Tis the Season of Regirth

Oof. I keep eating cookies and peanut clusters and tooo muuuuch foooood. And tonight I am headed to a cookie exchange, where I pawn off cookies I have baked for a variety of things that others have made. MORE things to add to the Christmas of Gluttony '08. Oof. I love the holidays, don't get me wrong, but I'm really kind of ready to quit eating junk. Who said that? It may have been the skinny healthy bitch in my head who likes running and eating salads. Hang in there bitch, you'll get your turn to reign the roost after the first of the year.

Diet number 407 pending on January 5, 2009. This one involves coworkers and money. I'm also hoping Santa brings me a Wii Fit. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Facebook Wonder

I joined Facebook after months of bah-humbugging the whole notion. I don't know what compelled me to do it beyond curiosity (and I recall something about death and cats being associated with that motive). But I am really enjoying it, mostly because I have been able to reconnect with so many people that I haven't talked to in YEARS. Seriously, people I haven't seen in 17 years or so, and there they are, reaching out to me via the curious snowball effect thing that is Facebook.

But, there are also strange things afoot in Facebooktopia. First, you refer to yourself in third person. What the...? We're all participating in Seinfeld folly, apparently. To tell people what you are doing in the moment, you finish the stem, "Mia is..." and can erase the "is"and just start with "Mia." e.g. Mia is full from eating steak dinner at Sahm's. Mia's intestines do not know what to do with steak, really. Mia is grossed out that she even mentioned that. Mia thinks it is weird to refer to herself as Mia.

Another odd Facebook pheonom is all of the little things people "send" each other virtually. Like, "John just threw a snowball at Mia", or "bought her a drink." Um, but not really. There are all of these little gadgets and gizmos and fanclubs and weird crap that I just don't get. I think they are the entertainment at the Facebook nightclub. Like a virtual all-friend class reunion where it's fun to sit around for a while and go, "Hey! Great to see you! What have you been up to? I do this for a living, these are my kids... oh, uh huh, that's interesting about you..." and then you need booze and a dance floor to have something to do.

And I also do not understand the indiscriminate friend gatherers. I think some people out there are just collecting friends like they are baseball cards, without a thought in the world about whether or not they really like the person or even know them. I got friend requests from people in my siblings' classes or from other classes from my high school and I don't even really know them. Maybe they are having a contest to see how many former band dorks they can collect as Facebook friends, or to see if they can get the matched set of me and my siblings. I like the "ignore" button.

So, if you are out there in Facebook land, look me up. Mia is done blogging today.

Down with Slutty Dolls!

I just heard that Bratz will not longer be in production! I am so happy about that! I have never liked those big-headed vixen-eyed ho-bag dolls! We have one at our house that has some snap-on clothes, and it is the least slutty of any of them that my mother could find. Oh, and some baby Bratz mermaids for the tub. And my daughter likes them. And I have consented to these in my home, but did not allow for there to be a barrage of these way-too-sexy creatures lying around with their come-hither fixed gazes. So, to hear that they may be on the way out the door... "hooray!" says I.

Workout Music

I need music to work out. As implied in my poem, I am an avid user of my IPod while exercising. I have several workout tapes and the main reason for not using them is that the music is horrible. Not just horrible but annoyingly horrible. And the people are all enthusiastic, which is even worse. As if exercise was not enough suffering all by itself, I must be tortured by their cheery fake-ass spandexy selves and the horrid music.

I thought I would take a moment to share my workout favorites of the moment, and ask for your submissions to the list. Your input can help to keep me company and motivated on my hamster wheel.

The Way I Are - Timbaland
Everything's Magic - Angels & Airwaves
Just Like Heaven - The Cure
Rainy Monday - Shiny Toy Guns
Always Be - Jimmy Eat World
In the Beginning - The Stills
No One - Alicia Keys
Shadow Stabbing - Cake
One Thing Leads to Another - The Fixx
With Me - Sum 41 (you gotta get past the intro on this one - about a minute)
The First Single - The Format
Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard
Bring Me to Life - Evanescence
Forever - Chris Brown
Hot N Cold - Katy Perry
Just Dance - Lady GaGa
It's Not My Time - 3 Doors Down
Check Yes Juliet - We the Kings
Everything is Alright - Motion City Soundtrack
The New Workout Plan - Kanye West
Beautiful Day - U2

Hamster Wheel

An Ode to my Treadmill, By Mia

The road to nowhere
but traveled nonetheless.
Hamster on her own private wheel.

Numbers glaring red at her.
Taunting with the time
moving slowly.
Especially when she is going nowhere.

And yet she is moving
Away from guilt.
Away from the cookies in the jar.

Staring at the room in front of her.
Huffing and puffing.
Glaring at the numbers glaring at her.
Thanking God for Ipods.

Pinchy Pants Disease

I have a case of pinchy pants disease. The disorder where your pants spend most of the day reminding you of the two cookies you ate at lunch, giving you visions of the dust buildup on your treadmill. It's no fun at all. A friend suggested the "bigger pants" cure, which is worse than the disease I think.

In response, I have retreated to my treadmill in an attempt to outrun the pinchy pants. I also have decided that treats that are not fabulous will go in the trash after the first taste. If it is not fantastic, it's not worth the time on the treadmill. Normally this would help a lot, but it's holiday season and fabulous treats will be invading my life consistently for the next month. Plus, I am not that picky, and fantastic is a relative term. Heck, I once thought Snack Wells chocolate marshmallow cookies were fantastic (mid-diet, of course), when we all know those are just about as tasty as sawdust and cocoa mixed together.

Be prepared, all. A new year is dawning, and once I conquer Pinchy Pants-itis, I will be on to the Cute for Spring Campaign that will be focused more on exercise than diet this year. May the force be with me.

I Didn't Win

Today on the MSN homepage, they had a list of top 12 or so "lamest blogs" on the web. They promised that no blog was too obscure to escape their scrutiny, so I clicked on the link with some trepidation. Hooray! My blog did not win! And they picked some humdingers, some of which they chastized for too few postings (none since 2006). So, beware, fellow bloggers - those MSN writers are just bored enough to spend hours perusing the blogopshere looking for your outdated blog, ready to slap you with a Lame-O award.

She's Here!!

My sister had her baby and it's a girl!! Hooray! Another woman born into the world. I can't wait to see her grow and change and just be fantastic. Way to go, Sahm.

And on a side note, my inner bitch reared its ugly head today and started whispering in my ear about how Sahm will soon be back to body fantastic (she will argue with this bitch in my head) so I should get back on the stick about exercise.

More on my inner bitch later. For now I fed her a cookie and told her to shut up. There's a baby to snuggle.

Imperative People

There are certain people in life without whom we could not live very well. I consider my family in that category. I also consider physicians in this category. I mean, I could figure out how to do a lot of things on my own (fight a fire, fix the plumbing, build a house,etc.) but I do not think I can figure out how to do surgery on myself.

The third person on my list of imperatives - my hairstylist. Not just any hairstylist, but mine. I'd be ok with another one as long as they were as good or better than the one I have now. I suppose I could go without a cosmetologist and just grow my hair to my ass, but for those of you who understand the craziness that is my hair, I think you'll agree that it wouldn't be pretty at all.

I just got my hair cut and colored yesterday and I really like it. When I like my hair, I feel confident, others perceive me in a positive fashion and life just goes well. Set me up with some schmoe who can't cut a straight line or who does not understand how to tame the beast that grows from my scalp, and boom, there goes my confidence and my public approval rating plumets. It's important stuff, I tell you! Just put your face on one of those virtual hairdo things and "try on" some bad hairdos and you'll see how important a good stylist is. Agree? Disagree? Feel free to discuss, as well as add any other "imperatives" you think I might have missed. Seriously, I think I covered the top three.

Hibernation: Wouldn't It Be Great?

Apparently I am under the delusion that humans hibernate in the winter and therefore must spend their autumn months foraging for food and overstuffing themselves for the lean times ahead. Seriously! I have been a ravenous hog lately! Wouldn't it be great, though, if you really could spend a month pigging out and then sleep for several weeks and wake up thin? I know, it's no good doing "whouldn't it be great" statements, cuz they don't really help anything except appease my escapist side. You know, because once you get started with "wouldn't it be great"s, the end is hard to find.

Wouldn't it be great... (my favorites)
if ice cream prevented cancer
if men got pregnant and had babies
if I were a rock star
if I had a working magic wand, or at least a Fairy Godmother
if running was actually fun
if Brad Pitt left Angelina to be my manslave
if there was a Target in my town

Feel free to add your favorites as well....

Baby Fever

Sahm's baby will be born in less than 20 days, and I am SO EXCITED! I want to buy diapers and tiny onesies and all of that baby crap. And she has honored me by allowing me in the delivery room if I would like to be there. That's beyond awesome. The only problem is that I will have to fight the urge to grab that baby and run for the hills, because I have been jonesin for one of my own lately. Crap, she's probably going to read this and ban me from the hospital now. I promise I can control myself!!

Many of you may be shocked to hear me say that I have been pining for that baby smell (no, not the poopy smell, the freshly-washed baby smell), and will soon start encouraging me to go ahead and have another one of my own. Well, you are all barking up the wrong tree there. Despite my wistful sighs at the thought of having a baby to cuddle and watch grow up, I have absolutely zero desire to be pregnant. I am one of those women who get huge, and retain water to the point of beyond cankles - I just have two tree trunks for legs on which to balance the rest of my round body. And beyond the avoidance of the unpleasantries of pregnancy, there is a very impractical nature to my baby fever. My kids are both in school, and they are nearly six years apart as it is. If I had another one, it would be about, oh, six years younger than it's nearest sibling and 12 years younger than the eldest one. Good grief! We could win a prize for longest length of child-rearing with fewest number of children. "Yep, we were raising kids for 30 years. What? No, we didn't have 10 children, just three!" The youngest one would turn 18 when my older child turned 30. That's just nuts.

So, I'll just rejoice in the fact that Sahm is good at sharing, and borrow her baby when I need a fix. so thanks, Sahm, for enduring pregancy, childbirth, financial responsibility increase and sleep deprivation and STILL being willing to share.

Recipe for Instant Conflict

Just add politics and religion!!

