingredients of various sauces.

My political perspectives are more extreme than my eating habits. My laptop is plastered with angry bumper stickers bought on the street at Telegraph Ave. in Berkeley. I haven't worn makeup since Clinton was in office. That's a lie, but you get the idea.

As sold out as I am to all these dirty hippie ideals, I grew up in the suburban inferno that is North-central California. As such, things like turning off lights and taking less-than-45-minute showers do not come naturally to me. I like to be comfortable. I like the feel of plush carpeting and textured tiling under my feet. And I love, love, LOVE lawns.

Now that I am officially embracing my culture, I'd better practice what I preach. No more animal-cruel shampoos (but they make my hair so soooft). No more driving to work (but it's so faaar). And my kitchen cupboards shall, from heretoforth, be stocked with homemade granola.