A friend of mine from class reminded me of another ridiculous thing The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up said in class. I couldn't remember it, because the "rectal scale" comment came just before it and overshadowed it. Now that I remember it, I just had to share.
Once again, he was going on about lord knows what. Somehow, in his dumbass mind, whatever he's rambling about somehow connects to the topic at hand, but no one else in the class is able to follow his addled thought processes to make the connection.
Anyhow, he starts going on about his mom, who was a preacher. We've heard a lot about his mom and her great spiritual powers. So he starts talking about how once his niece died, and was dead for about a day, and his mom goes in, lays hands on her, and raises her from the dead.
Wow. There is so much wrong with this story... where do I begin? First of all, you'd think that if someone stops breathing, especially a little kid, someone would call an ambulance or the cops or something... but nooooo. We're supposed to believe that the fam just said, "What the hell... she's dead, but we're just going to hold tight until the Reverend So-and-so can get here and bring her back." Second, who in their right mind just hangs out for a day or so with a dead little kid in the house? Am I the only one who thinks this is just sick and stupid? Third, I totally have a gut feeling that the Thing just pulled this story out of his ass for effect. Now, I do believe that miracles still happen, and it is not entirely impossible that a person whose heart has stopped can be brought back through the power of prayer. I mean, there are numerous instances in the Bible where Jesus and the disciples raised people from the dead. In this case, however, I'm just not buying it. I think the Thing is full of crap.
The funny thing is, he's told fairy tales like this before. Every frickin' time, he precedes his totally unbelievable, half-assed statement with, "And guess what?" And you just know that the next load of crap to come out of his mouth will be total bull. Of course, most of the crap he says is total bull. He's so frickin' predictable.
It's just like when he's trying to add something to a discussion and starts out with, "Yeah, when you said that just now I started thinking..." and you know that whatever he's "started thinking" is basically a regurgitation of whatever the prof or a classmate just frickin' said. And the fact that he always says, "I STARTED thinking," is so telling. You know his brain is in complete neutral until he gets the uncontrollable urge to open his yap, and then he kicks into overdrive without having the slightest clue what the topic is. He latches on to the last sentence he heard and runs with it, taking us all on a confusing, annoying, marathon detour through the incoherent mind of The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up.
Can you see why I could no longer control my urge to kick him in the shin? And can you really blame me? Yeah, I know it was a bitchy, immature, mean thing to do... but it felt so good. Sooooooo good. Like eating rich, dark chocolate truffles and drinking champagne while getting a foot massage from a Chippendale's dancer on a white, sandy, warm beach in Tahiti. Oh yeah, baby.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
I am trouble.
Mmmm Hmmm. Trouble.
A friend of mine regularly tells me that I am trouble. He's half-joking when he says it, but I'm starting to realize that he's right on.
I think I make things difficult for everyone around me with the drama that seems to follow me around like my own shadow these days. I don't try to do this, and I'm not particularly proud of it, but I just can't seem to avoid it.
My life has always been somewhat of a soap opera. I have always managed to find trouble and high drama, and when I don't find it, it finds me. I sometimes make very bad decisions that have long range, complicated consequences, mainly concerning relationships. I also often find myself in the middle of complicated situations through no fault of my own, like when my parents died.
Many, many people have told me that I should write a book about my life. It would definitely be an interesting read; I know that. Never a dull moment.
Here's where I start to feel bad: I don't think the people who get sucked into my soap opera have any idea what they're getting into when they get involved with me. I realize that they are adults who are perfectly capable of making their own choices, and I realize that I am not responsible for them or for their actions, but I hate the fact that I complicate their lives on a regular basis.
I don't think I am capable of avoiding my own drama; I think it's too late for that. I am who I am, and my need for excitement and my need to push the envelope are traits that are as much a part of me as the color of my eyes. But I am starting to feel so very guilty about the drama that I create in the lives of unsuspecting people with good hearts.