You know, my family also has a blog where we all write and keep in touch and post pictures of our kids and stuff. Fun! Nice! What a loving family! The blog includes my aunts and uncles and cousins on one side of the family, and we're really a pretty tight knit group. And, of course, we have our little eye-rolling moments about one another from time to time. Some of us grumble about the wallflowers of the group who rarely post on there when the rest of us are doin our best to keep involved in lives that are scattered across the country. But, we had this election thing the other day (in case you didn't notice the pleasant reduction in political ads in the middle of Dancing With the Stars, and the huge disruption in having to wait an extra day to get that untalented waif Susan Lucci kicked off the show - eat a sandwich, for Pete's sake and get off the dance floor!). And there have been a few political comments on the family blog and now it is all tense and junk. Damnit, don't we all know by now that the fastest way to tension is to add some politics and a dash of religion?! Rest assured, folks, neither topic will be showing its face on this blog. I blog in peace....

I Am a Cold-Hearted Wench

Everyone pause in preparation for a profound moment of introspection on my part...

Ready? I have discovered that I am a cold-hearted wench (as the title implies). How is this possible?! I am a psychologist! I MAKE A LIVING being the person that people trust with their secrets and hurts and general life junk!! Research would suggest that the strongest healing component of psychotherapy is the therapeutic relationship between patient and therapist, and that this relationship hinges, at least in part, on the therapist's ability to form a connection with the patient. People don't connect to cold-hearted wenches, as a general rule, so how on earth did I deduce the label and apply it with such conviction? Clearly I am off my rocker, as the label is just not logical. The defense (and Mr. Spock - logically) rests.

I have several pieces of damning evidence to present to the jury. For one thing, I hate mushy cards. Seriously, they make me uncomfortable. If any card has more than a paragraph worth of writing in script font, paired with pastels, glitter, rainbows and watercolored graphics, a small shudder goes up my spine and I grit my teeth in a fake smile of gratitude after skimming the words.

Secondly, schmoopy couples make me roll my eyes. I don't like couples hanging all over one another, acting like they cannot stand a moment away from each other or that they are so desperately in love that they don't care about any other people in the room. This is a very big bummer because my spouse kind of likes it when I act like this around him. Bleah. In fact, generally speaking, romantic efforts should pretty much be contained to occasional surprise flower boquets. Hand holding gets too sweaty, sitting with someone's arm around my shoulders hurts my neck and back after a while, and a hand rubbing my arm or thigh makes me want to swat at it. When I see movies with people lying facing one another and blissfully staring at one another, I want to move them apart so they can avoid breathing each other's used up air. Ack! Even extended make out scenes make me think of literally swapping spit or if either of them ate garlic or onions. Another point of proof that my heart is as shriveled as the Grinch's, recently at a wedding, the groom wrote a song for his new bride and sang it while providing guitar accompaniment (which he also wrote, of course) during the ceremony. Normally wedding music only makes me uncomfortable when poorly performed (and there is an abundance of poorly-performed wedding music out there). This was nicely done: nice voice, good tune, well-played. But I squirmed the whole time, avoided watching the couple, and thought, "Akward moment!" Shmoopiness gives me the heebie jeebies.

Beyond the romantic, I have little symptathy for people with annoying sicknesses, like the common cold or sore muscles. Take care of your darn self. Get a tissue, take some Ibuprofen, go to bed, suck on some cough drops, drink some whiskey, whatever you can do in the moment to slightly improve your suffering and leave me out of it. I'm the mom who tells her kids, "You aren't puking, pooping uncontrollably, or have a fever. Buck up and get to school."

So, there you have it. I'll take my Ice Queen crown now. And the bad thing is that I didn't used to be this way. So, if any of you find my romantic/compassionate side, please return it and I'll see if we can have it surgically grafted back on to me. I have a sneaking suspicion that the cynical side will reject the transplant.

Bells and Whistles

Did anyone notice my fancy new feature on the blog? Check above the stagnant tracking space... photos! Turns out, there are many bells and whistles that can be added to the blog. There are games, word-of-the-day things, YouTube links, clocks-of-the-world displays (just in case you have readers all over the globe or are a superdork) and works of art from your favorite dead painters. I went with photos. And I could add great photos from really good photographers, but I have stuck you all with photos from my flickr photo page. Enjoy! And don't say I never did anything to add some more entertainment value around here.

Is This Weird?

For those of you who had not heard, my dog passed away a few weeks ago (same day as Paul Newman, actually). It was very sad for me. I had the dog for about 13 years, and loved her very much. She got very sick and I couldn't stand to see her suffer, so my nice vet came to my house and put her to sleep.

Then we had the question of what to do with her body. Well, she was a 50 pound dog, and technically you are not supposed to bury dead things in your yard when you live in town. I guess they don't want people just making their own personal cemetary in their back yard and then puting the house up for sale... you get the drift there. We were then left with the option of having the vet take her body and disposing of it. He let us know that he sends animal bodies to someone in a nearby town who cremates them and spreads their ashes on their farmland somewhere. This sounded ok, but there was also the option to have her cremated and we could get her ashes back. This cost some money, but we decided to go with option number 3 - have dog cremated and ashes returned for burial in back yard, private services planned, with a luncheon to follow.

Well, the ashes returned to us today, in a tall squareish tin with paw prints on it, with the dog's name printed on the tin. It's so weird. The tin is really heavy and I can hear sediment moving in there if I tip it back and forth. And here's the really weird part: I had this urge to open the lid and just see what the ashes look like, but I am too chicken to do it. I don't think I will open it. Would you?

Newbies

I invited a few more friends to check out my blog, so I thought I would take a moment to welcome which ever ones of them did not roll their eyes at me and delete the invitational email, but acutally popped over and read this. Hi! For you newbies, feel free to post comments (click on the word "comment" under the main post) or just browse others' comments. Half the fun is the dialogue about the posts.

I also wrote this entry to let my regular readers (all four of you) know that I have invited in some new folks, so there is no need for alarm if it appears that random people are posting on the blog. Though, in theory, that would be really cool if random people would post on my blog... Random people like Brad Pitt or Matt Damon, who decide that I am the wittiest writer they have seen since Lori Notaro and ask me to write a book and pay me mega bucks... Whoops! Slipped into a delusion of grandeur there, for a minute, excuse me.

So, thank you for your attention, I direct you (direct me?) back to our regularly random blogging.

A Follower!

Today when I signed in to my blog "dashboard" I noticed this little icon next to my "too phat" headline. It's a generic person symbol - like if you did a bust of any of the symbols on a public restroom, a bald round-headed silhouette - and next to the icon it said "1 follower." What?! What the heck is that?! Turns out that you can identify yourself as a "follower" of this blog! I'm not sure what kinds of benefits this action would have, though perhaps I should throw out a promotional offer to entice more followers to join ranks. Well, you all know that I am a comment junkie, so you can imagine my near-drunk giddy response to finding out that someone was willing to be an official follower of the blog. I feel like I should make an acceptance speech...

I'd like to think my mother for insisting that I have at least a rudimentary grasp of grammar and spelling, and my husband for only being slightly annoyed with the time that I spend writing. I'd also like to thank God and Jesus for, well, just being a couple of great guys who always look out for me (and a shout out to the Holy Ghost - I didn't forget you!). I also need to mention my workplace, for having job requirements that are averse enough to prompt me to justify taking a break to blog (do some paperwork, reward with a blog break). Oh, gosh, there are so many people to thank... my creative writing professor, Dr. Bedard, my sister SAHM for blogging first and not being real pissy when I stole the idea (and for the great writing material), my kids, and of course, the LadaFam for giving me this honor. Sniffle, blink-blink, wipe eyes, whoo! It's just so overwhelming.... but I accept this honor and vow to try really hard to be worthy of this follower and any others that care to join.

New Show

I used to watch "Friends" every Thursday. I really enjoyed it, and when it ended, I was bummed. I had no "show". You know, a TV show that you follow and you know the characters and their stories and have emotional reactions as a result...a "show." We had The Cosbys as kids, Cheers, Night Court, the A-team, Night Rider, etc. Many people tried to convince me to get hooked on various shows, and I gave them a test-viewing. I watched Gray's for a while, but I just couldn't commit. I absolutely love Dancing With the Stars, but I don't think that really counts. It's so time-limited and there's no real story to follow. New Adventures of Old Christine looks intriguing, but I never stopped to watch it, really.

BUT last week, after my usual viewing of the results show for Dancing w/Stars, this show, Eli Stone, came on. It's about a lawyer who has a brain aneurism that gives him visions and may just be a gift from God. His father apparently had the same thing, and THIS week a notebook showed up in his brother's posession that was written by his father, who they thought was just crazy when they were kids, but the notebook is all about Eli and stuff that is happening to him now, 20 years after the stuff was written. Katie Holmes made a guest appearance and somehow they thought it was a good idea for her to sing (they were wrong), but it was a good episode and I was near tears. I may have a new show! We'll see how long it lasts.

I Heart HSM

High School Musical 3 is coming to our local theater (and theaters near you) this Friday and I am very excited about this. Why would I admit this in print? It is liberating. I have watched the made-for-TV HSM movies a billion times and can blame this on having two daughters, but am also ok saying that I enjoy watching them. I can sing all of the songs, including either part from most of the duets (you want to hear the Zac Effron part or Vanessa Hutjens?). I will absolutely purchase the DVD of this latest installation of the very talented Wildcats as they graduate from high school, and probably the soundtrack, and I will know all of those songs in a manner of weeks. Hooray! What will Sharpay do next? Inquiring minds want to know - Inquiring minds, like me, who will go and pay good money for sappy Disney-channel high school romance devoid of smut, alcohol,controversy, and much need for thought. Ahhhh.. entertainment.

Rediscovering Halloween

I like Halloween. As a child, of course, Halloween was fantastic. There was the party at school, the choosing of a costume, and then trick-or-treating and going home to sort my "loot" into categories. My categories were pretty simple: suckers, chocolate, gum, and the crap that I didn't want (Mounds and Almond Joy, popcorn balls). I don't know why I bothered to sort and separate, other than reveling in the ability to have enough candy to sort. I mean, it all ended up back in my bag in a jumble, minus the crap, but I guess I had a mental tally of what was in there.

