I've been sitting here looking at a blank screen for no less than 10 minutes. Mind is a total blank. I texted Chris and told him I was drawing a blank on the blog. His response? Write about me! I'm full of material! See, that's just not helpful. Our conversations today were about things like, why being a drug addict isn't all bad as long as you don't die, how good drugs are as good if not better than sex, and fisting (don't ask, I'm not telling. But for the record I TOTALLY didn't know what that was.) All were hilarious conversations via text message, but grossly inappropriate for...well, for just about anyone. So I told him that he's no help. So he texts back, unless you want to write about the four horsemen of the apocalypse and the seven seals! My response: lol, no. His response: meh.
Anyway, since Chris was zero help, I looked for inspiration online. I found this blog, called The One-Minute Writer, it's pretty cool. Every day it gives you a topic to write about, encourages you to spend a minute everyday writing, etc. So I think I'm going to try it. It certainly can't hurt, and maybe if I get used to writing every day I won't get so stuck for ideas. And maybe by the time I'm 60 I'll have the guts to submit something for publication.
A trophy, a lei and a spirit shark
Got back from our first competition tonight. Win? Shyeah. Fucking FIRST place and a bid to Nationals. I'm a little deaf from all the screaming and cowbells (it's apparently our thing...loud obnoxious cowbells ringing to cheer the girls on, along with of course the deafening screaming and clapping by the entire gym parents). My ears are still ringing (no pun intended) and I have a pretty killer headache, so I'm off to bed early tonight.
They had this shark, which was like a "spirit shark"...which sounds way dumber now than it did at the time, but I digress...this shark was like dancing around the arena, and our team was like stalking it, dancing with it, etc. Then they had this girl going around throwing leis and t-shirts into the crowd. She threw a lei into the crowd of cheerleaders, and I look over and there's Kat and 3 other girls practically clawing each others eyes out to get this lei. And the winner is...
They had this shark, which was like a "spirit shark"...which sounds way dumber now than it did at the time, but I digress...this shark was like dancing around the arena, and our team was like stalking it, dancing with it, etc. Then they had this girl going around throwing leis and t-shirts into the crowd. She threw a lei into the crowd of cheerleaders, and I look over and there's Kat and 3 other girls practically clawing each others eyes out to get this lei. And the winner is...
I miss Barney...
I came home early today to get ready for this weekend (big competition and all), and I'm just just doing my own thing and the phone rings. Since I'm normally not here in the afternoon, I checked the caller id, expecting it to be a bill collector or something. No such luck, it's the kids' school. I'm like, crap. Normally when the kids' school calls during the day it's for one of three reasons. 1, they're sick and need to be picked up, 2, they've been hurt/maimed/broken some body part, or 3, they're in trouble. In my experience, it's almost always number 3. The kids both know that they need to be REALLY sick for me to come get them at school, and that kind of sick doesn't usually happen in the span between when the get on the bus and lunchtime. So I'm going, it's finally happened. One of them has fallen and broken something. Nope, wrong again.
Assistant Principal: Hi. Um...there was an...umm...incident at school today involving Katherine.
Me: (completely freaking out now) Ok...
Assistant Principal: Well, there was this boy...and you see...well...
Me: (TOTALLY flipping out now)
Assistant Principal: Well, he said he wanted to have sex with Katherine.
silence
Me: Uh, what?
Yeah, apparently some little 9 year old punk told my daughter that he wants to have sex with her. Ok, 1. Nice parenting by that kid's parents 2. What the fuck? I never professed to be some uber great parent, but I can sure as hell teach my kids what's appropriate and what's not. Kids, boys especially, push the boundaries and often push too far (Davey is a perfect example of this, he just acts like a 9 year old, not a 16 year old). It's not that I'm concerned Kat will be scarred forever, I'm just concerned about someone who obviously doesn't get that you don't just walk up to people and tell them you want to have sex with them. I mean not that they really get it, but still. A kid last year told Kat the same kind of thing, about how they should have sex (it's apparently shockingly common at this age). Chris was like, oh hell no. He told her to punch them in the face, kick them in the balls, essentially beat the hell out of them. I was like, OR...you could tell the teacher. Once on the playground when I was like 8 or 9, Mark, this boy that I went to daycare with, was like, kiss me! I was like, ehh... but before I knew it he was sticking his tongue in my mouth. I threw up on him and told the teacher.
She took my advice, not the throwing up part, the telling the teacher part. The Assistant Principal assured me that she took care of it. She said the boy's mother was horrified. Can you even imagine that? I mean, yeah, it's bad that some kid said it to my daughter, but can you imagine if it was your son that said it to someone else's daughter? Horrified wouldn't begin to describe my emotions. Me thinks it's time to revisit the "what's appropriate to say to people" conversation just in case. Man, I miss the days of Blue's Clues and Barney.
