This is where Kira's thoughts will go...

My brother (Hemingway, to those of us who remember what his writing 'skills' were like in elementary school) (Davy, to those of us who refused to jump on the 'Hey, I have facial hair now; call me David' bandwagon) just got his first job! The kid who named all of his stuffed animals and pets after himself (and subsequently sobbed when Davy Fish got flushed down the toilet), who used to wear his school gym uniform out in public because he thought it was cool, who was the cause of every broken bone I have ever had, who claims I borrowed $2 from him in 1987...and still wants it back...is a lawyer!

Congratulations, Hemingway!

Good luck getting your $2 back.

I have been accused of being a black/white thinker and of being judgmental. Yes…it’s true. Those are my tendencies. I do think there are times and circumstances when such thinking is appropriate and healthy. I do also realize that there are areas of grey in my own life, and that I am in need of way more grace than I ever thought. So, I do really want to try and give grace and understanding before judging.

But, I must admit, my black/white/judgmental thinking reared its ugly, pointed head when I read this tidbit on the celebrity pages of azcentral.com.
(Yes, I read trashy celeb gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure. Let's move on.)

According to reports, here are Dave Navarro’s thoughts on his recent split with his wife, Carmen Electra.

“...he and Electra remain on good terms despite their split, and intend to help each other through this difficult time. He added in his posting: ‘What does amicably separated mean? It means that Carmen and I love each other, we are and always will be best friends. In fact, we are supporting each other through this time. What better way to get through a tough spot than with your best friend? And that's that.’”

What? Maybe when he says they "love each other," he means it in the same way that Julia Roberts did when she exclaimed "I love everyone!" in her Oscar acceptance speech a few years ago...

I know marriage is messy and complicated and often full of grey areas…but I don’t understand this. I mean, doesn’t this “amicable separation” sound a heck of a lot healthier than some marriages? They love each other. They’re best friends. They want to support each other. If that’s true, they should be staying together, right?

And that's that.

Love,
Judge Judy

It was 116 degrees outside today.

Why, Satan, why?!

Merriam-Webster just released its 2006 version of the collegiate dictionary, including 100 new words.

http://www.m-w.com/info/new_words.htm

Here's my favorite new word:

mouse potato
Function: noun
Etymology: after couch potato
slang : a person who spends a great deal of time using a computer

Mouse potato. I love it!

Dear Internet,

I just have to tell you how awesome and handy my husband is!
In the past three days, he’s single handedly installed three ceiling fans...with Viva waiting patiently nearby, ready to administer CPR in the event he got shocked.

Much to her dismay, he did it perfectly!

I should retitle my blog “Thoughts from a Domestic Diva.” Last week was a momentous occasion in the Krieger kitchen. I cooked a meal without cussing at the food, without cussing at Jeff, without tears (mine or Jeff’s), and without starting a small electrical fire. Yay!

It was easy and tasty. If I can do it, any bachelor can do it.
Here's the recipe for chicken stuffed with feta:

Ingredients:
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
3 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley
1/2 tsp. dried oregano leaves
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 (14 oz.) cans diced tomatoes with roasted garlic, undrained
1/4 cup sliced black olives
1 Tbsp. cornstarch

Prep:
Cut a 3" slit in the thick side of each chicken breast to form a pocket, being careful to not cut completely through the flesh. Combine cheese, parsley, oregano and oil and mix gently. Spoon 1/4 of filling into each pocket.
Place chicken in ungreased 2 quart baking dish.
In another small bowl, mix tomatoes, olives and cornstarch and pour over chicken. Bake at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes until chicken is thoroughly cooked. Serve with spaghetti, if you like. Serves 4.

Bachelors, start your ovens!

Love,
Martha Stewart

I never really considered myself domestic or "wifey." But as soon as we got home from the honeymoon--something just clicked. Actually, I think it snapped. A spring in my chest started tightening and I found myself obsessing over stuff like dirt on the baseboards, crumbs on the kitchen counter, hair in the sink, what to cook for dinner, how to learn how to cook what I want to cook for dinner. I actually cried because I couldn't keep up with the laundry. One of the things we were most looking forward to about married life was opening our home to our friends. But, I didn't want anyone to come over and see the mess. The unpacked boxes and suitcases, the hairy sinks, the disorder, the fact that we hadn't had clean underpants in three days.

I couldn't understand where these feelings were coming from. It felt so outdated--all this pressure to be Donna Reed in 2006. I mean, I don't even own an apron. Where were the feelings coming from? Turns out, it was me. It was my pride. I was turning the role of perfect wife and perfect home into an idol. My pride wanted to keep people out until I felt I had all my domestic ducks in a row. It was stifling. My loving husband showed me this...there's freedom in letting people into your mess. They really don't care. They'll eat pizza off of paper plates. They'll remember the good conversation, not the fact that they could write their names in the dust on the kitchen table.

There's freedom in letting someone else in on your mess. Trouble is, I've always been a sweep it under the carpet kind of girl. But, I guess I'm learning that it's a beautiful thing to be loved and accepted for who you are, dust balls and all.

"I don't know why I do some of these things. When I was living alone, it never would've occurred to me to do half of this stuff. But, because you're here, I do it just to freak you out."

-Jeff

I achieved my goal of finishing the 10K without tears or paramedics! Thanks to great race-day running partners, a kick-butt 10K running mix on my iPod, endorphins, caffeine, adrenaline, and a second wind at the 3-mile mark, I did the 6.2 just shy of an hour. If you're a runner...this is nothing special. But I've been what you might call dormant for the last several months. Okay...six months. Ten. Whatever.
This 10k was a little taste of what I've been missing for a while. So, my pledge to myself is to either start training now for the half marathon in January...or get back into rowing. Listen, bloggers, my pledge is to myself. So, don't go trying to hold me accountable or anything.

Love,
Everest or Bust