Then, somewhere in high school, Halloween lost its magic for me. Too old to dress up unless there was a party somewhere (and there wasn't one anywhere), and way too old to trick-or-treat unless you wanted to endure the disproving glares of everyone handing out candy and watch them reach for the tootsie rolls. Handing out candy at home was ok, cuz the little kids were cute in their costumes, but that got boring after a while, too. So, Halloween, blah, whatever.

Halloween started to be fun again after I became a parent. I am one of those parents who dressed her two-month-old as a flower and went around to relatives homes. I love seeing my kids dressed up. And I like going trick-or-treating with them, but NOT when it is freezing cold. Being a good Mom, I buck up and take one for the team, and go no matter what. I've even taught them to tough it out and go the extra couple of blocks in the cold, knowing that the spoils of the toil pay off in the candy bucket, cuz people start giving out handfuls of candy when its cold and they want to get rid of it. And we go home and sort their candy...

All of that is great fun, but LAST year, I rediscovered the fun of costumes. I was new in town and my fantastic new hairstylist (that topic is a whole posting in and of itself), invited me to go out with her, in costume, for Halloween. I was hesitant, but I ran to Kmart, bought a silvery cape and fake eyelashes, wore all black, the cape and dramatic makeup and went as a witch of sorts. There were lots of people with lots of great costumes, and it was FUN. It was fun to see everyone being whimsical and adding alcohol and a dance floor to adults in costumes is just a recipe for a good time.

So, Halloween is creeping toward us again! Hooray! And when our card club got postponed a week, I suggested adding costumes to the mix. The suggestion was well-received. And I wanted my spouse and I to be the Spartan cheerleaders from SNL of old (Will Ferrell, Shari O'Terry) so we could do the perfect cheer for Euchre (You got the right, left, oh you pass. Watch out cuz we'll set your... Spartan Spirit!) But of course this brilliant idea did not hit me until Wednesday, and I would have had to pay for express shipping. Darn. Back to Kmart for me. I tried on several costumes, all marked "One Size Fits Most." "Most" of what? Most people under size 8? Most teenaged anorexics? Most exercise fanatics? Cuz those costumes are not designed for "most" women. But I found one, and I will be a "Fair Maiden" and might add "dead" to the beginning of that concept with some white makeup. I'm so excited to see what everyone else will wear, and to just hang out and have fun with my grownup friends all dressed in costumes. Happy Halloween everyone!

You Put What, Where?

I have regained my voice! Well, it doesn't sound much like my voice yet, but it's at least A voice. But the cold that started this mess has remained. My head is in misery with stuffiness, and my nice coworkers noticed and being a bunch of medical professionals, they all had a resounding endorsement of a remedy called "the Nedi Pot." What the... They pointed me to the pharmacy desk, where our pharmacist, Ron, pulled a box from the shelf and showed me a small plastic blue teapot with a bunch of packets the size of moist towelets.

Ron explained that the Nedi Pot is all about rinsing out your sinuses. See, you take a packet (which contains about a half teaspon of salt - can later be replaced with Morton's pickling salt) and mix it with a cup of warm water in the teapot. Then, and here's where I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips in skepticism, you lean over your tub or sink, tilt your head to the side and POUR THE WATER IN ONE NOSTRIL, LETTING IT DRAIN OUT THE OTHER ONE. Say what?! Pour water INTO my nose?? Wait, isn't that generally bad? It sure is unpleasant the few times it has happened to me at the pool...

Ron assured me that it does not hurt, and that I would not drown myself, though if I didn't have my head tilted correctly it would drain down my throat into and out my mouth - EW! Apparently the salt water is what keeps it from being painful, which made sense to me, given that the water in utero has the same salty concentration as the ocean, and gargling with salt water has often been recommended to decrease the pain caused by inflamation in the throat. Why do I know that? Because it is rediculous trivia that has very little utility and therefore sticks in my head rather than whatever I was supposed to remember to tell my spouse about changes in my schedule that impact him. But I digress...

I bit. I bought the teapot and took it home. I put the water and salt in there and then stood looking at this thing and myself in the mirror, thinking, 'There is no way I am going to be able to do this.' But, I raised the pot, lowered my head and sealed off one nostril with the spout, and poured. This was one of the weirdest sensations, I must say. And the process is, er, messy. I should probably video tape it and send it in to some contest, as I am sure it would be pretty funny to watch. Well, "funny" might not be the right word. I think it would be one of those things that would make you simultaneously open your mouth and cover it with your hand in shocked but curious incredulousity. (I think I just made up that word - incredulousity). Once the water is through one side, you are to farmer blow the offending sinus junk out of yourself and you cannot plug any nostrils to do so - a clear farmer blow if you please - to avoid blowing out your eardrums. Disgusting, I know. Then you start the fun on the other side.

And, gross as it was (and is), it worked. So now I, too, am one who endorses the Nedi Pot in all of its disgusting homeopathic wonder, right up there with Zycam. So, go out and buy yourselves one for all of your sinus headache problems, likely found at your local pharmacy. Just be careful to keep the box if you have young children. Nobody wants to wander into the bathroom to find their child having a tea party with their nose flusher.

Silence is Golden

Unless it is because of laryngitis, which I have. I can't produce any noise above a whisper, unless you count that high squeaky sound that peeps out of my voicebox when I laugh. It started with a cold that did it's usual number on my voice, the "usual number" being one where my voice drops a few whole notes and takes on a rhaspy quality. I've been told it's not unappealing, in a Kathleen Turner kind of way. So, that's fine with me. Annoying as colds are, I can survive.

But this morning... nothin doin, no voice. And I think it is highly amusing, I have to tell you. It's just weird that I go to talk and no sound comes out. People's reactions are really funny, too. Some of them will whisper back to me, like we're sharing a secret except that we're talking about where my car is located in the parking lot (to the grocery carry-out girl) or how the other person is doing (in casual conversation - how are you? fine, how are you?). Some of them have looked at me like I've stopped taking some important medications that make me sane. And others look at me as if I am a completely rude snob who refuses to say hello, but only mouths "hi" and nods.

The only real hinderance is when there is background noise, like my sister running some water. Nope, can't be heard over that. Nor can I be heard over any radio, or by my children in the backseat of the car when I am driving, or if anyone is emptying a dishwasher, or calling me on the telephone in a place where there is one iota of sound besides my whispering voice on the other end of the line. I have already adapted somewhat and have resorted to clapping my hands in a short and sharp series to get my children's attention. I can also whistle a tune, but I am whistle deficient when it comes to those loud piercing whistles that could grab other's attention. I am headed to a crowded festival this weekend.... that ought to be interesting. Let's hope I get some vocal power back soon, or else I'll be out there with a small notebook in my back pocket and pen perched behind my ear. Dorkarific communicado.

Reality Reaches Out a Hand

...and smacks me one right in the kisser.

I just reviewed my blog and realized that it has been a full year (actually, MORE than a year) since I started this thing. And in my tracking space (Remember that thing? I hardly notice its dusty, stagnant existance over there in the corner.), it notes my starting weight and my goal weight. In the span of one year, I have managed to lose, well, about five pounds. Geez Louise, that is sad. So, I would say that I have disproved my hypothesis that writing a blog would motivate me to stick to healthy habits and shed unwanted pounds. Shoot. I was hoping this was the key.

As it turns out, this is only the key to my enjoyment of writing and having other people respond to it. So, stay tuned this year and we'll see what gnarly adventures unfold.

I'll have to remember next year in early September and we can all have a party to celebrate my blogiversary. Thanks for reading, everyone!

The Hollywood Diet

Reporting live from the crapper.... it's me!!! Oh, that's way gross, sorry folks. I have made it through 48 hours of clear liquids and have discovered a few things I will share with you all. You're welcome (in advance of your thanks).

1) Beef broth is gross. Seriously now, plain beef broth is like greasy water with slight beef aftertaste and strong hint of tin-can flavoring. My stomach turns just thinking about it.. or is that the laxative I had to drink...

2) Fleets Phosphasoda is gross. I even mixed it with 7-up over ice, and it still tasted a bit like watered-down snot - all salty and thick (and the 7-up was DIET, so it wasn't the syrup from that!). My stomach and throat clench with the thought of another round of that stuff tomorrow morning. Oh, the humanity!

3) Sitting on the can for long periods of time is painful. My legs have threatened to go to sleep a few times. I'd get up and wander around a bit, but after having nothing solid to eat for the past two days, I'm concerned that I'll not make it back to the toity in time for the next stomach cramp to unleash it's fury.

4) Laptop computers are good for this sort of scenario. Hey, I am typing to you all, passing the time when I could be focusing on my miserable stomach. I also attended my online class this evening, all from the discomfort of my bathroom throne. I knew that wireless router was a good purchase...

5) I do not like people when I don't feel good. My very nice husband is trying to be sweet to me and offer me any assistance, but when I don't feel good I want to be left ALONE. That's terrible of me, isn't it. I'm such a bitch.

6) Jello and Mister Misty Freeze's are good. I highly recommend them when on this dumb diet plan. Jello almost feels like good solid food. That's how pathetic this is. Gum is also helpful for a while.

So, that's about all the helpful pointers I can stand to dole out. The only bonus of this thing is that I will weigh myself tomorrow and feel really thin. And, hey, I can test out my theory on the "fasting" cure for bottomlesspititis, though I have an inkling that this could prompt a resurgance of the disease. I was right about one thing; this treatment plan is rather unpleasant. I can't believe people in Hollywood do this sort of thing on purpose before red carpet events. Really? THIS is the price of fame and beauty? Frumpy anonymity never looked better...

Five Down, 48 To Go

Today I have started my prep for a colonoscopy slated for Friday. Preparations include two days of a "clear liquid diet" (see posting on "things that suck")and I am five hours into this thing and already want solid food. I am a giant wimp!! Sigh

Hey, Look What I Made!

The Lodge on O...

Vacation 2008

By

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Things That Suck

In the past two weeks, life has handed me some shitty reminders that it's not all a cake walk in the park. So, let me just take a moment to acknowledge some things in life that just really suck (in no particular order).

