i hate breakfast. i LOVE breakfast food, but i hate breakfast. it’s one of those meals where you don’t have time to sit down and ENJOY your food, and even if you do, it’s like lunch is right around the corner, so why bother?

in college, i could count with one hand how many times i actually ate breakfast, it was such an expendable meal. (we’re obviously not counting the times when I’m eating a grand slam at 5am after a frat party.) but again, as age has a great sense of humor, i can no longer function when hungry. truthfully, i get something like a hunger tremor where my hands start to shake if my sugar level is too low. it’s generic, so thanks dad!

i’m a savory breakfast eater. there’s nothing more comforting than a good salty Italian frittata or chili cheese omelets to say to my tummy “rise and shine!” the exception is side street café’s extraordinary sweet, fluffy, french toast, which i eat once a week at the minimum (shut up wobbly thighs!) but really, even with my leisurely schedule, who the heck has the time to SIT DOWN and eat this stuff during the weekdays?

when i worked 9-5, i tried every solutions to the breakfast dilemma: cereal, toast, pop-tarts, yogurt and granola, smoothies- all of which had me STARVING by 10:30. sometimes, i did the “eat my dinner leftovers for breakfast” thing, only to end up screaming at every co-worker that walked by “YES, I’m eating a t-bone for breakfast! STOP STARING!”

now, i have a more leisurely morning schedule, but i mean really? am i going to dirty 4 pots and pans just to get some hash browns? so recently, i checked those Jimmy Dean breakfast croissant sandwiches (they looked really good and the commercials are really damn cute,) but the “lite” version holds 12 grams of FAT, 18% of your daily intake and that’s if you eat 2000 calories a day, which most of us are trying to AVOID.

OH, and what about those people who work out IN THE MORNING? (you’re sick, i tell you, SICK) what the heck are you people eating that’s not causing you to throw up? because it’s impossible that you’re not eating before your workout!? i get hungry just holding up my SoniCare in the morning!

so friends, share the breakfast secret. what do you like to eat for breakfast? end up eating? and what’s your solution to the ever-enigmatic dilemma? because at this rate, i’m pretty much open to just sleeping until noon and eating lunch to start the day.

(ps. i find that my writing skills are on the decline and it’s getting harder and harder for me to compose my thoughts in an organized and concise matter; therefore, i am trying to post more in an effort to hone those skills. i apologize if any post finds you asleep or 10 IQ points dumber after reading.)

this is my secret santa Chanelle, and her daughter Madison. since Nelle asked for all these kitchen things on her wish list, i bought her a flour sifter from one of my favorite stores William-Sonoma and i MADE her and her daughter matching aprons! yes, that is her daughter’s face on the apron. score one for my crafting gene. YEA FOR ME! CRAFTING QUEEN!

here’s a better shot of Madison and her teeny tiny apron.

BUT, there is one place and one place only where the *enter Holiday celebration of your denominational choice* spirit enters and pukes like a giant Rugby player who’s had one too many pitchers of Michelob Ultra after a winning match. and THAT place is….*drum roll please* THE CRAFT STORES.

oh yes, Michael’s and Joanne’s and Tall Mouse. oh my! every one of these stores are bursting with holiday goods in various forms: unfinished wreaths, various ornaments, craft papers/punches/glues/cutters, fabric embellishments and etc. they’re all calling out to you….”make me!” “craft me!” “take me home and make be GORGEOUS!” especially this time of the year, all the stores are enticing crazy martha-stewart wannabes like me with 40% offs and 3-for-$5’s or (my favorite) Joanne’s crazy and kooky Coupon Commotions! and i can’t help it, i’m a crafting sucker. so a normal trip to Michael’s to pick up ribbon and glue usually costs me about $100 and leaving with anything from grommets to a 10,000 piece vellum pack to mountains of yarn.

there is a unexplicable satisfaction to the completion of a craft project; a sense of accomplishement that is so easy to come by. three hours in front of a tv with two sticks and two skeens of yearn and voila! scarf! don’t even mention the soaring sense of pride when you wear it out and someone just HAPPENS to ask you where you got it. you get a certain glimmer in your eye and you pause for dramatic effect before you say, “i made it myself!” and you wait for the gasps and compliments and request for tips.