Assistant Principal: Hi. Um...there was an...umm...incident at school today involving Katherine.
Me: (completely freaking out now) Ok...
Assistant Principal: Well, there was this boy...and you see...well...
Me: (TOTALLY flipping out now)
Assistant Principal: Well, he said he wanted to have sex with Katherine.
silence
Me: Uh, what?
Yeah, apparently some little 9 year old punk told my daughter that he wants to have sex with her. Ok, 1. Nice parenting by that kid's parents 2. What the fuck? I never professed to be some uber great parent, but I can sure as hell teach my kids what's appropriate and what's not. Kids, boys especially, push the boundaries and often push too far (Davey is a perfect example of this, he just acts like a 9 year old, not a 16 year old). It's not that I'm concerned Kat will be scarred forever, I'm just concerned about someone who obviously doesn't get that you don't just walk up to people and tell them you want to have sex with them. I mean not that they really get it, but still. A kid last year told Kat the same kind of thing, about how they should have sex (it's apparently shockingly common at this age). Chris was like, oh hell no. He told her to punch them in the face, kick them in the balls, essentially beat the hell out of them. I was like, OR...you could tell the teacher. Once on the playground when I was like 8 or 9, Mark, this boy that I went to daycare with, was like, kiss me! I was like, ehh... but before I knew it he was sticking his tongue in my mouth. I threw up on him and told the teacher.
She took my advice, not the throwing up part, the telling the teacher part. The Assistant Principal assured me that she took care of it. She said the boy's mother was horrified. Can you even imagine that? I mean, yeah, it's bad that some kid said it to my daughter, but can you imagine if it was your son that said it to someone else's daughter? Horrified wouldn't begin to describe my emotions. Me thinks it's time to revisit the "what's appropriate to say to people" conversation just in case. Man, I miss the days of Blue's Clues and Barney.
Defending my personal space
So it's no secret that I have a personal space issue. It's like on Dirty Dancing, when Johnny says, this is my dance space (waves arms around the space between his arms), this is your dance space (waves arms around the space in Baby's arms). People have this annoying habit of trying to hug me, and I'm like, dude. Back the hell off. I get the they're (usually) family, that's how normal people show affection, blah, blah, blah. I'm not normal, so get the hell out of my dance space.
Anyway, I've found the perfect solution to my problem. I've watched this instructional video several times, and am prepared to use the techniques demonstrated should the situation arise. Just a fair warning.
Anyway, I've found the perfect solution to my problem. I've watched this instructional video several times, and am prepared to use the techniques demonstrated should the situation arise. Just a fair warning.
This is what you get when the DayQuil wears off.
Today is day 5 of this cold that is seriously starting to kick my ass. I broke down and took some DayQuil this morning, but I think it's wearing off. At first this was just a chest cold, but now my whole body aches, my sinuses hurt, blah, blah, blah. You'd think that this combined with the ridiculously cold weather would inspire me to quit smoking, but no such luck. Sunday night after our death-defying trip to cheering. Fucking blizzard out and Kat has a mandatory cheering practice...yes, I could've decided she should just miss it, but I value her dedication and want her to know I'm dedicated too...that and I TOTALLY underestimated the severity of the weather until it was too late. Anyway I could hardly move after being so tense for almost 3 hours on the drive home. The windshield wipers were half broken and completely iced up. The snow was piling up so fast, the plow trucks either couldn't keep up or just gave up trying. Either way, I was trying to peer out the windshield to guide Chris enough to keep on the road. I was like, right, a little more, that's good, stay straight...slight curve coming up... it was crazy. We figured between his 10% visibility and my 10% visibility we'd get home in one piece, which we did.
So the other night I'm coughing and coughing and Chris starts giggling. I'm like, what the hell is so funny? He's like, you sound like a goose honking when you cough. I was like, thanks, jackass. I'm fucking suffering from some kind of typhoid fever and you're making FUN of me?! I gave him a good night kiss and rolled over into my fever induced coma. The next morning he was all coughing and rubbing his chest. I was like, are you sick? He goes, yeah, my chest hurts, I think I'm coming down with something. I was like, heh. That's what you get for making fun of your sick wife. Karma baby. Although, since then, I've been feeling a lot worse. Perhaps karma is coming back for me for laughing at Chris being sick...sigh.
