Swimsuit season is comin', ladies. And, if you're like me, you need all the help you can get in the muffin-top area. So, here's my new fave low-carb recipe. It's dee-licious. (Tomato lovers, you have officially hit the jackpot.)
I got this from Muscle & Fitness HERS magazine. It's a great workout magazine if you're more advanced than SELF or Shape. (I'm not doing arm curls with soup cans.)
8 roma tomoatores
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
Kosher salt (I love Kosher salt. LOVE it.)
Black pepper
2 oz. fresh goat cheese (I don't include this.)
Serves 4
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Slice tomatoes in half length-wise. In a large bowl, toss with olive oil, fennel, and salt and pepper to taste.
Place tomatoes on a cookie sheet cut side down and roast for two hours. Turn over half-way thru cooking.
Place on a serving dish and crumble goat cheese on top. Serve warm.
124 calories, 4g protein, 6g carbs, 10g fat, 0g sugar, 1g fiber, 218mg sodium (unless I make it and then it's like 1,000 mg sodium. Ha!)
Have a fabulous low-carb recipe you love? Send it to me! Help me say "sayonara" to the muffin-top.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Winter blues
The holidays were great. I saw family.
I watched movies. (Loved the Hangover. Julie & Julia? Not so much.)
I read. (Finished "The Lost Symbol" By Dan Brown. "Angels & Demons" is still my fave though this book had an interesting twist at the end.)
Watched way too much "Falalala Lifetime."
Hit the gym (I was there at 8 a.m. on NY Day, thank you!)
And, shopped. (Try Lucy for tall running pants.)
So, what's with my crabby mood?
In a word? Winter.
My tolerance for the cold expires New Year's Day. On Jan. 2, I expect the sun to shine, my air conditioner to click on and the pool to open.
But, it's not happening that way. At least not in KC.
I'm done with snow. I don't own a pair of boots. Well, let me clarify: I don't own a pair of functional snow boots. Sassy boots with pointy toes and three-inch heels, yes. Moon boots, no.
And, while I love, love coats, I typically buy em' based on how they look, not the level of down filling.
My bright orange Karl Lagerfeld coat bought last year at a thrift store is my favorite. (Talk about a find!) It's 3/4-sleeve and v-neck. It's 13 degrees today. So, while I love to wear it with all black and channel my inner Karl, I'm not sure it's what you call functional for sub-zero wind chills.
I keep telling myself, "Kater, you just have to make it to March. Then there will be glimpses of spring."
Yes, when talking to myself, I say Kater. And, no, it has nothing to do with me being cooped up in this house for too long.
I miss my bike. I'm done with the treadmill. I want to wear my favorite open-toe red snake heels.
I'm not usually this crabby. Really.
I watched movies. (Loved the Hangover. Julie & Julia? Not so much.)
I read. (Finished "The Lost Symbol" By Dan Brown. "Angels & Demons" is still my fave though this book had an interesting twist at the end.)
Watched way too much "Falalala Lifetime."
Hit the gym (I was there at 8 a.m. on NY Day, thank you!)
And, shopped. (Try Lucy for tall running pants.)
So, what's with my crabby mood?
In a word? Winter.
My tolerance for the cold expires New Year's Day. On Jan. 2, I expect the sun to shine, my air conditioner to click on and the pool to open.
But, it's not happening that way. At least not in KC.
I'm done with snow. I don't own a pair of boots. Well, let me clarify: I don't own a pair of functional snow boots. Sassy boots with pointy toes and three-inch heels, yes. Moon boots, no.
And, while I love, love coats, I typically buy em' based on how they look, not the level of down filling.
My bright orange Karl Lagerfeld coat bought last year at a thrift store is my favorite. (Talk about a find!) It's 3/4-sleeve and v-neck. It's 13 degrees today. So, while I love to wear it with all black and channel my inner Karl, I'm not sure it's what you call functional for sub-zero wind chills.
I keep telling myself, "Kater, you just have to make it to March. Then there will be glimpses of spring."
Yes, when talking to myself, I say Kater. And, no, it has nothing to do with me being cooped up in this house for too long.
I miss my bike. I'm done with the treadmill. I want to wear my favorite open-toe red snake heels.
I'm not usually this crabby. Really.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Oklahoma
Something funny happens the first time a client attends one of our trunks shows.
They walk in. Look around. Look at me. Look around again. And, then, we hug.
It's like years of painful shopping memories are erased because finally, finally, they can shop "off-the-rack."
Inevitably, we then have a conversation about where they played college sports, what size shoe they wear, their inseam, if their spouse/loved one is taller and whether they'll wear heels.