1) Mental illness.
2) Infidelity
3) Bitchy people - except for me or my friends/family when we are venting. I'm talking about people who are bitchy for no odd stupid reason. They suck.
4) Clear liquid diets.
5) Paper cuts
6) Cellular biology
7) When your children suffer.
8) Helplessness - I hate when I can't do a damn thing about a damn thing!
9) Cancer and all that goes with it.
10) Selfishness
11) Unnecessary drama
12) Buttinskis - I am aware that am one sometimes, and I suck when I am.
13) Miscarriages
14) Money
15) Health insurance companies

I could go on and on and on. But, I'll stop here and know that it does NOT suck to get that sort of junk off of my mental plate. Feel free to weigh in on anything important you think I may have missed here.

Bottomlesspititis

I have a disease, I think. I contracted it while on vacation, I think, in a contaminated ice cream cone (giant waffle cone). Or perhaps the virus was burried in the dried beef and olive dip smeared on Triscuits. Whatever the source, I seem to have fallen victim to Bottomlesspititis, disease where one becomes a fountain of hunger with no real satisfaction gained from normal sustinance. It is a horrid disease, and I think the cure is to either eat until one pukes, or to fast for a day or seven. Both cures sound unpleasant.

I'm hungry.

Motivation Photos

My brother is going to school to be a personal trainer (I believe I have mentioned that in one of my rants about my fitness-crazy family), and before he did so, he worked at an internet service provider office watching movies and telling old people how to work their internet. He fell prey to many of the same office pitfalls that many of us suffer: The Breakroom - full of cake for someone, cookies brought in from the old people who can now get photos of their grandkids thanks to my brother's advice, and Out For Lunch - burgers and fries anyone? So, he and a friend made a bet to get in shape, and this started his rise to health. For the longest time, and maybe still today, he carried a photo in his wallet for motivation. Not a photo of some buff dude from the cover of men's health, but a photo of himself looking quite dapper in a gray suit coat but with double chin and pudgy gut. Any time he was tempted to get fast food or eat junk in the breakroom, he looked at that photo. A good idea, no?

I have threatened myself with "motivation photo" in the past, planning to put on my bikini and stand on flat feet, no makeup, thighs squished together square to the camera in true "before" photo pose. I have not done so, mostly out of fear. Well, after vacation I went through my photos, and low and behold someone grabbed my camera and managed to get photos of me in my swim suit. And there is even a photo of me wakeboarding WITH MY GUT HANGING OVER MY SUIT BOTTOMS AND PEEKING OUT THE BOTTOM OF MY LIFEJACKET!!!!! I believe I have found my motivation photo. gross.

From the Mouths of Babes

My five year old child touched my gut last week and asked if I was going to have another baby. Great. And I was feeling thin and foxy that day! I shrugged it off, thinking her comment only due to the fact that Sahm is preggers and maybe she was hoping I was too. Nope. I put on my exercise gear last night, ready for a quick run when the same angelic imp put her hands on my midsection and said, "See mamma? Your tummy is big so you are going to have another baby." I noted that my stomach is NOT that big and that I am NOT going to have another baby, and she argued with me, "See though? It's round like you're going to have a baby."

Thank you, sweetie, now go out and play in traffic.

I ran really fast last night and did not stop to walk at all. stupid stomach.

I Needs Me Some More Larnin'

I am going back to school! My profile indicates that I am a psychologist, which means I already have maxed out on school in one subject area. Well, that's just not enough for me, so I am pursuing some more edumacation. The last time I took any sort of formal test was in 2003, so I must say the prospect of studying and turning in assignments and all of that nonsense is a bit scary. I like the idea of gaining knowledge, but am dreading the process to some degree. Hey! That's a lot like my pursuit of smaller pants - I like the idea of thinness but not the process to obtain it.

So you will all understand, of course, if my posts become bitchier (is that possible?) and less frequent. I am also going to be doing battle with that instinct I have that says one should eat junk foods when stressed out. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....

Time to De-Vacation

Vacation fat has attached itself to me, but not in the vast quantities predicted. I warded it off with some good doses of exercise if not self-restraint at the trough. Now, to get back into "healthy living" mode. That is proving to be a tough task. Also, I am getting bored with running, which is no good. I will not quit, however, and I will work on adding some sort of muscle-building/toning stuff.

Status Report, Mr. Sulu

Well, I have had a good couple of weeks, I must say. I have been eating very healthfully, focusing on veggies and lean meats, with some fruits and a few whole grain carbs. Oh, and pizza yesterday. A girl's gotta live. I have been walking and running. All is well. But I go on vacation soon, and am preparing to do battle with "vacation mindset" where I justify eating whatever I want and skipping my workouts. Sheilds up, O'Hoora, I feel a calorie klingon attack cloaked and at the ready.

My dorkdom is now sealed for all time, given the number of Star Trek references in this post alone. C'mon, you all know you liked The Trouble with Tribbles.

Conspiracy Theory

The Beastie Boys were right: Listen all-a-y'all it's a sabbotage!!

I have not been writing much lately because I don't want to jinx my good habits with sarcastic talk or brag-a-do exclamations. I've been eating healthy foods, NO sweets (the hardest part for me), and exercising. However, my exercising has not been quite as consistent as I would like and I am blaming my family for sabbotaging my efforts. They have a conspiracy against me, I tell you. And it comes in the night - mostly by my five-year-old child. She has been waking up with bad dreams at about 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. and then reqires me to get up and talk her through this or plop her in my bed and hit the sofa for some unrest. My dog took up the cause last night, with a 2 a.m. whine-fest signaling a desire to go outside to avoid a mess on the floor. Since I am not a fan of messes, I let her out only to have her go to a corner of the yard and lay down out there. What the..?! So then I had to gather her back into the house and there goes my solid night's sleep. How does this kill my exercise routine? Well, 6 a.m. looks rediculous when you were just up at 2:30 a.m. with the darn dog. I NEED MY SLEEP!!!!

What I need is a 6 a.m. workout buddy. Know anyone who will volunteer?

Be the Ball, Nunanananana

I like golf! I have now golfed 12 holes this year, more than in the past ten years combined. Let me clarify and say I like to golf with people who don't really care that much about golf. Last week I came home from golfing and my husband asked about my score. My reply was, "What? You're supposed to keep score in golf?" This gives you a clue about my brand of golfing. I am absolutely horrid. I tend to slice off to the right a lot, and I've been known to throw the ball back into the fareway if I am sick of being in the rough or too close to a tree. I four or five-putt every green (I two-putted once!), and I managed to lose five balls in eight holes yesterday, so start buying stock in golf balls because demand is about to rise if I keep playing. But I am having fun, and I have my own cart chauffer - my sister Sahm, who will not golf (weenie) but will come out and drive me around and then eat dinner and gab with the ladies afterwards. Good times. I wonder how the dynamics will change when I try golfing with my spouse or other (male) family members who actually take the game seriously and can hit the ball further than 100 yards or less...

Devil or Angel: I'm so Confused

I'll open with a Seinfeld line:

So what's the deal with high fructose corn syrup?

I have had at least three people advise me to avoid all foods with this substance. I went to the grocery store, and lo and behold EVERYTHING (well, lots of things) have that stuff in it. Peanut butter, granola bars, crackers, strawberry jam, etc. etc. etc., all had HFCS in the ingredient list. This "avoid" task is harder than it sounds.

Well, why should I avoid that stuff? I had no idea other than a couple of thin people recommended it so perhaps there is a correlation between my desired state of healthily thin and this avoidance. But I wanted more information so I went where all of the good, bad and ugly information lives: on the internet. There was a ton of information out there. I picked the stuff from the American Medical Society, the Mayo Clinic and then one other kind of generic looking site. What I got was this: HFCS is cheap to make (though maybe not so much since it is made from cornstarch and that price is rising like crazy) and is a good preservative for foods produced commercially. There are some that say it is more readily converted to fat (ack!) than sucrose (natural sugar). But the AMA and Mayo both say that there is no solid scientific evidence that would suggest this. I am wondering if it not so much the HFCS, but just restricting the calories from all of the foods that contain the stuff. So, I don't know if HFCS deserves the bad press and taboo, but perhaps I will try to avoid it and this will decrease calories. Either that or it will be a new way for me to justify homemade baked goods - hey, no high fructose corn syrup!

Houston, We Have a Problem

Even though I have taken the spotlight off of my weight loss efforts, I am still trying. Well, sort of. I am working on exercise still, which is good. The "eat right" part... well, that's a different story. I have tried weight watchers again, and I cannot seem to make that stick. I have tried low carb, and that works for about two days. I have tried just focusing on eating enough fruits and veggies, again, no luck. So I took a step back and tried to analyze the situation. And here's what I have come up with: I start off strong, and go full guns for two days. By day three, something happens, like the office pot luck or fresh cookies at lunch or my kids eat cookies or a breeze blows outside or or or or or... then it is just a nice steady slide back to eating four slices of pizza for lunch by Sunday. The really bad part (in my assessment), is that on Sunday I am grossed out by my body again and vow to start anew on my good eating plans on Monday. So then I eat on Sunday evening like it's my last day on Earth and I must eat anything good that I see sitting around. "Mmm, cookies! Well, I won't be eating those again for at least a month, so I'm going to have one to make sure I can hold the memory of their tasty goodness close to me in our time apart." So, now that I see the problem I should be able to fix it, right. Well, tomorrow is Monday so we'll see by next Sunday. Wish me luck.

Takin One for the Team, Ouch

My sister Sahm is pregnant, and it is super exciting. She got her ultrasound today, and low and behold, there are photos of a small being who resembles baby Skeletor. Awwwww. She had to weigh herself and was dreading it, so I weighed myself right after her to make her feel better about herself, and I sure hope it worked cuz I was a full five pounds heavier than her NOT pregnant and she's five months along or so. Ouch.

Golf

It has been suggested that I take up golf. I own golf clubs. They were my grandma's, and so the "woods" are actually made of wood. I don't know why there are so many clubs. I know that the wood is for distance, like off the tee. Ok, and the putter is for, well.. putting. Duh. There is something called a wedge, and this is for lofting the ball up high without a lot of distance, I think. The rest of the irons are a mystery. What the hell is up with all of the numbers on those things and why do I need all of those clubs? Isn't there just one to hit my second through fourth or fifth shot that it takes to get even close to the green?