So the other night I'm coughing and coughing and Chris starts giggling. I'm like, what the hell is so funny? He's like, you sound like a goose honking when you cough. I was like, thanks, jackass. I'm fucking suffering from some kind of typhoid fever and you're making FUN of me?! I gave him a good night kiss and rolled over into my fever induced coma. The next morning he was all coughing and rubbing his chest. I was like, are you sick? He goes, yeah, my chest hurts, I think I'm coming down with something. I was like, heh. That's what you get for making fun of your sick wife. Karma baby. Although, since then, I've been feeling a lot worse. Perhaps karma is coming back for me for laughing at Chris being sick...sigh.
44
It's hard to put into words what I was feeling when I was watching Barack Obama being sworn in as the 44th president. A couple of years ago, Chris read his book, "The Audacity of Hope", and said, this is guy is amazing, he should be president. I didn't pay any attention to him, because this is of course the guy who declares, screw them. I'm suing them every time someone pisses him off. I saw Obama deliver his 2004 speech at the DNC, and was in awe. I started thinking maybe Chris was on to something. 2 years ago when this whole election really got going, Barack Obama was a loooooong shot. Hillary Clinton has been anointed the next president, and no one ever thought that Obama had a chance. Last year, when the voting started, there was something stirring, people who supported Obama heard it and had seen it. And then there was Iowa. Chris and I watched and cheered, completely blown away that he'd won, and that Hillary was a distant third. We started to think that this might actually happen.
Last February, he came to the Bangor Auditorium. Chris and I waited outside in bitterly cold weather for hours and hours, with thousands and thousands of people to hear him speak. The line to get in the building stretched a mile around the block. 5000 people were let in, we were fortunate enough to be 2 of them. At least another 5000 were turned away. The air in the auditorium was electric, and absolutely amazing. Obama spoke and Chris and I were in stunned silence. This guy MUST be elected. It would be the dawning of a new era, a better tomorrow for our children, a better America. The hope that filled us made us feel like singing. Our souls were stirred, our spirits soaring.
The election went on and on and on. We had to suffer through 23847239874 debates, the "will she or won't she" drama of Hillary Clinton, moose hunters and crusty old men. (My favorite quote of today, "A well-placed Republican operative emails: "As I watched Biden take the oath of office, I thanked God that it was not Sarah Palin up there.""--I couldn't agree more). And then finally, November 4th, Barack Obama won.
So here we are, Barack Obama has now been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States. After a history tarnished with slavery, and firehouses being turned on black people in the streets, segregation and civil war, burning crosses and dreams of a promised land, we, the American people, with one act, with one hope, and with one purpose chose a different path. Today re-writes history for our children, and while it doesn't erase the pain of yesterday, it gives us great hope for tomorrow.
Last February, he came to the Bangor Auditorium. Chris and I waited outside in bitterly cold weather for hours and hours, with thousands and thousands of people to hear him speak. The line to get in the building stretched a mile around the block. 5000 people were let in, we were fortunate enough to be 2 of them. At least another 5000 were turned away. The air in the auditorium was electric, and absolutely amazing. Obama spoke and Chris and I were in stunned silence. This guy MUST be elected. It would be the dawning of a new era, a better tomorrow for our children, a better America. The hope that filled us made us feel like singing. Our souls were stirred, our spirits soaring.
The election went on and on and on. We had to suffer through 23847239874 debates, the "will she or won't she" drama of Hillary Clinton, moose hunters and crusty old men. (My favorite quote of today, "A well-placed Republican operative emails: "As I watched Biden take the oath of office, I thanked God that it was not Sarah Palin up there.""--I couldn't agree more). And then finally, November 4th, Barack Obama won.
So here we are, Barack Obama has now been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States. After a history tarnished with slavery, and firehouses being turned on black people in the streets, segregation and civil war, burning crosses and dreams of a promised land, we, the American people, with one act, with one hope, and with one purpose chose a different path. Today re-writes history for our children, and while it doesn't erase the pain of yesterday, it gives us great hope for tomorrow.
Global warming and garden gnomes
So I'm sitting here in January enjoying the most kick ass heat wave. It's really more of a dry heat, it's a balmy 4 degrees. It's a high of 8 today. Tonight it's supposed to be 13 below zero, which should be fun for outdoor activities. We're actually kind of lucky though, there was some places in Wisconsin, Minnesota and Northern Maine that were 47 below with the wind chill. I can't even comprehend that kind of cold. I did learn though that skin freezes in 10 minutes at 43 below zero. I have no intention of testing this theory, I'm going to just take this on good authority (the National Weather Service). It's apparently like 89 today in California. We hate them. Seriously, it's been said before, but it must be said again, if global warming keeps up, I'm going to freeze to death.
