Here’s how you know you’re moving.

Well, first of all, Bear Lake was beautiful. Perfect sunny skies, sparkling blue water, best raspberries I’ve had in a year…good times.

So here’s how you know you’re moving:

I like to make some kind of treat every Sunday night. It’s a tradition from growing up that I think is fun, so we do it. Plus, I tell myself that this is my treat for the week. (yeah, right)

The past few weeks, we’ve been pretty into peanut butter no-bakes. We’ve also been trying to avoid buying food and just use up what we have, to lighten it up a bit when we move everything.

So last night, I went to start the no-bakes, and what do I find, but only 1 cup of white sugar left on the shelf. No-bakes take 2 cups of white sugar. They’re a real health food. I have brown sugar and contemplate using that.

Mark was going to the neighbors’ real quick anyway and I thought about actually for the first time in my life, literally borrowing a cup of sugar.

But then I see we have no milk.

“Can we ask them for sugar and milk?”

“Why don’t we just ask them to make us some cookies?”

So I tell Mark, no worry, I’ll just bake us some peanut butter cookies. Oven style. And he leaves.

But then, no eggs.

“What can I use as an egg replacement?” I ask the inside back cover of my red and white plaid cookbook.

It replies, “2 egg whites, or 2 egg yolks, or egg substitute.”

Smart a**.

Like someone who didn’t have eggs in the house would go to the inside back cover of their trusty cookbook to learn that egg substitute can be used in the place of eggs.

So I just whipped up the dough, eggless, and called it good. That’s one way to feel good about eating cookie dough…amiright?

As of late.

The past couple of days, I have believed firmly in my heart of hearts that the forces of nature did not intend for me to be at work.

I adore my clients and coworkers, but sometimes a job is still a job, and you want a vacay.

So this weekend I'm off to the lake with my husband's fam. Should be pretty great.

And yes, I just told you I'd be out of town, like a total airhead. But I didn't erase it because it's true...this would be a fabulous time for you to rob my house. Just think: whatever you steal, I won't have to move next week. Really this is a golden opportunity for us all.

Bon week-end!

I am so sad. I love Twitter. But I'm so sad.

So today @fuggirls tweeted this little gem:

Don't worry, it's a video compilation of Rachel Zoe saying the word "literally," literally 50+ times.

Of course I was so happy to find it, but then I was so sad to learn that the new season of The Rachel Zoe Project starts tonight and I realized I can't watch it.

I don't miss my former life all that often, but I do miss my fancy cable which allowed me to watch Millionaire Matchmaker and The Rachel Zoe Project.

I just love those ladies.

I hope Rach is on Hulu.

Just saying.

Tonight we're trying a new restaurant called J. Wong's Asian Bistro, but I keep wanting to call it J. Woww's Asian Bistro.

How'd the Provo rec center get its SexyBack, you ask?

Well, I will tell you.

Tonight while Mark was practicing shooting, I went to ye ole rec center for a nice long cardio session and a little weights action.

That's not the sexy part.

Even when I was single and going to the gym with the acute knowledge that men could be found virtually anywhere, I never have looked good at the gym. When I go to the gym I pretty much just hop on the treadmill with the sincere hope and belief that the for the next hour, I will be that treadmill's beeotch and sweat like a banshee so I can move on with my life.

So I'm there and I got the treadmill that the fan's blowing on and I'm pretty happy despite the fact that the girl next to me is leisurely strolling at a 1.5 or something wearing flip flops. Flip flops!! To exercise!!

Anyway, here comes sexy.

There's a girl on the mat behind the treadmills, sprawled out, presumably stretching. She has Kim Kardashian hair and strategically placed cleavage and I hope she's just cooling down.

Little did I know, things were just heating up.

The girl stands to leave the room, then walks over the the weight room where a second fan stands at attention. She struts over and poses in front of it, flipping her hair in slow motion.

She walks back into the cardio room. Slowly. She gets on an elliptical machine and starts moving, turning her head a hard 110 degrees to the mirror at her right and sort of behind her to stare at her derrière.

I stare up at the security camera as if to say, "are you getting all this?" and "Are we filming a rap video? Because I didn't bring my booty shorts or false eyelashes."

The girl is so busy staring at her rump that she almost falls down.

I laugh inside.

I'm starting to feel pretty bad at this point, but I'm also about 400 calories in, and when I'm working hard at the gym and other people are just putzing along, barely breaking a sweat, I have flashbacks of high school math class. That is of me, a senior, in junior level math, trying so hard to solve for x when the sophomores in the corner are laughing. I'm mad because either they're way smarter than I or they like math and both of those are terrible.

Anyway, so after another slo-mo hair flip in front of the weight room fan, our little friend saunters back into the cardio room and decides to give the stationary bike a try and get this...tries to move the fan that is facing me to face that bike!

At this point I'm about to pounce, because the only thing worse than listening to a sophomore laughing in math class is being at the rec center sweating my head off while the fan points at someone who's biking at a glacial pace.

Lucky for us all, the girl doesn't have the core/upper body strength to budge it an inch and she gives up.

I try to tune it out. I also try to tune her out while I'm doing triceps dips and she's doing crunches in half time on the bench press bench.

And that, my friends, is how the Provo rec center does sexy. Please don't come watch; we're short on machines.

That's a real dilemma.

My toothpaste leaves a soapy taste in my mouth for several hours unless I wash it out with a big Diet Coke and a doughnut from Provo Bakery, but then the taste of guilt that provokes lingers all day.

I enjoy being a girl, or, being funny in spite of Y chromosome’s absence.

Someone today told me I was funny. It was flattering, and made me think of one of my old roommates (it’s a fuzzy memory as I can’t remember which roommate this was…) who would join with me in saying, “I’m pretty funny for a girl.”

Who doesn’t like to think they’re funny? It’s nice when you say stuff and people laugh. Usually.

I can kind of be funny around people I know. Around people I know, I can watch Last Comic Standing and think, “yeah, that would be a fun job.”

But then I go into a business meeting with new people and I can scarcely intelligently explain what it is I do, exactly. This happens mostly with groups of middle-aged men who have sold a couple companies to Microsoft in their time. These guys don’t need my jokes; they have their own inside jokes from the early days at IBM. Being around these kind of guys makes me feel like I should just sit down and take dictation. Not by anything they do, per se, but they just get me feeling so intimidated.

I don’t feel that way in a group of women, and I think that’s probably because I can see myself in those women. I can imagine what it would be like to ascend to that level professionally because I’ve seen them do it, and the ones I know do it with husbands and kids, too. It’s nice to start a meeting by hearing from an executive about how much fun she had with the kids on vacation the previous week, and then to jump in to talk strategy and how we can focus PR efforts around her current marketing pipeline.

Even in business, with a group of women you tend to speak nicely. You tend to ask for support when you need it. You tend to get support when you ask for it. You tend to get a laugh when you tell a joke.

Not to mention – keeping up a household, keeping your marriage intact and raising kids while excelling in your career? +1.

You know I think there’s just something about a girlfriend lunch, and there’s just something about dealing professionally with successful women. They’re professional, but they’re still women. They’re women, but they’re still professional.