you can’t really blame me, it’s in my blood. my mom is the craft queen that could give martha a run for her money. she makes intricate Japanese shadow boxes, owns her own mat cutter and can finish a full length waffle-weave scarf in italian wool during a viewing of Mission Impossible 3. the woman doesn’t have to LOOK at her needles, she just kinda knows when to switch from pearl to knit. she once finished a market scene shadow box that required her to cut out each GRAPE in one of the fruit stands. then there’s the vintage beaded clutch i carry during special occasions that EVERYONE keeps asking where i got, the answer? “my mom made it when she was in her 20’s.” the woman BEADED and entire clutch! there’s the sewing and the cross-stitching and the gardening- the woman’s a tour de force a la craft. and i’ve got half her DNA!

unfortunately, the other half of my DNA belongs to my father…the impatient one. so what you end up with is ME. the one with boxes and mountains of craft supplies, but not so much completed projects… during college in the sorority house, i was the go-to gal if you needed emergency craft supplies or some instructions during a mishap (i was VERY popular the night before big sis revealing; arrow-boards and sweaters always seemed to made at 3AM.) but if you looked at my room, you couldn’t tell my dirty little secret. even now, in my apartment, you wouldn’t be able to tell my craft obsession. that’s because like a shameful bulimic, i hide all my binge craft supplies in boxes tucked away behind cupboards and under beds. and there’s a whole section dedicated to half-finished projects…three half-finished scarves, one throw-pillow, one unfinished scrapbook, a collection of unfinished bracelets and a couple of sewing projects i never found the inspiration to continue. they all at one point or another originate from the desire to MAKE people their presents.

and so we matriculate to this point of the year: the hunting season. the season where craft supplies are so cheap, it doesn’t matter that i already own a good 2000 pieces of various glittery designer heavy-weight archival craft paper, the sight of aisles of MORE at 40% off makes my palms sweat and knees weak. i want to buy them, take them all home, roll on the ground with them and admire their beauty…and then hide them in a box like they never existed so i can go out and buy MORE! *maniacal laughter*

but as this blog is to help me self-improve, i am trying to show restraint. this year, i vow not to try and knit a scarf for every person i need to gift (i don’t have my mom’s speediness and/or skill,) i won’t try to make a 26-piece hand-crafted holiday card for everyone i know and i won’t try to bake 14 dozen cookies for all my co-workers and guests(you laugh…but little do you know the truth.) i will limit my trip to the craft store to ONCE a week and resist the temptation of glitter. and i will no longer be a secret crafter, i shall come out from the darkest corner of the closet and yell from the top of south coast plaza: I, THE WANG, AM A CRAFTER. AND I AM PROUD TO BE ATTRACTED TO PAPER, YARN AND ALL THINGS ASSOCIATED WITH THE GOODNESS THAT IS CRAFT AND THE WONDER THAT IS MARTHA STEWART, HER HOLINESS.

it is here though that i must ask my friends for their support and intervention. events that may occur that signal trouble 1. if i ever turn down a trip to anthropologie to go to Michael’s 2. if i ever wear a knitted BIKINI 3. if i ever give YOU a knitted bikini 4. if i ever give you a homemade scented candle and finally, 5. NO HOLIDAY SWEATERS. EVER. if any of the above should occur, i give full permission to admit me to the nearest crafters anonymous rehabilitation locations. should no vacancies be available, lock me in your closet until my hands stop mimicking knitting motions.

thank you for your continued support and love as i embrace and explore my life as a (trendy-non-cat-lady-like) crafter.

1. RVCA- 919 sunset drive, costa mesa, ca

2. obey- 3500 west carriage drive, santa ana, ca

3. vestal- 730 west 16th street, costa mesa, ca

and more (paul frank, atwater etc.) so if you have lots of loved ones in need of gifts, it’s wise to make a list and get cracking. or if you’re like me, bake everyone some goddamn cookies and go shopping for yourself.

see…SAVING.

on another note:

my dog is a genius. she g-chatted with michelle today. some might say it’s crazy! to let a dog type. but i say it’s freedom of expression. i mean there are things i’m certain my dog’s dying to express. and though we migh not comprehend the vocabulary my dog is typing, it’s likely to be understood SOMEWHERE in the universe. it’s just my job as the owner to let it out.

i’m not that big of a whiz BUT i CAN make hot chocolate like a pro:

1/2 bar of valhrona semi-sweet (56%) chocolate grated and whisked into 1.5 cups of milk 1 teaspoon of sugar in the raw and 1/2 tablespoon of vanilla extract.

but the topper? homemade whip cream!!!!

i’m so damn excited! my sweatpants, a giant cup of chocolate whipped fat and really bad television on Bravo. EEEEEE!