Am I corrupting them? Am I jading them? Maybe. Should I warn others early on in my relationships that I am not for the faint of heart? Should I warn them that I will leave them feeling bewildered, uncertain and generally like their worlds have been turned upside down? Probably. Would they really believe me if I told them exactly what they were in for? I doubt it. No one ever does when I try.
So what do I do now? I feel like I should tell the people who love me that they would be better off without me. I feel like I should push them away before I hurt them any more than I already have. I feel like I should give them permission to move on and live a normal life. I feel like I should make them understand that, since I am obviously not in control of my own drama, they remain in a relationship with me at their own risk.
This is the kick in the head: I love them too much to continue being a source of pain and confusion, but I love them too much to let them go. So where does that leave us?
A friend of mine regularly tells me that I am trouble. He's half-joking when he says it, but I'm starting to realize that he's right on.
I think I make things difficult for everyone around me with the drama that seems to follow me around like my own shadow these days. I don't try to do this, and I'm not particularly proud of it, but I just can't seem to avoid it.
My life has always been somewhat of a soap opera. I have always managed to find trouble and high drama, and when I don't find it, it finds me. I sometimes make very bad decisions that have long range, complicated consequences, mainly concerning relationships. I also often find myself in the middle of complicated situations through no fault of my own, like when my parents died.
Many, many people have told me that I should write a book about my life. It would definitely be an interesting read; I know that. Never a dull moment.
Here's where I start to feel bad: I don't think the people who get sucked into my soap opera have any idea what they're getting into when they get involved with me. I realize that they are adults who are perfectly capable of making their own choices, and I realize that I am not responsible for them or for their actions, but I hate the fact that I complicate their lives on a regular basis.
I don't think I am capable of avoiding my own drama; I think it's too late for that. I am who I am, and my need for excitement and my need to push the envelope are traits that are as much a part of me as the color of my eyes. But I am starting to feel so very guilty about the drama that I create in the lives of unsuspecting people with good hearts.
Am I corrupting them? Am I jading them? Maybe. Should I warn others early on in my relationships that I am not for the faint of heart? Should I warn them that I will leave them feeling bewildered, uncertain and generally like their worlds have been turned upside down? Probably. Would they really believe me if I told them exactly what they were in for? I doubt it. No one ever does when I try.
So what do I do now? I feel like I should tell the people who love me that they would be better off without me. I feel like I should push them away before I hurt them any more than I already have. I feel like I should give them permission to move on and live a normal life. I feel like I should make them understand that, since I am obviously not in control of my own drama, they remain in a relationship with me at their own risk.
This is the kick in the head: I love them too much to continue being a source of pain and confusion, but I love them too much to let them go. So where does that leave us?
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Get this.
I just discovered this website. I'm adding it to my links.
http://www.peoplefallingover.com/index.html
It's all about people biffing it. Dear God, I am so very, very happy.
http://www.peoplefallingover.com/index.html
It's all about people biffing it. Dear God, I am so very, very happy.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Warning: Uncharacteristic sentimentality
It's true: I do have a sickly sweet, schmaltzy sentimental streak. I save silly romantic mementos, every picture my kids have ever drawn for me, and really dumb things like my fat jeans.
Christmastime always brings out my sentimental streak. Not for long, but it does briefly rear its emo head every year.
This year I'm thinking about my relationships and how much they've changed since last Christmas. There are people who have become as important to me as breathing in the past year. People who have helped me discover things about myself that I may otherwise have never known. People who have brought out emotions that I didn't know I could feel. People who have loved and protected me at my most fragile, but have had the love and integrity to put me in my place when I've needed it. People who have brought out the best in me. People I've grown to love and cherish.
Then there are people who no longer hold a great importance in my life. People who have disappointed me or whom I have disappointed. People who feel that I have changed too much to live within the parameters of the former relationship. People who I can no longer maintain a relationship with because of how much I know I have changed. People who have hurt me deeply for the first time, and people who have hurt me continually over the years, to the point where I can no longer love them. People who have brought out the worst in me. People who have drifted to the fringes of my life, or who have drifted away entirely.