The other night I was flipping through the channels with Chris and landed on the Home Shopping Network. Nate Berkus was on, who I love from the Oprah show. He had on all these really cool pillows which I decided we needed to have for the living room. I was like, don't you love those? He was like, ehh. No. Apparently Chris hates pillows. I went online and showed him all the different styles and colors and he was all, babe, they're pillows. I don't like them. I'm like, what don't you like about them? Do you want a different color? Different pattern? He's like, no, no, no. I don't care how they look, I hate pillows. This is not the first time I've encountered his strange phobias. He also has an aversion to seat cushions, which is just weird. He doesn't seem to mind pillows if they're totally attached to something, like the back of a couch, or a really puffy recliner, but try to get throw pillows and he gets all crazy. I could understand if I'd tried to smother him with a throw pillow or something, but I totally wouldn't do that. I wouldn't risk getting spit or face dirt on my good pillows, they're really hard to clean. No, that's not true. Any good dry cleaner could take care of stains. You know, this reminds me, he also has a fear of garden gnomes. Perhaps he's not afraid of me smothering him...perhaps he's afraid of garden gnomes smothering him with throw pillows...
P.S. I totally wouldn't really smother Chris. He's way stronger than me. And besides, I always "get" him wrong. A couple of weeks ago, he took out the trash and I thought it would be funny if I sprayed him with the faucet sprayer. He walked in and I aimed and hit him right in the chest. He was like, AHHHHHH! Son of a bitch baby! That's HOT water! I was like, awww. I didn't mean to scald him, just get him wet. This is why I don't mess with Chris, it always goes terribly wrong.
P.P.P.S. I'm totally getting a garden gnome for my garden. Who needs throw pillows to scare your husband when you have garden gnomes? *rubs hands together and laughs manically*
P.P.P.P.S I fear may regret this decision...
The other night I was flipping through the channels with Chris and landed on the Home Shopping Network. Nate Berkus was on, who I love from the Oprah show. He had on all these really cool pillows which I decided we needed to have for the living room. I was like, don't you love those? He was like, ehh. No. Apparently Chris hates pillows. I went online and showed him all the different styles and colors and he was all, babe, they're pillows. I don't like them. I'm like, what don't you like about them? Do you want a different color? Different pattern? He's like, no, no, no. I don't care how they look, I hate pillows. This is not the first time I've encountered his strange phobias. He also has an aversion to seat cushions, which is just weird. He doesn't seem to mind pillows if they're totally attached to something, like the back of a couch, or a really puffy recliner, but try to get throw pillows and he gets all crazy. I could understand if I'd tried to smother him with a throw pillow or something, but I totally wouldn't do that. I wouldn't risk getting spit or face dirt on my good pillows, they're really hard to clean. No, that's not true. Any good dry cleaner could take care of stains. You know, this reminds me, he also has a fear of garden gnomes. Perhaps he's not afraid of me smothering him...perhaps he's afraid of garden gnomes smothering him with throw pillows...
P.S. I totally wouldn't really smother Chris. He's way stronger than me. And besides, I always "get" him wrong. A couple of weeks ago, he took out the trash and I thought it would be funny if I sprayed him with the faucet sprayer. He walked in and I aimed and hit him right in the chest. He was like, AHHHHHH! Son of a bitch baby! That's HOT water! I was like, awww. I didn't mean to scald him, just get him wet. This is why I don't mess with Chris, it always goes terribly wrong.
P.P.P.S. I'm totally getting a garden gnome for my garden. Who needs throw pillows to scare your husband when you have garden gnomes? *rubs hands together and laughs manically*
P.P.P.P.S I fear may regret this decision...
Fan mail and Beyonce
Just when I was thinking that no one besides my familee read my blog, I got my first piece of fan mail yesterday. I was kind of excited, I just wish the person who sent it didn't remain anonymous. The coolest thing about fan mail is the lengths people will go to to make sure you don't know who they are (they don't want to seem stalkerish or anything). This fan of my blog created a bogus email account and used the name of a person I actually know, and then sent me this love letter.
I just wish they hadn't gone to all that trouble. I mean, I'm truly flattered. To show my sincere appreciation, and because I can't thank them personally, I'll give them the gift of a gay man imitating Beyonce. Watch and enjoy Secret Admirer, it'll make you smile, just like you make me smile.
I just wish they hadn't gone to all that trouble. I mean, I'm truly flattered. To show my sincere appreciation, and because I can't thank them personally, I'll give them the gift of a gay man imitating Beyonce. Watch and enjoy Secret Admirer, it'll make you smile, just like you make me smile.
Wamayuuoooo!