Owning your own business has its share of ups-and-downs. But, it's these moments, when you connect with clients over having to wear men's jeans, bad prom dresses and shoes that don't fit, that you know it's all worth it.
OKC tall chicks do indeed rule.
They walk in. Look around. Look at me. Look around again. And, then, we hug.
It's like years of painful shopping memories are erased because finally, finally, they can shop "off-the-rack."
Inevitably, we then have a conversation about where they played college sports, what size shoe they wear, their inseam, if their spouse/loved one is taller and whether they'll wear heels.
Owning your own business has its share of ups-and-downs. But, it's these moments, when you connect with clients over having to wear men's jeans, bad prom dresses and shoes that don't fit, that you know it's all worth it.
OKC tall chicks do indeed rule.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Pack rat
I was born without the ability to pack. It's like a genetic deficiency.
A two-day getaway takes my hubby 15 minutes to prepare for. I can see the calculation in his head. "Two days. That's how many Royals' shirts? Done."
And, then, there's me: Ms. Katie Overpack.
Our last vaca was for 10 days. Holy mother. You can't imagine the stress this caused. How am I supposed to know what I want to wear eight days from now? I can't decide what to eat for lunch.
And, then, there's that 50lb. weight limit the evil airlines impose. Sigh. Don't they know I'm tall and my clothes are heavier? (Can you hear me whining?)
I have been that girl at the front of the line sorting through my clothes for all the airport to see, looking for a way to make my bag lighter. Sometimes it just takes a few shakes of the bag -- and, maybe a kick -- and those pesky numbers go down. (If only losing weight were that easy, right?)
Other times, it takes luck. Like on the way home from our 10-day escapade, I knew my bag was over the limit. But, an (un)fortunate incident at skycap saved my tail. While checking in for the flight, I happened to gaze down and realized my skycap's fly was open.
"Hmmmm," I thought. "That looks like leverage." Well, leverage and somethin' else.
As the skycap lifted my bag on the scale (think Olympic-style weight lifting) and started to read the number, I politely informed him that his barn door was open.
Miraculously, the number on the scale no longer mattered. I checked in. And, me, half my closet, and all my vacation treasures made it home in one bag.
Would I have felt bad if the plane went down because I was over the limit? Well, sure....
A two-day getaway takes my hubby 15 minutes to prepare for. I can see the calculation in his head. "Two days. That's how many Royals' shirts? Done."
And, then, there's me: Ms. Katie Overpack.
Our last vaca was for 10 days. Holy mother. You can't imagine the stress this caused. How am I supposed to know what I want to wear eight days from now? I can't decide what to eat for lunch.
And, then, there's that 50lb. weight limit the evil airlines impose. Sigh. Don't they know I'm tall and my clothes are heavier? (Can you hear me whining?)
I have been that girl at the front of the line sorting through my clothes for all the airport to see, looking for a way to make my bag lighter. Sometimes it just takes a few shakes of the bag -- and, maybe a kick -- and those pesky numbers go down. (If only losing weight were that easy, right?)
Other times, it takes luck. Like on the way home from our 10-day escapade, I knew my bag was over the limit. But, an (un)fortunate incident at skycap saved my tail. While checking in for the flight, I happened to gaze down and realized my skycap's fly was open.
"Hmmmm," I thought. "That looks like leverage." Well, leverage and somethin' else.
As the skycap lifted my bag on the scale (think Olympic-style weight lifting) and started to read the number, I politely informed him that his barn door was open.
Miraculously, the number on the scale no longer mattered. I checked in. And, me, half my closet, and all my vacation treasures made it home in one bag.
Would I have felt bad if the plane went down because I was over the limit? Well, sure....
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Purge
The hubs and I live in a condo so closet space is at a serious premium. I have dreams of my next house having a huge walk-in closet with a big overstuffed chair so I can sit and make wise decisions about what I'll leave the house in each day. (Here's a hint: It will be black.)
Until then, though, I'm stuck with only having the current season in my purview. The rest, is banished to storage until the seasons again change.
The benefit of having NO closet space though, is it makes you edit. With the arrival of a new season, I remove the previous season from my closet and divide the clothes into piles of keep, mend and donate. Thanks to the wise counsel of my sage mentor, Tim Gunn (he doesn't know he's my mentor), if it hasn't been worn in more than a year, it goes to the donate pile.
I'm not joking when I say this ritual takes me hours. It took me three hours last night to sort thru spring/summer. (Let's just say some tall woman shopping at Goodwill in KC with a size 14 shoe is gonna be REALLY happy.)