The one constant in life is change, right? And I have learned that all change, even change for the better, brings at least a little pain and a sense of loss along with the joy and excitement of a new adventure.
This Christmas I am reflecting on the joy and excitement, but can't ignore the pain and loss on the flip side of the coin. Love and friendship can be bittersweet, but you can't savor the sweetness with abandon if you haven't known the ordeal of holding the bitter on your tongue for just a moment too long.
May this next year be one of love, passion, self-discovery, joy and fulfillment for each and every one of us.
Merry Christmas.
(Yeah, I can only do that about once a year. Maybe twice. If I get syrupy more often than that, please frickin' shoot me.)
Christmastime always brings out my sentimental streak. Not for long, but it does briefly rear its emo head every year.
This year I'm thinking about my relationships and how much they've changed since last Christmas. There are people who have become as important to me as breathing in the past year. People who have helped me discover things about myself that I may otherwise have never known. People who have brought out emotions that I didn't know I could feel. People who have loved and protected me at my most fragile, but have had the love and integrity to put me in my place when I've needed it. People who have brought out the best in me. People I've grown to love and cherish.
Then there are people who no longer hold a great importance in my life. People who have disappointed me or whom I have disappointed. People who feel that I have changed too much to live within the parameters of the former relationship. People who I can no longer maintain a relationship with because of how much I know I have changed. People who have hurt me deeply for the first time, and people who have hurt me continually over the years, to the point where I can no longer love them. People who have brought out the worst in me. People who have drifted to the fringes of my life, or who have drifted away entirely.
The one constant in life is change, right? And I have learned that all change, even change for the better, brings at least a little pain and a sense of loss along with the joy and excitement of a new adventure.
This Christmas I am reflecting on the joy and excitement, but can't ignore the pain and loss on the flip side of the coin. Love and friendship can be bittersweet, but you can't savor the sweetness with abandon if you haven't known the ordeal of holding the bitter on your tongue for just a moment too long.
May this next year be one of love, passion, self-discovery, joy and fulfillment for each and every one of us.
Merry Christmas.
(Yeah, I can only do that about once a year. Maybe twice. If I get syrupy more often than that, please frickin' shoot me.)
Friday, December 22, 2006
Christmas Shopping
Okay, I know I said I love spending money... and I really, really do.
What I do not love is spending eight hours straight running from store to store, mall to mall, two of those hours with the kids in tow, with hardly a break.
Now, I know this marathon shopping trip was partially my own fault... okay, all my own fault, because I am the Queen of Procrastination and waited until the final minute to start my Christmas shopping. But DAMN. I have a great deal of stamina, especially when it comes to things that I take pleasure in, but after yesterday I was so very, very tired. Too tired to go out, even. I had one double jag bomb out in the garage last night and then fell into bed.
I take satisfaction in the fact that my shopping is done, the gifts are wrapped and under the tree, and all I have to worry about now is buying stuff to make corn pudding for Christmas Eve and an egg bake for Christmas morning, and stopping to get a couple bottles of champagne and a couple movies to veg out with on Christmas night.
I suppose I can do those things tomorrow. For right now, I don't even want to think about shopping.
Dear God... did I really just say that?????
What I do not love is spending eight hours straight running from store to store, mall to mall, two of those hours with the kids in tow, with hardly a break.
Now, I know this marathon shopping trip was partially my own fault... okay, all my own fault, because I am the Queen of Procrastination and waited until the final minute to start my Christmas shopping. But DAMN. I have a great deal of stamina, especially when it comes to things that I take pleasure in, but after yesterday I was so very, very tired. Too tired to go out, even. I had one double jag bomb out in the garage last night and then fell into bed.
I take satisfaction in the fact that my shopping is done, the gifts are wrapped and under the tree, and all I have to worry about now is buying stuff to make corn pudding for Christmas Eve and an egg bake for Christmas morning, and stopping to get a couple bottles of champagne and a couple movies to veg out with on Christmas night.
I suppose I can do those things tomorrow. For right now, I don't even want to think about shopping.