Ok. So last week(ish) I was commenting on MTV and how ridiculous it was. Well, here it is, another Saturday and the kids are with their dad, Chris is working and I'm here...alone...watching Made again. Sigh at me. Anyway, today was the "Head to Head Hip Hop Challenge". As much as I tried, I couldn't pull myself away from it. These 3 kids from Boston (complete with the retahded accent) were "made" into hip hop dancers. The winner of the competition got $10,000. Can I just add, I would be made into just about anything for $10,000. But these kids, one in particular, whined, and quit, and cried. I'm like, dude. It's freaking 10 grand. Get over yourself. So about half way through the episode, they get a surprise visit from who else but Soulja Boy! YAYAYAYAYA! Ok, not so much. He's apparently some gifted song writer who has a “new hit single” called Birdwalk, and it even has it's own dance. It's like this whole thing. Anyway, these 3 crybabies are going to be Soulja Boy's back-up dancers. So he teaches them the "birdwalk". The birdwalk is a dance that you put your arms up like a muscle man, but you leave your wrists limp, and you stand on one leg and bend the other leg at the knee, putting your foot behind you. You know, like a bird (clever name for the dance, huh?). And you keep doing it over, and over again for 3 and half minutes.
Ok so, they did their performances. All in all not bad for a bunch of white kids trying desperately to get some rhythm. But then it was time for the real treat. Soulja Boy performing his new hit single Birdwalk! Wooohooo! It goes like this, " wamayo birdwalk wamiyawa birdwalk birdwalk birdwalk over and over again." For real. But for accuracy's sake, the actual, honest to God lyrics are, "Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha " but it doesn't sound like "watch me", it sounds like "wamyawa." So this disturbs me, because I already had nightmares about this crap. I was introduced to the most horrific song ever last year during a cheering competition. All these 9 and 10 year old's start dancing to "Superman" also by the lyrically gifted Soulja Boy. This one goes, "wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy" incessently for like 27 minutes. Real lyrics are, "Soulja Boy up In da Hoe Watch Me Crank It Watch Me Roll Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy den Super Man Dat Hoe Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy)" This is all quite surprising, because I swear he says wamayuuoooo, and I really did look up these lyrics online, and I was so sure he said wamayuuoooo...and I'm usually so good with lyrics, but I suppose it's easier to understand lyrics if their spoken in English. And now I know that Birdwalk is going to be a new favorite song of the kids. And it sucks. Seriously sucks.
Anyway, the overweight shy kid won, which is nice. I'm thinking of calling Directv and asking them to remove MTV from the channel lineup, because I obviously can't stop watching it on my own.
By the way, I'm totally downloading Birdwalk and Superman to my ipod. For sucking as much as they do, they're really catchy.
Ok so, they did their performances. All in all not bad for a bunch of white kids trying desperately to get some rhythm. But then it was time for the real treat. Soulja Boy performing his new hit single Birdwalk! Wooohooo! It goes like this, " wamayo birdwalk wamiyawa birdwalk birdwalk birdwalk over and over again." For real. But for accuracy's sake, the actual, honest to God lyrics are, "Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha " but it doesn't sound like "watch me", it sounds like "wamyawa." So this disturbs me, because I already had nightmares about this crap. I was introduced to the most horrific song ever last year during a cheering competition. All these 9 and 10 year old's start dancing to "Superman" also by the lyrically gifted Soulja Boy. This one goes, "wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy" incessently for like 27 minutes. Real lyrics are, "Soulja Boy up In da Hoe Watch Me Crank It Watch Me Roll Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy den Super Man Dat Hoe Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy)" This is all quite surprising, because I swear he says wamayuuoooo, and I really did look up these lyrics online, and I was so sure he said wamayuuoooo...and I'm usually so good with lyrics, but I suppose it's easier to understand lyrics if their spoken in English. And now I know that Birdwalk is going to be a new favorite song of the kids. And it sucks. Seriously sucks.
Anyway, the overweight shy kid won, which is nice. I'm thinking of calling Directv and asking them to remove MTV from the channel lineup, because I obviously can't stop watching it on my own.
By the way, I'm totally downloading Birdwalk and Superman to my ipod. For sucking as much as they do, they're really catchy.
This is why I need to move...
From the wtf department.
Let's forget for a second that I think taxidermy is one of the grossest things on the planet, and let's ignore the fact that these animals are for sale in a discount warehouse store, let's ignore the fact that some wanna-be-Sarah-Palin-hunter-extraordinaire is going to buy this for their HOUSE (to which I hope I never get invited), the fact still remains that Maine is home to some backwoods crazies. It's no damn wonder people think we're a bunch of hicks with stuffed animal carcasses for sale in the local store and plaid passing for couture in this state.
Here's the link to the story, just in case you thought I was making it up.