Anyway, in theory, I could golf. And amazingly enough I went out the to golf course the past two Wednesdays when they have "ladies night" with at least some intention of golfing. But I never did golf. I ended up drinking Mojitos with a friend at her house the first time, and eating at the clubhouse the second time with a different friend. But I will go again this week and perhaps even take a whack at actually playing golf. I'll let you know how that goes, and Lisalisa - you should come because I'm sure it will be quite funny. I don't need to yell "fore!" just "whiff."

Butt Sweat

There is nothing worse than butt sweat. In my quest to be one of those people who exercises regularly, I went for a bike ride this evening. I also needed to go to the grocery store and get some freezer bags. So I decide to stop by the store at the end of my bike ride and get those bags, then bike home. Capitol idea! Get exercise, get bags, save gas money - it's fantastic. Except for butt sweat. I got a bit hot and sweaty, nothing horrendous, no sweat rolling anywhere, just enough to think, "Whew, I'm kind of warm." And when I got off of the bike at the store I thought my butt felt kinda damp, so I contort myself enough to check out my hind end and sure enough, it looked like I had peed my pants. Great. So, I stealthily made my way through the store, standing up against shelves looking with great purpose at the opposite shelves whenever a shopper would happen by (I was stuck next to paper towels for quite a while), but I got my freezer bags and made my way out of the store without hearing anyone snickering behind me. I will never wear those pants for a bike ride again.

Victory is Mine!!.... Now What?

It was incredible! I ran like the wind, biked like lightening, running with thunderous steps and I encouraged my poor winded brother on to the finish line of the Ride/Run where we set the record for fastest time ever completing the thing.

And then I woke up. And though we certainly did NOT win the race, overall I felt like we did. I enjoyed the race! Though that is kind of like saying "I enjoyed childbirth!" because the memory of the pain is pretty distant and my brain cleverly covered that up with the fonder memories of the Ride Run. And thank goodness my brother is really in shape, cuz he ended up running two miles to my one mile cuz I am sloooooooow like molasses in December. But I was haulin on the bike, not in an effort to improve our time, but just to catch up to G and get enough ahead of him to be able to run a mile in the time it would take him to pick up the bike, bike a mile, and run more than a mile. Sad, I know, but it worked. And it felt really good to say that I finished that race (though the bloody mary stand at mile four was a tempting "quit" spot).

So, now what? I need a new goal, and next year's Ride/Run is a bit too remote to keep me going, I think. I am thinkin I will sign up for a 5K this Fall, which gives me three months to train and be able to increase from snail's pace to that of a turtle. Stay tuned for more exciting news as this toad tries to transform herself into a bonafide runner. I can't believe that I typed those words.

The Hobble-along Kid

I went running again this morning and in the midst of my normal route felt a pang of electricity hit my lower back and shoot all the way through my hips. 'Uh oh, that's no good,' I thought to myself, but kept running hoping that it would work its way out. I ran about a mile when it was just too painful to continue and slowed to a hobble, which I maintained all the way home. I stretched and stretched and grimmaced and exclaimed in pain as little demons kicked me in the back and hips. Crap crap crap!!! What does this mean for the ride run? Well, I went to physical therapy today, am going tomorrow, am going to massage therapy tonight and am hoping to get a nice muscle relaxer (anybody else remembering the wedding scene from 16 Candles?) to take before bed. Everyone cross their fingers for me.

Signs I am Old (But Not That Old)

I am a blogging fool today! There are so many other things I should be doing, too. But, I had this thought when I went to Kmart, so... I am definitely old, and there are things that remind me of this every so often. For one, I am in my "mid-thirties" - not my early thirties or late twenties or anything young-sounding like that, but "mid" thirties. I still consider my thirties to be "young" but it's also the transition age in my mind. You know, they have rules about mini-skirts that involve the mid-thirties and if you get pregnant at my age it is considered a bit "geriatric" in the reproductive timeline. Beyond my age and the fact that I color my hair to conceal gray hairs and NOT just because I want funky colors running through my mane, the other signs that I have noticed lately include my reactions to boys shaggy hair (sheesh, get a haircut!), and juniors fashions like "attitude shirts." I don't want pants with a rainbow of little stars on the cuffs, and I don't want a shirt that says, "I like boys, they're stupid" on it. When I see those shirts I cannot believe that people let their children wear them! I am all for clever sayings, like the camoflauge (sp?) tank that read "You can't see me" - ha ha, good one. But I cannot stand the ones that insinuate that people should buy you everything you want, call you princess, allege that you can have your daddy's credit card, or demean others. And I think that makes me old. But I draw the line at denim shorts where the back half of the waistband is all elastic, and I will not even look at shirts with birdhouses embroidered on them. I'm not THAT old.

Me and My Bathroom Humor

I don't think I have subjected you all to bathroom humor yet, have I? Actually, come to think of it, I HAVE, because most of you are family and you've listened to that crap from me before (no pun intended). Well, for the other two of you or so, I am one who will willingly share when funny stuff happens to me in bathrooms. So, stop reading now if that kind of thing offends your sensibilities. Here's today's escapade:

As you all might recall, I routinely have a cup of coffee in the morning and this is rather effective at keeping my digestive system regular. Today I had my cup of coffee a bit late in the morning and was rushed at lunch time, so snarfed down a chicken sandwich and green bean casserole in the cafeteria. I am still burping up green bean casserole, but it was worth it - yum. But I digress... So about 30 minutes after my speed-lunch I was needing to use the facilities (if you get my drift). I found the most remote one possible, and one that I know has a can of de-stinkify spray in it. I completed my business and decided it was really worthy of a courtesy flush, so did so while my arss maintained the stink-barrier seal on the seat. I hate having to courtesy flush, because people have got to just "know" what you were doing in that public restroom. But it is better than stankin' up the joint and having people hit the invisible vapor line, sending them reeling. But I digress again... This toilet I was using has got the most powerful flushing mechanism known to man, and the water pressure was intense, causing a bidet-type situation and me sitting there with probably a really funny expression on my face. So, I'll just leave you all with that visual for today. You're welcome.

A Lesson From Mr. Wizzard

Remember that show? Mr. Wizzard would do fun science projects and we'd all learn something, like you can make a thing out of pop bottles taped together and filled with water where the water will look like a tornado when you turn it upside down. Cool. Oh, and something about forces of gravity and pressure and other sciency stuff. So, I went running again yesterday (cuz I am going to be a runner. at least until the ride run is over) and changed my route. I usually run from my house to a specific stop sign, turn around and run home and call it good cuz I know it is just over two miles. If I am ambitious, I run to the stop sign beyond the usual one and add a little distance and one last little hill. THIS time, I TURNED at the stop sign and ran down to a school and then turned again, running until I got back to my street. So I made a goofy square of sorts. And it felt like I ran a lot longer than my usual route, so I was bound and determined to drive along the route with my "trip" mileage counter on and see how far I went. My neighbors, who are aware of the ride/run looming, thought it was probably a four or five mile journey, and I was elated. Four or five miles!! Really?! I can run four or five miles?!! That's awesome!!! I could do this daily and then be thin, cuz have you seen people who are habitual runners? Those folks are thin, I tell you. Imagine my disappointment when I drove the route and my car said it was only 2.4 miles. What?!! Mr. Wizzard notes that something filled with hot air will burst suddenly when poked with a sharp pang of disappointment. Pooh. Also, I think I remember something about math class, and had a "duh" moment thinking, um, if my usual run is about two miles, then it would MAKE SENSE that the square is not that much furhter, cuz my run is about half of the square and then I turn around and run back. .5 x 2 = 1 square. Durt-da-durr. Today's experiment teaches us the lesson of humility AND that my neighbors are as math challenged as I am.

Nightmare on My Street

There has been a plague of nightmares at my house lately. My older daughter woke up two nights ago and thought she saw a man floating above her bed. CREEPY!! Then my younger daughter woke up about five minutes later believing that there were bugs crawling on her. This is the second time she has had the "bug" thing, where I have to explain that there are lots of little flowers all over her sheets and they are not bugs. I changed her sheets after that. So, I have not been sleeping so well, being the dream police around here - the one who soothes the children and sits next to them until they fall asleep. Oh, me so tired.

Now, I do not usually remember my own dreams. But I had one last night that is clear as day in my memory. I was proud of myself for all of the running I have been doing, so I stepped on the scale. It said I weighed 185 pounds!!! ACK!!! What?! And my sisters were there, and reassuring me that the scale was broken, so got another one, which one sister stepped on and it said she weighed 96 pounds, which we all thought was broken in the other direction, so I stepped on it and it said I weighed 185 pounds. So, they both said, "Well, I guess that's what you weigh then." Then I woke up. That was one f-ed up dream, I tell you.

In other news: I successfully completed my practice of half of the ride run - running two miles, biking two, then running two more. I am not stepping on the scale.

Mamma Bear vs. Snatchy Be-otches

I hate jr. high-aged girls. Hate them. I have a daughter who will be heading into middle school (the new phrase for jr. high) who is already experiencing the sting of snatchy be-otches in little groups who are just downright evil. She got pushed into the swimming pool and called names the other day, prompting her to leave the pool after a very short time and call her dad to come and pick her up. And my mamma bear instincts are RAGING. I want to find those girls and call their mothers and get them into big trouble. I want to find older "cool" girls to hang out with my daughter who will taunt those little prisses and give them the stupid eyebrow raise of disdain if they ever think about being mean to her again. I want to swoop in and scoop her up and give her a pill to make her so ultra-cool that nobody does anything but pave her path in velvet and turn pleading eyes towards her that she may grace them with her company. And I can't, and it sucks. And she is who she is (and I think she is great with some room for growth): likes to read, is dramatic, is hot-tempered and easily emotional, hates fashion, moves with some bit of akwardness (though can pogo-stick and ride anything with wheels in moments while I fall off of the things repeatedly), and talks loudly when excited, and says some really funny things with a great vocabulary. And she just wants to have friends in her relatively new school (we've almost lived here a year). So I feel like I send her off like a lamb to the slaughter, and I think it is one of the most uncomfortable things I can think of. And it is uncomfortable because I WANT it to be mamma bear vs. those mean munchkins, but it has to be her...baby bear vs. sleek little cougars with claws. Maybe I'll just get drunk for the next four years or so and hope it goes by quickly. Stupid jr. high girls.