Dear God... did I really just say that?????
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Best Christmas Present EVER
I had school last night, and The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up was blahblahfricketyblahing as usual. But there was one moment that made this particular night of rambling so very memorable.
The Thing was talking about something that was apparently very important to him, although I had no clue what the hell he was going on about, and he goes, "Yeah, it was like a 10.0 on the rectal scale." It took me a split second, but then I realized he meant the Richter scale. I had to clap my hand over my mouth, get up and leave the room quick to avoid laughing hysterically in front of him. I mean, holy crap, dude... how do you confuse an asshole with an earthquake???
That one moment alone made the three and a half hours of pointless ramblings entirely worth it last night. I couldn't wait to get home and share this priceless snippet of classic Thingism with anyone who would listen. I actually sped all the way home because I seriously could not wait to start spreading my mean-spirited joy.
What an absolutely marvelous Christmas present from my favorite classmate. Holy frickin' crap. I'm still laughing out loud about this one.
The Thing was talking about something that was apparently very important to him, although I had no clue what the hell he was going on about, and he goes, "Yeah, it was like a 10.0 on the rectal scale." It took me a split second, but then I realized he meant the Richter scale. I had to clap my hand over my mouth, get up and leave the room quick to avoid laughing hysterically in front of him. I mean, holy crap, dude... how do you confuse an asshole with an earthquake???
That one moment alone made the three and a half hours of pointless ramblings entirely worth it last night. I couldn't wait to get home and share this priceless snippet of classic Thingism with anyone who would listen. I actually sped all the way home because I seriously could not wait to start spreading my mean-spirited joy.
What an absolutely marvelous Christmas present from my favorite classmate. Holy frickin' crap. I'm still laughing out loud about this one.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Sooooo pissed!
Okay, I'm warning you... this will be an angry, nasty post. Read on at your own risk.
So there's this bitch up at the bar who's been spreading nasty rumors about me and a couple of my friends and some illicit escapades we've supposedly engaged in. None of these rumors are true, in fact, they're absolutely outrageous if you stop to think about it. But, some idiots will believe anything they hear, even when it comes from a fat, ugly, lying, annoying, smelly nasty snake of a lezbo who is known for butting in where she doesn't belong and for generally being a lying bag of crap.
This has gotten so bad that one friend has stopped coming to the bar for a while. Apparently word of these rumors got back to his girlfriend and made for a nasty confrontation. Of course she trusts him and believes him, but STILL. Nice junior high atmosphere complete with the drunken adult equivalent of a bunch of kids playing the Telephone Game.
So I'm up at the bar last night with my husband and our friend. I've already heard the rumors, have denied any and all involvement, know damn well who started said rumors (because she started the exact same rumor a couple years ago about one of the people involved, but last time it involved him and two totally different people), and I am thoroughly pissed off. I've been cursing her all day, and I go to the bar to relax and have a couple drinks.
Who should slither in but that doughy-faced, buzzsaw-voiced, mullet-wearing poor excuse for a woman!?!?! She sits across the bar from me, strategically avoiding my gaze (smart choice, because if looks could kill she would've keeled over immediately... God, I wish she'd had the nerve to look at me), with this yellow-toothed earthworm-lipped smirk on her medusa face.
I swear to God, it took everything I had to keep from leaping over the bar and clawing her shifty little eyes out. Remember what finally happened to The Thing with my urge to kick him? That bitch is just begging for an old-fashioned beatdown. The only thing that saved her last night was some quick thinking on the parts of my husband and our best friend along with some well-timed fury-diffusing jokes. That and a shot or two to dull my rage.
That lying bag of crap just crossed the wrong person. She has no idea. Yeah, I seem like a nice person, but so did David Banner right before someone pissed him off and he turned into the frickin' Hulk. (Again with the Incredible Hulk reference... maybe I should lay off the Sci-fi channel.) I can turn into a real bitch in a split second when provoked, and there is no better way to provoke me than to rape my moral character at my local hangout. The last time someone made me this furious he woke up in the middle of the night to find me standing over him with a tube of superglue, seconds away from gluing his twig to his berries. He learned pretty quickly that you just do not screw with me. I haven't decided yet exactly how I'm going to handle the bar bitch, but trust me when I say that it will be sweet. For me.