Let's forget for a second that I think taxidermy is one of the grossest things on the planet, and let's ignore the fact that these animals are for sale in a discount warehouse store, let's ignore the fact that some wanna-be-Sarah-Palin-hunter-extraordinaire is going to buy this for their HOUSE (to which I hope I never get invited), the fact still remains that Maine is home to some backwoods crazies. It's no damn wonder people think we're a bunch of hicks with stuffed animal carcasses for sale in the local store and plaid passing for couture in this state.
Here's the link to the story, just in case you thought I was making it up.
Throw a parade in my honor
Yes, that's right. I want floats, firetrucks, dancing girls, those psychotic Shriners in their mini cars, barnyard animals and candy being thrown by creepy looking old guys on stilts.
I lost 5.6 pounds this week.
Totally parade worthy.
I'd also like to mention that 5.6 pounds is roughly the weight of my prized Pomeranian, Vivvy, which of course means the old ladies driving old, old, old cars and the skanky Patriots cheerleaders who always show up at the 4th of July parade looking like they just rolled out of bed should also be at my parade, because they only come out for special occasions.
I lost 5.6 pounds this week.
Totally parade worthy.
I'd also like to mention that 5.6 pounds is roughly the weight of my prized Pomeranian, Vivvy, which of course means the old ladies driving old, old, old cars and the skanky Patriots cheerleaders who always show up at the 4th of July parade looking like they just rolled out of bed should also be at my parade, because they only come out for special occasions.
The scary truth about Fiber One
So the not smoking thing sucks. And I mean sucks as in I suck at it. I started smoking again Friday night. I did however make it a whopping 13 hours without smoking. Maybe next week. I am still on my quest to no longer be a hog beast. While I can't seem to drag my lazy ass to the gym, the Weight Watchers thing is going pretty well. I'm tracking all my food and behaving, which is nice for a change. I'm eating a Lean Cuisine for lunch. Lemon pepper fish. It's remarkably good. It may just be the hunger talking, but it's really not bad. It's surprising what tastes good when you've realized that your fat jeans are too tight and you refuse to buy a bigger size.
I had a Fiber One bar for breakfast and was like, mmmmm, chocolately goodness. Now normally, I'd be all mmmmm, chocolately cardboard. Desperation is a funny thing that way. How sad is that I actually look forward to eating those gross bars? The last time I was on Weight Watchers I ate them all the time. Kat had gone into the pantry to get a snack in the snack basket and she pulls out a Fiber One bar. She was like, ooo, chocolate. Can I have it? I was like, yeah, but it'll make you poop. She's like, that's ok. I have to poop anyway. I was like, well go ahead, but I warned you. So a couple of hours later she's watching tv and gets this horrified look on her face and goes racing up the stairs. She came back down all relieved looking and goes, phew. Mom, those bars make me poop FAST. I was like, I know, I told you that. So Davey, goes, um...Mom? I had 2...what's going to happen? I was like, oh my God?! You had 2?! Davey, that's so, so bad! You're going to poop your pants! His face totally fell and he got all teary-eyed. I was like, aww, I'm totally kidding. He's like, THAT'S NOT ANYTHING TO JOKE ABOUT MOM!
He didn't poop his pants of course, but he's never had another Fiber One bar. He also is very leery about granola bars. It's probably a bad thing that I scare my children into not eating healthy food by tormenting them with threats of pants-pooping. Heh. That's quite possibly the strangest sentence I've ever written.
I had a Fiber One bar for breakfast and was like, mmmmm, chocolately goodness. Now normally, I'd be all mmmmm, chocolately cardboard. Desperation is a funny thing that way. How sad is that I actually look forward to eating those gross bars? The last time I was on Weight Watchers I ate them all the time. Kat had gone into the pantry to get a snack in the snack basket and she pulls out a Fiber One bar. She was like, ooo, chocolate. Can I have it? I was like, yeah, but it'll make you poop. She's like, that's ok. I have to poop anyway. I was like, well go ahead, but I warned you. So a couple of hours later she's watching tv and gets this horrified look on her face and goes racing up the stairs. She came back down all relieved looking and goes, phew. Mom, those bars make me poop FAST. I was like, I know, I told you that. So Davey, goes, um...Mom? I had 2...what's going to happen? I was like, oh my God?! You had 2?! Davey, that's so, so bad! You're going to poop your pants! His face totally fell and he got all teary-eyed. I was like, aww, I'm totally kidding. He's like, THAT'S NOT ANYTHING TO JOKE ABOUT MOM!
He didn't poop his pants of course, but he's never had another Fiber One bar. He also is very leery about granola bars. It's probably a bad thing that I scare my children into not eating healthy food by tormenting them with threats of pants-pooping. Heh. That's quite possibly the strangest sentence I've ever written.