I Still Don't Like It

Well, I am up to 2.5 miles running distance, and am up from 2 times per week to every other day in frequency. But I still don't like to run. I am doing the whole "positive thinking" vibe in terms of things like: "Don't stop!...Don't walk!... You can do this!... Just listen to your music and enjoy the gorgeous weather!" And it helps, but I am waiting impatiently to hit the "runner's high."

Call Now for This Special Offer

On the blogger sign-in page they are always tempting me with "earn money with your blog" buttons, and I am guessing that you can elect to allow product endorsements. I think this is funny, because who would pay me to put their products on this blog? I wonder if I could pick the products? That would be cool. I would pick Tampax, Dove Chocolates, and some sort of diuretic for bloating. Can anyone tell what time of the month it is? I also highly endorse Jergen's lotion with self-tanner. My sister loaned me her bottle and said that if I put on lotion before bed I would wake up with a tan and she was right! It is amazing! And it is not orange colored, either. My legs can be exposed without blinding others! Anyway, I have never checked out the "earn money with your blog" which is probably a good thing. I wouldn't want to subject you all to Enzite and Depends advertisements every time you get on here to read.

A Spoonful of Sugar

I ran once over the weekend, and managed the two miles again. I'm trying to work in a two mile route around my home where there are some hills cuz I am missing that challenge in my training. I am also going to work in a route that has hills where I can do a practice of the ride run, or at least half, where I run two miles, bike two, run two. That's six miles and half of the race. I would like to practice the full thing at least once but will be pretty happy if I get the half practice in.

So, what the heck does this have to do with my title? Well, I ate a half teaspoon of sugar within 15 minutes of running in the morning, on the advice of my brother, to reportedly give me some energy to run longer. And I have no clue if this helped but I discovered that I do not like straight sugar. When I was a kid, I would have loved it if someone would have handed me the sugar bowl and a spoon. So this is another sign that I am old - straight sugar is now gross. Sigh. I'll try a pixie stick next time, though even that sounds gross first thing in the morning. Hey G, can I eat a little powdered doughnut? Those always sound good. And not just in the morning.

Not By the Hair on My...

Chinny Chin Chin!!! I have this one hair that grows on my chin. It is dark, black and thick, so it is really a whisker, not a hair. How gross is that?!! So I pluck the dumb thing and then it does not grow back (I check for a while after I pluck it) for a long time, so I think it is gone. But then it shows up again, and it's like I go to bed one night and it grows a quarter of an inch, hanging there off of the end of my chin, waiting for me to notice. And I have the same reaction every time.. "What the f..., where did that thing come from?!" Then I search frantically for a tweezer to get rid of it. I should look into electrolysis, which might also work to zap my moustache that I also pluck out. That's right, I pluck those little moustache hairs. Waxing gives me little pimple-ish spots all in the corners of my mouth and you can guess how attractive that is. Me and my tweezers - the team fighting against my slow progression towards becoming a man (apparently). Stupid aging process.

More Progress

Ran two consecutive miles this Friday evening, and then ran again on Saturday morning, though not as far. Didn't run today cuz it was raining. So, I went to the movie Kung Fu Panda, which was fun. I plan to run again tomorrow. This is me trying to establish some sort of healthy habit.

Theme Music from Rocky, Please

I did it! I ran a mile and a third in one stretch without stopping to gulp in air and stretch out the stitch in my side! I ran at snail's pace, but I did it! I pushed away all thoughts of stopping and just kept going. I may just be able to make my goal of running two miles. Will wonders never cease?

Dimples

Dimples are not universally cute. Cute on babies, cavernous on Mario Lopez (and cute), dashing on Michael and Kirk Douglas. Really nasty on my rear end and my gut. Cellulite is horrible!! And it is something that afflicts many many many women, even skinny bitches. I was used to this dimply junk on my upper thighs, but it has developed on my gut and this does not make me happy. So, add that to my list.

Old, Fat and Out of Shape

You all thought I was back to bashing on myself for being disgusting, right?! Oooh, I faked you out! My title is referring to my geriatric dog. Poor thing! I decided to take her out with me to go for a jog, cuz normally she loves to do that. Let me give you the rundown on my dog: she is a Husky/Shephard mut who is 12 years old. She gets little to no exercise in the winter and at any time there is inclement weather, and never misses a meal. She has been prone to stealing bread - chewing a hole in the bag and eating the loaf before going off to hide and give me dejected, guilty looks when I come home. (We now keep the bread in the pantry.) But she really likes to go for walks, and will get excited whenever you say the "w" word and put on your tennis shoes.

Friday evening was no exception, and she was wriggling around in the dance-of-impatience as I put on my shoes. We walked down the block with her walking energetically at my side, and then rounded the corner to walk at a brisk pace for another couple of blocks before I broke into a jog. She loped along beside me for a ways, and then suddenly I noticed that she was behind me and I was having to pull on the leash for her to even keep pace behind me. What the heck?!! Normally she is choking herself on the leash, making terrible-sounding hacking noises because she has strained her windpipe with her collar. So I dropped to a walk for a while then jogged again with the same result. Then I decide to take her old tired self home, so walked and SHE WAS STILL BEHIND ME! She couldn't keep up with a brisk walk! We hit the lawn of the school down the street and she laid down. I thought I was going to have to carry her 50 pounds of furry weight home, but she made it. Slowly. Her poor old legs were twitching when we got home. I joked about it, but I have to say that it made me kind of sad to see the proof of her mortality. My beloved doggie is on the downhill slide. But, I'm still going to take her on walks around the block. I hope someone will do the same for me when I am 87, and not expect me to run a third of a mile.

Back in the Saddle (even if it hurts)

Ok, well I was going to get on my treadmill tonight, but I didn't do it. Thankfully, my coochie-coochie made a full recovery as of Wednesday. My hamstrings and outer thighs, however, have been screaming at me ever since the Ride Run training session. Well, today they are not screaming, more like glaring with the occasional audible grumbling. So, I was going to get on the treadmill tonight, but instead I goofed around on my computer and made the excuse that my legs still hurt. But, like they say, you have to get back up on the horse that threw you, so I am hereby making my commitment to the treadmill tomorrow. OR, if the weather cooperates, I'll run outside for an even more complete training experience. You can all wag a virtual finger at me tomorrow if I don't.

Oh, and does anyone have any good running-songs? I'm going to need more than two, I hope. I have a lot of good walking songs - one being Justin Timberlake's "She Knows" and you get extra bonus points if you can walk to that song and smack your own rear end without breaking stride when he sings, "She looks just like a model, except she's got a little more a**..." My favorite running song so far is "Just Like Heaven" by the Cure.

You Hurt Your What?

My brother has asked if I would like to participate in the "Ride Run" race on the 4th of July. This is a race around a lake, 12 miles in length, and the gist is that you work as a team, one starts out running and one on a bike. Biker drops bike at agreed upon spot and starts running, first runner comes upon bike and gets on, pedaling along past first biker (who is now running) until coming upon the next drop spot, drops bike and starts running...etc. etc. leap-frogging each other in this way all around the lake until you collapse at the finish line. Sounds like fun, eh? Notice that I said "PARTICIPATE" in the race - not "compete." He, very nicely, understands that in no way will I be able to compete with others in this event, even though he would be able to compete and do quite well, I am sure.

So, I am considering it. And I would really like to do this with him, just to say that I did it. So I decided to hit the gym on Tuesday to work on training for this event, because it seems to me I would need to be able to run at least two miles consecutively, and then do some biking, etc. Makes sense that I should go to the gym and practice on the treadmills and exercise bikes, right? Mr. Spock would find that logical, I am thinkin.

I hit the treadmill with my Ipod on my "running" songs, and happily was able to make it through not only one of them, but TWO, consecutively and effectively burned through more than a mile! Yay for me! I walked for a few measured increments, and then back to my jog, doing this for several more intervals - adding up to about 35 minutes on the treadmill. I was planning to go for one last running push, so hit the gas on the treadmill speed and started to run when suddenly a pain shot up my inner left leg up through my groin and straight across my lady parts! It felt like someone kicked me square in the nads, if I had any nads. So, I desperately hit the SLOW DOWN button as fast as I could, like I was telegraphing the fastest message across the wires (imagine furious tapping on the machine) to slow it down to a walk my 16-month-old niece could manage and recovered for a moment, each step producing an odd painful pulsing. Once that subsided I sped the machine up, only to be met with more intense painful pulsing. 'Good grief, I think I broke my cooter,' I thought to myself. Now what? I got on that damn bike, that's what. I managed 15 minutes on that thing, standing on the pedals periodically to reduce the transfer of pain to my ass.

Ride Run. Good idea.

Vices

I have several guilty pleasures in life and a couple of vices. Thankfully I am not a smoker, though I have smoked a clove cigarette or two when drunk. I am not a big drinker, so that makes it extra fun when I decide to drink cuz I get tipsy quickly. My vices would be: spending money and eating unhealthy food. I really do enjoy shopping - not for clothes for myself, mind you (mostly because of vice #2), but for clothes for my kids, stuff for my house, makeup, hair do-dads, food, etc. I just love to be in a retail environment, looking at stuff and loading up my cart. I have a 10-year-old daughter who could be the happy recipient of a large wardrobe if only she liked clothes that aren't sweatpants or oversized tee-shirts. She wrecks my shopping buzz some days, I tell you. But my 5-year-old is as girly as they come, so I have a grand ole time loading her closet. My spouse frowns at me often, but retail therapy is fun.

Eating: no real need for discussion on that one, is there? Peanut butter, chocolate, cake, cookies, doughnuts, cheeseball on crackers, spinach and artichoke dip... the list is endless.

And my latest guilty pleasure: Dancing With The Stars. Seriously, I would not miss it for the world. I love that dorky show! Their outfits are nuts, but I like every cheesey moment. I'm rooting for Christy Yamaguchi this season and tonight will find out the winner!! I'm even considering getting the Dancing with the Stars workout video. I'll let you know if I do and if it is any good.