As for you, Robin (you ugly, bloated, sweaty owl pellet), be afraid. Be very afraid.
So there's this bitch up at the bar who's been spreading nasty rumors about me and a couple of my friends and some illicit escapades we've supposedly engaged in. None of these rumors are true, in fact, they're absolutely outrageous if you stop to think about it. But, some idiots will believe anything they hear, even when it comes from a fat, ugly, lying, annoying, smelly nasty snake of a lezbo who is known for butting in where she doesn't belong and for generally being a lying bag of crap.
This has gotten so bad that one friend has stopped coming to the bar for a while. Apparently word of these rumors got back to his girlfriend and made for a nasty confrontation. Of course she trusts him and believes him, but STILL. Nice junior high atmosphere complete with the drunken adult equivalent of a bunch of kids playing the Telephone Game.
So I'm up at the bar last night with my husband and our friend. I've already heard the rumors, have denied any and all involvement, know damn well who started said rumors (because she started the exact same rumor a couple years ago about one of the people involved, but last time it involved him and two totally different people), and I am thoroughly pissed off. I've been cursing her all day, and I go to the bar to relax and have a couple drinks.
Who should slither in but that doughy-faced, buzzsaw-voiced, mullet-wearing poor excuse for a woman!?!?! She sits across the bar from me, strategically avoiding my gaze (smart choice, because if looks could kill she would've keeled over immediately... God, I wish she'd had the nerve to look at me), with this yellow-toothed earthworm-lipped smirk on her medusa face.
I swear to God, it took everything I had to keep from leaping over the bar and clawing her shifty little eyes out. Remember what finally happened to The Thing with my urge to kick him? That bitch is just begging for an old-fashioned beatdown. The only thing that saved her last night was some quick thinking on the parts of my husband and our best friend along with some well-timed fury-diffusing jokes. That and a shot or two to dull my rage.
That lying bag of crap just crossed the wrong person. She has no idea. Yeah, I seem like a nice person, but so did David Banner right before someone pissed him off and he turned into the frickin' Hulk. (Again with the Incredible Hulk reference... maybe I should lay off the Sci-fi channel.) I can turn into a real bitch in a split second when provoked, and there is no better way to provoke me than to rape my moral character at my local hangout. The last time someone made me this furious he woke up in the middle of the night to find me standing over him with a tube of superglue, seconds away from gluing his twig to his berries. He learned pretty quickly that you just do not screw with me. I haven't decided yet exactly how I'm going to handle the bar bitch, but trust me when I say that it will be sweet. For me.
As for you, Robin (you ugly, bloated, sweaty owl pellet), be afraid. Be very afraid.
Friday, December 15, 2006
My Christmas Wish List
I love stuff. I love getting presents. Here is my Christmas list this year.
1. Peace on earth. (Not really... I'm much more shallow than that. I just wanted to appear selfless for a split second.)
2. The Electric Company on DVD. That show rocked when I was a kid. I have been waiting for years for it to come out on DVD, and now my dream has come true. Remember Easy Reader? Uh, uh, uh.
3. The second season of Grey's Anatomy on DVD. That show is awesome. Patrick Dempsey is so yummy. Hey, this could turn out to be a DVD Christmas all around! And I totally need another way to blow off my daily responsibilities... sitting on my ass drooling over Dr. McDreamy sounds like the perfect choice.
4. Beautiful by Estee Lauder. That is my scent. Bath gel, lotion, perfume, I'll take anything. Sometimes I overdo it a little with the perfume, just because I love the smell so much.
5. Gift cards to my favorite clothing stores: Aeropostale, The Gap, and Ann Taylor. Victoria's Secret would also be acceptable. Mind you, it must be gift cards. I don't trust anyone to pick out my wardrobe for me. I am very picky about colors, fabrics, and cuts.