The genius of emphysema
I found this picture on another site.
"Instead of eating between meals...instead of fattening sweets...beautiful women keep youthful slenderness these days by smoking Luckies. The smartest and loveliest women of the modern stage take this means of keeping slender...when others nibble fattening sweets, they light a Lucky."
The next paragraph is about how Luckies are deliciously toasted, extra processed and use the finest tobacco in all the land. And the must see line from paragraph 2:
"That's why there's real health in Lucky Strike."
Then of course, throw in some doctor's opinions for good measure:
"For years this has been no secret to those men who keep fit and trim. They know that Luckies steady their nerves and do not harm their physical condition. They know that Lucky Strike is the favorite cigarette of many prominent athletes, who must keep in good shape. They respect the opinions of 20,679 physicians who maintain that Luckies are less irritating to the throat than other cigarettes."
And to close the deal:
"So, for moderation's sake, we say:- REACH FOR A LUCKY INSTEAD OF A SWEET."
I'm sold. Who am I to argue with the 20,679 physicians? Hell, if it's good enough for athletes, it's good enough for me. And I really do want to be youthfully slender. On the other hand, hacking up a lung is not so sexy. No wait- according to the ad, "No throat irritation-No cough" YES!!! I knew that smoking would eventually pay off. Emphysema? Pfft. Not for one of the smartest and loveliest women (which I totally am because I smoke like chimney). See, that's obviously my problem. I haven't been smoking Lucky Strikes. I'm totally switching brands.
"Instead of eating between meals...instead of fattening sweets...beautiful women keep youthful slenderness these days by smoking Luckies. The smartest and loveliest women of the modern stage take this means of keeping slender...when others nibble fattening sweets, they light a Lucky."
The next paragraph is about how Luckies are deliciously toasted, extra processed and use the finest tobacco in all the land. And the must see line from paragraph 2:
"That's why there's real health in Lucky Strike."
Then of course, throw in some doctor's opinions for good measure:
"For years this has been no secret to those men who keep fit and trim. They know that Luckies steady their nerves and do not harm their physical condition. They know that Lucky Strike is the favorite cigarette of many prominent athletes, who must keep in good shape. They respect the opinions of 20,679 physicians who maintain that Luckies are less irritating to the throat than other cigarettes."
And to close the deal:
"So, for moderation's sake, we say:- REACH FOR A LUCKY INSTEAD OF A SWEET."
I'm sold. Who am I to argue with the 20,679 physicians? Hell, if it's good enough for athletes, it's good enough for me. And I really do want to be youthfully slender. On the other hand, hacking up a lung is not so sexy. No wait- according to the ad, "No throat irritation-No cough" YES!!! I knew that smoking would eventually pay off. Emphysema? Pfft. Not for one of the smartest and loveliest women (which I totally am because I smoke like chimney). See, that's obviously my problem. I haven't been smoking Lucky Strikes. I'm totally switching brands.
Not smoking makes you love sick and delusional.
On January 1, at 12:01, Chris and I were officially in wedded bliss for 2 years. Maybe not wedded bliss, but when you get to spend the rest of your life with your best friend, you feel pretty damn lucky. I was telling Chris last night that part of the insanity of our marriage is that we don't make sense...at all. We're total opposites in just about every way. But there in lies the fun. I think I'd get bored if we were the same. Chris never ever bores me, and I get bored pretty easy. Drives me crazy maybe, but never bores me, and honestly I love to be with him. It's funny because on New Year's Eve, we were at my mom's house with my Aunt Joni, Uncle Gary, Michaela, and Gary's nephew Chris. Well, someone decided that the men had to watch football in the den and the women were going to watch sappy romance movies in the living room. Chris and I were like pffft. It's our anniversary damnit, we're going to be together. So we tried to sit in the living room and ignore the direct orders to change the channel. Then there was this whining about football still being on tv when there were so many great movies we'd seen a million times on, so my mom came in and changed the channel and Chris was banished to the den. I spent the better part of the next 2 hours walking back and forth feeling guilty. Luckily I had some Mike's Hard Lemonade to keep me company, because holy crap it sucked. We were watching "My Best Friend's Wedding", which I've seen about 15345674641 times. Chris was watching football in the den with the guys with the freaking window open (it was a balmy -2 degrees outside), so sitting with them wasn't an option unless I wanted to freeze to death.