When one of my security/floor guys at work started to train for his upcoming MMA fight, it occured to me that maybe HE could make me into a lean-mean-fighting machine. (i really just wanted the lean and mean part, but i won’t object to being made into fighting machine.) Much to the objection of everyone we worked with, we got started (they said i was mean enough without fighting skills.) The first session, I got light-headed about 5 times. The second sesson, I threw up. The third sesson, my arms couldn’t hold up the 14 oz boxing gloves that Andy had strapped on my. Every week, I went, looking foolish as my limp arms tried desperately to support the hulk-like gloves while the attendees of the group class stared as Andy kept reminding me to breath (i always forget.)

Miracles or miracles, by the 5 or 6th time, i was starting to feel better. i was getting through my sessions without wanting to faint. i was able to do my crunches without tears. i got the rhythm of the speed bag down (cue ’eye of the tiger’ please!) i was even able to hold up my arms without them feeling like they were going to be burned off at the bicep. i was getting…good!

Until last week. Apparently all those hitting and kicking drills were suppose to amount to something? like actually attacking people! Andy made me punch him in the face. which i refused until i went to throw a punch and he delibertly didn’t block it. i flinched. then HE punched ME. and my contact fell out. and like the fat nerd in gym glass, i was sent to the ground, blind and looking for my eyesight.

Today, Andy had the brilliant idea that since i was progressing fairly well, that he would up the time on all the repetition work we were doing. i know 2 minutes doesn’t sound like much, but try punch a giant sand bag for 2 minutes straight with 14oz gloves on. my arms BURNED like pompei upon the erruption of mt. versuvius. Then he upped the reps on the sit-ups. BURN, i tell you BURN.

and as we were doing all the repetitions, Andy would LIE about how much time was left to keep me motivated. “10 seconds left” he’d say. and i’d do like 15 more reps wondering why 10 second seems so long. then he’s say, “i lied, NOW there’s 10 seconds left.” my muscles felt betrayed.

the moral of this story is that if you’re looking for me in the next three days, i’ll be stationary. on my couch with my dog wondering if i’ve died because i haven’t moved. i’m in pain. everything hurts. sure, it’s a good i’m-gonna-look-great-in-skinny-jeans pain. but it’s still pain. i’m not giving this one up anytime soon though, the possibility of being able to be made into a fighter is way too enticing. plus, there’s the whole skinny jean thing. (we can’t all be born thin limbed, like michelle! damn you!) so for the forseeable future, i’ll just be here, in pain, sulking in my vanity.

god i wish i had the energy of a 20 year old again.

first off, let me say that girls love stripper poles. maybe it’s the gymnastic element to it ( i mean, which one of us didn’t try and recreate carrie strug’s heroic 1996 olympic vault in our living rooms?) so when there’s three on a bus, there’s bound to be some heroics. AND since we had gone to a strip club, i was somehow inspired and convinced that i could hang upside and spin from one. PLus, all the girls on the bus were like 24 and UNDER, so you know- mama had to show them a thing or two.

i showed them alright…..until i woke up the next morning unable to lift my arms past the 45 degree angle and unable to laugh without abdominal pain. apparently, stripper pole activities are only for people in fit physical conditions- and not for 27 year olds with muscles that have atrophied into fat.

let that be a warning to the rest of you. (cause my arms hurt from holding them off to type so i gatta lay down now…)

bob, this little pudgy short guy called me from champion motorsports two fridays ago and told me my 2008 kawasaki ninja 250 was here! and i had one day to decide if i wanted to buy it. i called my mom (she said i shouldn’t) i called my dad (he said “want some money?”) and by saturday, i had a shiny black motorcycle in my possession. we’ll disregard that i haven’t learned to ride it yet, but i LOVE it.

i walked in and bob, my little motorcycle friend led me into the greasy garage to see the mechanics fine-tuning my bike, and in the room full of men in jumpsuits, i squealed “it’s SO SHINY! and PRETTY!”

a few things have happened since i’ve gotten it:

1. i’ve getten it to 5th gear, except there’s no gear indicator, so i forgot what gear i was in. and then i just kept down-shifting. but then i lost neutral….that was confusing.

2. the bike fell over while i was trying to move it, thankfully there were no scratchings (thank god for frame sliders) but i was able to pick it back up BY MYSELF!!!!

3. i’ve been practicing taking off my helmet and shaking my hair out in slow motion. it’s looking gOOd.

don’t worry folks, i’ll be rolling up to a driveway near you in a leather jumsuit soon enough.