6. A gift certificate for a 90 minute massage. I carry so much tension in my neck and shoulders, and I've had a lot of tension lately. There was this massage therapist at this hospice conference I went to... he was awesome. I would so love to spend a good hour and a half with him and let him work out my knots. Now before you take that wrong, he's totally gay and I was talking about the knots in my muscles. No sexual innuendos at Christmastime. At least not in my wish list.
7. A frickin' heated seat for my mom-mobile. I am always freezing, and getting in the car to drive the kids to school in the morning is just brutal. My husband's truck has heated seats... it's so nice to have a toasty ass when it's cold outside.
I think those are the main things I covet this holiday season. I'll let ya know if I think of anything else I feel I can't live without.
1. Peace on earth. (Not really... I'm much more shallow than that. I just wanted to appear selfless for a split second.)
2. The Electric Company on DVD. That show rocked when I was a kid. I have been waiting for years for it to come out on DVD, and now my dream has come true. Remember Easy Reader? Uh, uh, uh.
3. The second season of Grey's Anatomy on DVD. That show is awesome. Patrick Dempsey is so yummy. Hey, this could turn out to be a DVD Christmas all around! And I totally need another way to blow off my daily responsibilities... sitting on my ass drooling over Dr. McDreamy sounds like the perfect choice.
4. Beautiful by Estee Lauder. That is my scent. Bath gel, lotion, perfume, I'll take anything. Sometimes I overdo it a little with the perfume, just because I love the smell so much.
5. Gift cards to my favorite clothing stores: Aeropostale, The Gap, and Ann Taylor. Victoria's Secret would also be acceptable. Mind you, it must be gift cards. I don't trust anyone to pick out my wardrobe for me. I am very picky about colors, fabrics, and cuts.
6. A gift certificate for a 90 minute massage. I carry so much tension in my neck and shoulders, and I've had a lot of tension lately. There was this massage therapist at this hospice conference I went to... he was awesome. I would so love to spend a good hour and a half with him and let him work out my knots. Now before you take that wrong, he's totally gay and I was talking about the knots in my muscles. No sexual innuendos at Christmastime. At least not in my wish list.
7. A frickin' heated seat for my mom-mobile. I am always freezing, and getting in the car to drive the kids to school in the morning is just brutal. My husband's truck has heated seats... it's so nice to have a toasty ass when it's cold outside.
I think those are the main things I covet this holiday season. I'll let ya know if I think of anything else I feel I can't live without.
Have Yourself a Merry Frickin' Christmas
I finally put up my Christmas decorations. I know, I know... only a week before Christmas and I'm just now getting my act together. Sad. Have I done any Christmas shopping? No, no I haven't.
Last year I had a lot of my Christmas shopping done long before Thanksgiving, because I had surgery on November 17th and didn't want my hubby to worry about what to get the kids for Christmas in the event that I died on the operating table. Morbid, I know... but it rocked because I could lie around and recuperate during the Christmas season without worrying about fighting the crowds in the stores.
This year I am the Queen of Procrastination. And I wear my crown with pride. Well, not really. I feel kinda bad about the whole thing. I mean, if it was just me I wouldn't give a rat's ass and probably wouldn't put up a tree at all, but the kids need that kind of stuff. I should've gotten off my ass the day after Thanksgiving and pulled out all the holiday boxes, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Maybe my husband is right. Maybe I am the laziest woman on the planet. Or maybe I am overstressed with school and life in general and can use that as an excuse. I'd like to use that as an excuse.
But whatever... the decorations are up, the tree is lit, the house smells like pine and cinnamon, the kids are happy, and I'll take what I can get.
Now I just have to force myself to get out there and shop. Now, I have no trouble spending money. None whatsoever. That's why my husband took all my credit cards away. I love buying stuff... somehow it makes me very happy to acquire things. This past year I bought myself an extensive wardrobe as my weight went down. Hell, I was buying a whole new wardrobe almost every month as my sizes shrank from the 20's to the teens to the single digits. Now I have no excuse to buy a buttload of new clothes until the weather warms up, so it's good that I get to go Christmas shopping. I can get my spending fix, even though the stuff is all for other people.