After the movie ended, they were looking for a another movie and were like ooooo, "Pride and Prejudice"! I was like, oh HELL no. You've tortured me long enough. So I got Chris and I was like, time to go home, so done with this. He wanted to finish his beer first, which gave my mother ample time to guilt me into staying. Chris came out like 15 minutes later with his jacket on, and I was like, yeah...we're staying. So it's about 10:30 at this point. And Joni's like, we'll watch something else, you're more important the the movie. So that was good for about 7 seconds...until we started watching "Maid in Manhattan". C'mon. Seriously? You're killing me here. That was it for me. I watched tv with Chris and the guys for the rest of the night. I had to wrap up in a blanket and tuck my feet under Chris' legs for fear that hypothermia would take over and I'd lose my limbs to eventual gangrene, but it was better than the chick flick marathon in the other room. The kids came in at midnight, did the countdown and stuff, which was nice. Anyway, all this was leading up to my original point, that I really enjoy spending time with Chris. During the whole banishment thing, I was getting kinda irritated and I was like, doesn't it bother you that your husbands are in the other room on New Year's Eve? Joni was looked at me like I was crazy and was like, no? She explained that she doesn't need to like all the same things as Gary, and enjoys doing separate things some times. I can totally understand that, and know that it's like that for most people. And maybe it's just the "my anniversary was less than 24 hours ago" perspective, but that sucks. While I don't share all of Chris' interests (actually very few), and although I love Cowboys football, most other football wears on me after awhile, and I'd really rather watch We tv than ESPN, I'd be content watching grass grow if it meant being with Chris. Corny? Totally. And don't forget sappy, cheesy and barf-tastic. But 110% true. He's my best friend, and if we weren't married, I'd still want to be with him all the time. He's the funniest person I know, and is genuinely just one of those really cool people that everyone wants to be around. I'm just lucky that I get to. Now that I've sufficiently gushed and fawned, and given Chris ample ammo to tease me mercilessly, I can start my day.
We're doing the whole resolution thing. Quit smoking, lose weight, go to the gym, etc. I'm writing this as I have my 3rd cup of coffee...and it's 6:40 in the morning. It's my last great vice, and if anyone tries to take it from me, I may break their arms, rip them off their body and beat them with the bloody stumps. Oh see, now that was mean. I was all I'm in love and it's wonderful and now I'm all bloody stumps and stuff. That's what too much caffeine and a lack of nicotine will do to you though.
After the movie ended, they were looking for a another movie and were like ooooo, "Pride and Prejudice"! I was like, oh HELL no. You've tortured me long enough. So I got Chris and I was like, time to go home, so done with this. He wanted to finish his beer first, which gave my mother ample time to guilt me into staying. Chris came out like 15 minutes later with his jacket on, and I was like, yeah...we're staying. So it's about 10:30 at this point. And Joni's like, we'll watch something else, you're more important the the movie. So that was good for about 7 seconds...until we started watching "Maid in Manhattan". C'mon. Seriously? You're killing me here. That was it for me. I watched tv with Chris and the guys for the rest of the night. I had to wrap up in a blanket and tuck my feet under Chris' legs for fear that hypothermia would take over and I'd lose my limbs to eventual gangrene, but it was better than the chick flick marathon in the other room. The kids came in at midnight, did the countdown and stuff, which was nice. Anyway, all this was leading up to my original point, that I really enjoy spending time with Chris. During the whole banishment thing, I was getting kinda irritated and I was like, doesn't it bother you that your husbands are in the other room on New Year's Eve? Joni was looked at me like I was crazy and was like, no? She explained that she doesn't need to like all the same things as Gary, and enjoys doing separate things some times. I can totally understand that, and know that it's like that for most people. And maybe it's just the "my anniversary was less than 24 hours ago" perspective, but that sucks. While I don't share all of Chris' interests (actually very few), and although I love Cowboys football, most other football wears on me after awhile, and I'd really rather watch We tv than ESPN, I'd be content watching grass grow if it meant being with Chris. Corny? Totally. And don't forget sappy, cheesy and barf-tastic. But 110% true. He's my best friend, and if we weren't married, I'd still want to be with him all the time. He's the funniest person I know, and is genuinely just one of those really cool people that everyone wants to be around. I'm just lucky that I get to. Now that I've sufficiently gushed and fawned, and given Chris ample ammo to tease me mercilessly, I can start my day.
We're doing the whole resolution thing. Quit smoking, lose weight, go to the gym, etc. I'm writing this as I have my 3rd cup of coffee...and it's 6:40 in the morning. It's my last great vice, and if anyone tries to take it from me, I may break their arms, rip them off their body and beat them with the bloody stumps. Oh see, now that was mean. I was all I'm in love and it's wonderful and now I'm all bloody stumps and stuff. That's what too much caffeine and a lack of nicotine will do to you though.