The Ripple Effect

Sahm has a blog and once wrote about underwear and how bands at the bottom of your skivvies contribute greatly to the formation of cellulite. She learned this from somewhere scientific, like Tyra Banks' show or Rachel Ray. And though it's a little too late to prevent cellulite on my bod, I keep hoping that with a lot of skin cream and the right underwear, I can contain the damage. So I bought some new knickers at Kohls - Vera Wang brand that have no band around the legs. And I wore them today and they were very comfortable! And since I cannot wear a thong - seriously, I have tried numerous times but they are just very distracting all day for me - I will put my stamp of endorsement on these Vera Wang panties that promise no panty lines. So, head to Kohls and bring on the white capri pants, and to those of you without cellulite - let this be a word of encouragement to you.

Tan Fat

The sun has finally arrived in the Midwest! And so I went out and planted flowers, mowed the yard (all of that counts as exercise, right?), and ran around the yard with my kids playing "tag." And I got sunburned! I was wearing a tank top, so my shoulders were fried. I should be very unhappy about that, right? Nope, I am not. I also layed on a blanket in the yard on Sunday and read part of a book and the backs of my knees got fried. Uncomfortable, yes, disappointing, no. Please!! I need some color other than "translucent" in my skin! I know I am going to end up with skin cancer or something awful like that, but tan fat looks so much less repulsive than white fat. Agreed?

Oh, and thanks for all of the comments. You guys are so nice.

Incredible Hulk

My monsterously envious green self has reared its ugly head once again. I worked out on Sunday with Sahm, and it was a good workout, but after a long lapse in between Turbos I was worthless. Don't get me wrong, I was glad that I did it, but man am I out of shape and wimpy. I am huffing and puffing with half of the effort I used to expell. And there's Sahm, adding some extra hops into her lead so that she'll feel like she actually did something. "Up the cardio a notch, I don't feel a thing." And sometime she says truths like, "Yeah, I am sore after the first time but then never again. " or "I was doing these side-planks up on my toes and fingertips and other people were struggling and I was thinking, 'Really? Cuz this is not really challenging me at all.'"

And it is at those times when I want to grab her by the long flowy hair and shove her in front of a mirror and scream at her "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU ARE NOW ONE OF THOSE SKINNY BITCHES WHO IS IN SHAPE AND LOVES EXERCISE BECAUSE IT IS REWARDING TO YOU!!!!" And I am still an out-of-shape schlump who is just waiting for the damn hour to be over so I can say I worked out and go back to the parts of my life I enjoy.

And that is hideous of me, right? I mean, I am proud of her work. But does she have to mention that she can do fantastical feats of strength and not bat an eyelid while I am huffing and groaning through the modifier that most 5-year-olds could do in their sleep? And it's her job. Truely, this is now what she does for a living - work out and lead others in workouts. She is in the cohort of people who go to work and say, "ooh, check out this really hard move I learned yesterday. It really works your abs. I was sore for two days, it was awesome." And I love my job, but it entails sitting on my large duff most of the time. And conversations with peers are about the person who wants out of the nursing home who had dried poo all over their rear end, so we agree it's not a good idea for them to go home. And there's junk in the break room and junk in my trunk as a result.

So I look at her skinny assed self, and she can say she is not, but she is as small as she has been since high school. And then I can look at myself. And then I can get together with any crowd of friends in this skinny assed town, and my incredible Hulk side is raging - yelling at me to never eat anything but lettuce and chicken, to get up and work out. And I do it for half a day. And I am starting to believe that short of going to some nazi excercise camp, I will never again see the day when my flesh does not squish into a mound between my bra and my pantihose resembling an alien set of alternate breasts. How depressing. Loads of cute spring and summer clothes at Kohls and I will not subject myself to the torture of trying them on and hating them all.

Oh, did I mention that I got my period?

Zero Comments

I have to tell you how my blogging joy is directly correlated with the number of comments I recieve. No pressure, or anything.

Table for One, Please. Party's name: Sore Thumb

Recall that my recent trip to Nebraska included an occasion to "go out." By this, I mean that I got to go out on the town, sans kids and spouse. I borrowed a fun, sexy top from Sahm, wore my new dark wash jeans, my red wedges and put on purple eyeshadow aplenty as instructed by the girl in DesMoines at the Sephora store (it looks good, I swear - back me up here, Sahm). I stopped short of the fake eyelashes, which are fun, but I was in Nebraska for Pete's sake. So I go out feelin all fine and slightly vampish. The first fine drinking establishment was like those small-town bars where people over 45 hang out if they are white trash. Yikes. All women present were sporting jeans and oversized tee-shirts, some maybe with makeup on. I quickly went from feeling vampish to uncomfortable. We left after one drink.

We hit the next place, known to be newly "happenin" in town. It had a better mix of ages represented, that is for sure. But I was still much more turned out than the majority of the gals in the room. Sigh. I had forgotten where I was, apparently, or wildly underestimated the young going-out set in Nebraska. Maybe both.

See, in my DesMoines going-out experience just weeks before, I was adequately dressed in the same kind of outfit. I was average in that bar crowd. Passable, midline, nice-looking, on par. I was nowhere near the va-voom in the room: 20-somethings with tiny skirts and glitzy tops with carefully coifed messy-vamp hairdos. I am never hoping to compete with those little sisters, but was pleased that I could pass in the younger-set crowd and did not have the "Mom" look goin on. I was golden. In Nebraksa I was the ho with the eye makeup.

So, lesson for the day, dear readers: Research the culture when venturing out into the wild. And when going out in small-town Nebraska, pack jeans and a tee shirt.

Parts is Parts

I went out in Norfolk last weekend (more to follow on that experience in a separate blog posting). Norfolk, Nebraska, to be exact. And I got friendly with my favorite Rum Captain and had some very open conversation with friends of mixed gender. Wait, the friends weren't cross dressers, one was a dude and the other two were women. You all have the scene correctly pictured now? Good, I'll move on.

So, we came upon the topic of acceptable conversational reference to genetalia. My friend, Lin, said she had gone and gotten a mammogram and the technician said something to the effect of: "Wow, you have really dense breasts." And Lin retorts: "Yeah, well the twat isn't too smart, either." Ok, that is freakin funny. ha ha ha!! But when she retold that story to a friend, they stated that the term "twat" is a bit harsh and not, perhaps, kosher. So she asked us what we thought. I personally am not offended by the term "twat" and neither were the other two adults at the table, but my sister thinks it is objectionable. So, feel free to fire away with your comments on that one. We all agreed that there are perhaps better terms, including vagina, va-jay-jay, bid-ness, junk, lady parts. But I am not a fan of the cat referrence ("p") and we all were firm that the "c" word should never even be whispered or written, let alone spoken.

This, of course, led to a discussion of men's parts, with one friend noting that every man has, at one point in time, given their part a name. (I use a lot of commas. Just noticed that.) What?! All men have named their penis?!! I don't think so. I happen to be married to a bonafide man, and I am unaware of any name for that body part, though it does get referred to in the third person (e.g. "Somebody woke up and wants to see what's going on." Sleeping, that's what's going on.). And I asked him, and he confirmed that NO, his penis remains unnamed. So is he the only one? Can't be. But my friend seems to believe that all men name that item and that MOST couples name it together and that this is a fun thing for couples.

So here are the topics: Is "twat" offensive as reference to the vagina? Is the naming of penises a common practice and I had better quick give my spouse's a name? Talk amongst yourselves.

Breakout Topics

Well, at this point, my dear friends, I have kind of run out of ideas for the whole diet topic of this blog. Seriously, it was fun for a long while, but who wants to listen to me whine about how fat I am and how I skip workouts and keep eating junk? Not me! And beyond that, who wants to listen to me rah-rah myself if and when I would ever get on the stick and actually lose weight? Not me! I could buy Valerie Bertinelli's book - same stuff. And to that end I have thought, "What? You wrote a whole book about your weight loss process and people wanted to buy it? Heck, I've been doleing that crap out for free on my blog!" Wait, her's is a story of diet conquest.. maybe it gives people hope. Mine just gives people a slight chuckle.

Ok, so I am breaking away from the topic of diet, unless the mood strikes and something outlandish happens, like I become a vegetarian or exercise fanatic.

Breakroom Perils

Breakrooms are hazardous to your health. They are supposed to be healthy restful places to rejuvenate oneself at work. They tend to be places where junk food is offered up a-plenty. This week, there was a buffet of goodies in there to celebrate someone's birthday, so I stuck to the cauliflower and dip, but fell prey to the GIANT sheet cake with whipped frosting (love that stuff). Then on other days there are ice cream buckets filled with snack mixes of different sorts. One had chocolate animal crackers, chocolate drizzled mini rice cakes and other stuff. There are also just bags of chips hanging out for the taking. Today I tasted one Pringles Dill Pickle flavor and it was goooood. Stupid break room.

On a happy note, Spring seems to have finally arrived and I got outside yesterday and ran around the park (literally) with my kids. It also means that, theoretically, I could be getting up and taking my dog outside for a run/walk. She and I would both benefit, but I still fight the magnets in my mattress and the ones attached to my butt that keep me in bed in the morning.

With Spring, comes looming Summer and swimsuit season. Crap crap crap. I work indoors, so am always white as a sheet, and then put on my suit on a weekend and there I am: the white blob in a suit next to my tanned siblings who make it outside more than once per week. Sigh. Maybe I'll cave and buy one of those suits with a skirt in true "Mom" fashion. Or not. I still have my pride and sensibility if not my former will power and dedication to exercise.

Giddyup!

Here are my thoughts on beating the dead horse of me being "too hard" on myself about my weight. Ok, to start, I do not always sit around and feel bad about my body fat percentage. There are days that I feel damn sexy. Ok?

But here's the deal. If I am not hard on myself about my weight, who will be? Certainly not my siblings, who contend that I look "fine." And as a whole I would agree, I look "fine" but not good. And when they look good, I want to as well. And you know, we used to say that my brother looked "fine" at his heaviest weight, and he did. But he drew a line for himself where "fine" was not the goal. And he worked hard and now looks fabulous! He is one healthy dude, and I admire that. I have, thus far, been unable to duplicate his efforts, but that's ok. And my other two sisters, who say I look "fine," would both be unhappy if they were in my skin. Guar-an-teed. Why do I say that? Cuz I've seen them at those moments.