And, today, I spent two hours unloading my fall/winter clothes making sure they still fit and the slacks were long enough.
While the process seems to take forever (a good Julia Roberts/TBS movie in the background does make it go faster), I go through this ritual each season before I let myself shop for new things. This helps me avoid buying too much black (okay, bad example), determine which shoes I need to replace and what colors/tops I need.
Until then, though, I'm stuck with only having the current season in my purview. The rest, is banished to storage until the seasons again change.
The benefit of having NO closet space though, is it makes you edit. With the arrival of a new season, I remove the previous season from my closet and divide the clothes into piles of keep, mend and donate. Thanks to the wise counsel of my sage mentor, Tim Gunn (he doesn't know he's my mentor), if it hasn't been worn in more than a year, it goes to the donate pile.
I'm not joking when I say this ritual takes me hours. It took me three hours last night to sort thru spring/summer. (Let's just say some tall woman shopping at Goodwill in KC with a size 14 shoe is gonna be REALLY happy.)
And, today, I spent two hours unloading my fall/winter clothes making sure they still fit and the slacks were long enough.
While the process seems to take forever (a good Julia Roberts/TBS movie in the background does make it go faster), I go through this ritual each season before I let myself shop for new things. This helps me avoid buying too much black (okay, bad example), determine which shoes I need to replace and what colors/tops I need.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Making the case for white
I've never been a fan of the antiquated can't-wear-white-shoes-after-Labor-Day rule. For cryin' out loud, it's hard enough for a tall chick to find cute white shoes and now I can only wear em' four months of the year? No.
My quick Google search for reasons behind this unofficial fashion rule cited temperature and some blah-blah-blah about the color white reflecting light. In the summer, this of course keeps you cooler, but in the winter, it also makes you colder.
So, I'll put on some wooly socks. Big deal. Light reflection is not enough to convince me of the evils of wearing white shoes after Labor Day.
Another reason cited was etiquette. Perhaps I'm a little over-attached to my fabulous white heels but if me wearing white shoes in November offends you, we're probably not going to be friends anyway. And, I'm okay with that.
I'm going to continue wearing my fabulous white shoes right on thru fall. Who's with me?
My quick Google search for reasons behind this unofficial fashion rule cited temperature and some blah-blah-blah about the color white reflecting light. In the summer, this of course keeps you cooler, but in the winter, it also makes you colder.
So, I'll put on some wooly socks. Big deal. Light reflection is not enough to convince me of the evils of wearing white shoes after Labor Day.
Another reason cited was etiquette. Perhaps I'm a little over-attached to my fabulous white heels but if me wearing white shoes in November offends you, we're probably not going to be friends anyway. And, I'm okay with that.
I'm going to continue wearing my fabulous white shoes right on thru fall. Who's with me?
Monday, August 10, 2009
Confession time: I don't like Twitter. Yes, we have a KAT Clothing account (@katclothing) and yes, every major biz publication is writing about how fabulous Twitter is, but I'm not drinking the Kool-Aid.
You're supposed to post stuff throughout the day that answers the question, "What are you doing?" But, here's the deal: I'm just NOT that interesting. And, I don't want people to know if I'm getting my hair colored. (I don't. This is natural.)
And, when I hear ridiculousness like Ashton Kutcher and CNN racing to see who can get 1 million Twitter followers first, I think, "Aren't there two wars going on? Shouldn't CNN be covering THAT?"
Admittedly, I'm a notoriously skeptical adopter of things like Twitter. I rolled my eyes at Facebook and now I'm pretty much a junkie. I wasn't much of a texter (see Teribl Txtr) and thanks to my new Blackberry, I'd much rather text than talk on the phone.
So, there will likely come a time when I think, "How did I live without it?" But for now, even the name "Twitter" annoys me.
I'm not always this crabby.
You're supposed to post stuff throughout the day that answers the question, "What are you doing?" But, here's the deal: I'm just NOT that interesting. And, I don't want people to know if I'm getting my hair colored. (I don't. This is natural.)
And, when I hear ridiculousness like Ashton Kutcher and CNN racing to see who can get 1 million Twitter followers first, I think, "Aren't there two wars going on? Shouldn't CNN be covering THAT?"
Admittedly, I'm a notoriously skeptical adopter of things like Twitter. I rolled my eyes at Facebook and now I'm pretty much a junkie. I wasn't much of a texter (see Teribl Txtr) and thanks to my new Blackberry, I'd much rather text than talk on the phone.
So, there will likely come a time when I think, "How did I live without it?" But for now, even the name "Twitter" annoys me.
I'm not always this crabby.
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