Also, being satisfied with "fine" - why is that ok? I mean, isn't that how people just get bigger and bigger? Doesn't there have to be some sort of mental line that you don't like to cross in terms of weight? If I didn't have that thing where I really am pretty miserable when shopping for clothes beyond size 10 (which I really just tolerate - misery hits at 12), what would stop me from continuing to eat myself silly? Certainly not my tastebuds, because they would have me eating straight out of vats of peanut butter, scooping with Hershey bars (I want that right now). I would be miserable for a half an hour and move right on to fried cheeseballs, nachos, and hot fudge sundaes.

And, AND, I don't think my goal is nuts. It would be nuts if I were a size 6 and feeling horrid about myself, or those goofballs in Hollywood who hoorah for those women who went from a size 4 to a 2 - whew! Thank goodness, cuz they were pretty chunky. no. I'm looking for a size 8, dreaming of a 6. And that's a healthy goal.

So I am going to continue to be hard on myself. Besides, my blog would be damn boring if it was full of, "yay! I did some situps!" and never acknowledged that I am stuck at this weight because I am not doing the cardio workouts that would burn the energy to use up the fat stores. Venting is good. Now, if it would only translate into action...

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

I went to DesMoines this past weekend to whoop it up with my sisters and my brother (oh, and we brought the spouses, too) and had a grand ole time dancing the night away. I got nice and drunk (empty calories, but way worth it)and danced my fool butt off. Well, maybe I only danced off the calories from the alcohol, but it was a good workout at any rate.

A good time was had by all - including my brother in law, Old Man D, who normally is not up for dancing, but sure did that night. He was hillarious because he noticed that he is exceptionally sweaty when he dances. And my spouse who just had knee surgery was dancing off into the crowd, looking back at us with this shit-eating grin like he was some mischevous child. Plus he started jumping up and down when they played House of Pain's "Jump Around" and we all had to yell at him to knock it off. Beer - great curer of pain and eraser of good common sense.

I worked really hard to feel cute, but it was hard amongst my svelt sibs (who will commenting up a storm - "you're too hard on yourself"). Sorry, but it is just no fun to be the chubby one, even if I am not THAT much chubbier. But my hair looked good, my makeup was good and fun, and I threw on some fake eyelashes to round out the "look at my face, not my thighs" effort. So, I am coming back from the trip with good memories and some motivation to eat healthy. And with my siblings as inspiration because they all have worked hard to be at healthy weights. And in tribute to my brother, I am not eating a whole gob because I am sad he is moving away. I raise my banana and almonds to you, Greggy! Love ya!!!!

Couch Potato Workout

I have been trying something new in the evenings. I'm still not getting up in the morning, though I set my alarm every day (my husband is not impressed). But, in the evenings, while watching the boob tube, I am exercising during commercials. Every commercial break, I do push ups, crunches or other ab work, tricep extensions, etc., or I do some of the old "turbo" sections for a quick cardio boost, have done some high jumps, squats, and even just run in place. It's actually harder than it sounds, and there are a lot of commercial breaks, I have discovered.

This workout brought to you by the "something is better than nothing" line of thinking, sponsored in part by: the fine makers of all of the commercials on TV.

Excuses, Excuses

Here are my lame-o excuses for the lack of effort on my part lately (and reasons they are lame):

1) I'm tired. (Um, go to bed a half an hour earlier, dummy, and you are not tired once you get out of bed and get going.)
2) I hate the treadmill. (This is sort of true, but the Ipod makes it "fine" and I feel really good when I am done.)
3) My basement is too narrow (to TK - but I could figure something out)
4) I'm sick of that TK routine (I have three or four of them - sheesh, just pick one and do it)
5) I need to spend time with my kids, not at the Y (take the kids, they like the Y)
6) I don't like Pilates (I've done one section of pilates off of a bad exercise video -never tried a class)
7) It's a birthday,eat a lot (Dumb idea)
8) It's card club, eat a lot (another dumb idea)
9) I'm hungry, eat a lot (ok, but how about eat a lot of salad or high fiber foods or something - not junk or heavy foods)
10) I need to get rid of it, so I'll eat the cake/cookies/etc (another dumb idea - just pitch it. It will be stale if you try to send it to the starving children in Africa)
11) I did some sun salutations, that's better than nothing (true, but not better than a really good sweaty workout that is more cardio based IN ADDITION to your little yoga moves)
12) I'm not as heavy as some people, so... (so what?)
13) I'll start tomorrow (maybe, how about start right now?)
14) But I love that restraunt! (yeah, but if you want to be healthy, you can't eat everything you love. you've tried that approach and it marches you straight to a size 12 or bigger)
15) I didn't bring my lunch cuz I was too tired to get up and pack something. (see #1 - also, pack the evening prior)
16) It's a special occasion (life is full of special occasions, see #14)
17) These pants are baggy (get some pants that fit!)
18) I want to relax (do it after you have worked out)
19) I need to spend some time with my husband (drag his arss downstairs or to the Y)
20) I already showered (are you allergic to soap and water?)
21) I would have to do my hair again (yeah, that is a problem...)
22) I don't have any good workout clothes (because it is a fashion show? good grief, throw on some shorts and a tee shirt)
23) I hate how I look in any workout clothes (hence the reason for working out - changing that look)

Almost Turbo Kicked Her Ass

This week, my husband went over to Sahm's house to watch the NCAA Championship game with her hubby. So, I washed my hair, and did a little "personal care" deforrestation project to get geared up for swimsuit season (gack) and to avoid looking like I have on fake fur underpants underneath my swim suit. In that process, I needed the weed whacker from the garage (no, really just something from the kitchen) and didn't want to throw on my clothes yet, so I just hit the lights in the living room and kitchen and streaked across my house in the dark to avoid givng the neighbors a traumatic experience, and went back into the bathroom.

So, I was in the bathroom, deciding whether or not to try to blow dry my hair, when I heard a noise in the living room (thank goodness I had put on my clothes by this point). I'm a little freaked, thinking, 'Who the hell is in my house?' So, I get into my best Turbo Kick guard pose and crept into the hallway. I am creeping forward, ready to roundhouse kick the hell out of whoever is in my house, when my sister, Sahm peeks around the corner of the hallway! Ha ha ha!!! She was creeping around my living room, thinking I had gone to bed cuz it was so dark in the house. She was one or two steps away from the can of whoopass I was about to open, I tell you. Don't mess with me. I'll kickbox dance all over your sorry ass. ha ha ha!!!!

Happy (Burp) Birthday

It is Birthdaypalooza this week. My in-laws (including spouse's parents, grandmothers and brother) were here last weekend to celebrate birthdays, which kicked off the Week of Cake. My brother-in-law's birthday is March 25, my spouse's is April 8 and my daughter's is today! So we do a big three-for-one party with that side of the family every year, which is great. So, that was Sunday, and I felt like I was pretty restrained - ordered a salad with my pizza burger instead of the fries, ate a small piece of cake, oh and a small piece of pie, but sent the rest home with others and left myself one small piece of cherry pie (one of my favorites) and no cake. But then Tuesday rolls around and my spouse wants banana cake, so I am a good wife and I made it with homemade 7-minute frosting. I had one piece that day, and one yesterday, and now that cake is gone. On to today, where we will be bringing home the big cake shaped like a Barbie doll for my daughter's party this evening. She's been coveting that thing in the bakery case for the past few months, and since she is a second child, therefore needing nothing as her sister's old things are in great shape, she gets the crazy expensive cake. I will eat some, of course.

So, that is the end right? I don't want to even think about the number of points consumed in cake this week. But wait, there's more! My nephew's birthday (on my side) is Sunday, so we will be heading to SL tomorrow for a bowl-a-rama party to celebrate his bday and my daughters, and, there will be cake (of course, cuz there should be!!). And I am looking forward to eating it cuz it will be chocolate cake, and I love that stuff. So, I guess it's just a big "whatever" kind of week, trying to restrain myself in between episodes of cake.

Oh, and in the battle between my hair and my ass: my bed has been winning. I got up the ONE time mentioned earlier, and not since. I did yoga work last night (some sun salutations, warrior poses till my legs shook) and some brief cardio things like dancing in my living room to my Ipod. Sigh. Me = wuss

Hair vs. Ass: Let's Get It On

I got up and walked this morning on my treadmill. I hate mornings, as you all know, but I have friends who are getting their butts out of bed at 5:00 a.m. to walk on their treadmills, so I was feeling like a slug for struggling to get up at 6:00 a.m. So this morning I did it! I won the fight between my warm cozy bed and the first-cold, then-sweaty alertness of my treadmill in the morning. And I feel good. Why don't I do this more often?

I'll tell you why. Besides the struggle with my I'm-allergic-to-mornings disease, I also have to battle the thought of washing and doing my hair. Ok, are you all grossed out thinking, "Um, I hope she washes and does her hair! Otherwise, forget about losing weight and focus on basic human hygiene!" No, no, it's not like that. I have, quite possibly, the most evil hair ever grown on a human head. It is the texture of a horse's tail and so thick I have broken many a pony-tail holder in my day, struggling to get it around my hair more than two twists. And it's wavy. Not curly in a pretty kind of way, and not wavy in that I-just-got-back-from-the-ocean kind of tousle, but big wanky waves that just look poufy and rediculous. So, I wash it, let it air dry (because hairdrying is a rediculously long process that I will only do every now and then) and then tackle it with my flat-iron (the Chi - which is fabulous). This takes me a long time. And because my hair is this way, I do the routine and then do not wash it for three or four days, just brushing it and doing touch ups with the flat iron as needed. And my hair does not get greasy this way (1) because it is so dry and coarse and (2) because my head has learned to adjust the oil levels.

Why the hell is this important at all? Because, if I get all sweaty and such (which I do when I get on my treadmill cuz I throw a couple of running stretches into my walk), then I usually need to wash my hair. So if I work out often, this severly encroaches on my hair schedule and means a lot more work for me. Not just enough to pull my butt out of bed and actually do the work of exercising, but now I gotta add the extra 45 minutes of hair crap. So, there is always this battle between my hair (which does not benefit from the workout) and my ass (which does benefit, in theory). Today my ass won. We'll see about tomorrow.

Counting down - 11 days until my trip to Des Moines. Would like to lose 4 pounds before then. Heck, would like to lose any pounds.