The only problem I have with holiday shopping is the people. People bug me. Especially the ones who have no concept of personal space. Yeah, go ahead and stop your cart in the middle of an aisle and look around while other people are waiting for you to move your ass so they can get past you. Go ahead and reach right in front of me to grab something off a shelf. Go ahead and stand so close to me in the checkout line that I can feel your breath on the back on my neck. Go ahead and do all those things. You'd better just pray that I can keep my inner holiday bitch under control long enough to keep from kicking your ass in the middle of Macy's.
As David Banner used to say, "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
Last year I had a lot of my Christmas shopping done long before Thanksgiving, because I had surgery on November 17th and didn't want my hubby to worry about what to get the kids for Christmas in the event that I died on the operating table. Morbid, I know... but it rocked because I could lie around and recuperate during the Christmas season without worrying about fighting the crowds in the stores.
This year I am the Queen of Procrastination. And I wear my crown with pride. Well, not really. I feel kinda bad about the whole thing. I mean, if it was just me I wouldn't give a rat's ass and probably wouldn't put up a tree at all, but the kids need that kind of stuff. I should've gotten off my ass the day after Thanksgiving and pulled out all the holiday boxes, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Maybe my husband is right. Maybe I am the laziest woman on the planet. Or maybe I am overstressed with school and life in general and can use that as an excuse. I'd like to use that as an excuse.
But whatever... the decorations are up, the tree is lit, the house smells like pine and cinnamon, the kids are happy, and I'll take what I can get.
Now I just have to force myself to get out there and shop. Now, I have no trouble spending money. None whatsoever. That's why my husband took all my credit cards away. I love buying stuff... somehow it makes me very happy to acquire things. This past year I bought myself an extensive wardrobe as my weight went down. Hell, I was buying a whole new wardrobe almost every month as my sizes shrank from the 20's to the teens to the single digits. Now I have no excuse to buy a buttload of new clothes until the weather warms up, so it's good that I get to go Christmas shopping. I can get my spending fix, even though the stuff is all for other people.
The only problem I have with holiday shopping is the people. People bug me. Especially the ones who have no concept of personal space. Yeah, go ahead and stop your cart in the middle of an aisle and look around while other people are waiting for you to move your ass so they can get past you. Go ahead and reach right in front of me to grab something off a shelf. Go ahead and stand so close to me in the checkout line that I can feel your breath on the back on my neck. Go ahead and do all those things. You'd better just pray that I can keep my inner holiday bitch under control long enough to keep from kicking your ass in the middle of Macy's.
As David Banner used to say, "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
It Finally Happened!
I did it. Last night at school I kicked The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up in the shin.
First of all, in my defense, I am sick. Yeah, I know you're saying, "Sick in the head," and I freely admit to that, but I'm talking physically ill. I have a horrible head and chest cold, and I had a nasty fibromyalgia flare-up yesterday. Everything hurt, I had vertigo and a headache, and generally felt like crap.
So I'm at school, and The Thing is going on and on about nothing as usual. He bugs the frickin' crap out of me when I'm at my best, but when I'm sick... holy crap. I wanted to hurt him. We get put into discussion groups to talk about the similarities/differences between four worldviews, and I have the misfortune of getting stuck with The Thing. We're talking about the difference between polytheistic worldviews and monotheistic worldviews. Now, this should not be difficult, since we took a class last spring on worldviews. Well, anything involving The Thing automatically becomes difficult. He's struggling with the definition of polytheism, and I lost it. I go, "Ya know, we just took a WHOLE FRICKIN' CLASS on this stuff. You should know this." He goes, "I can't keep all that information in my head."
I got exasperated, and I kicked him in the shin. Sad thing was, it didn't even phase him. Nor did it shut him up. Made me wish I'd kicked him a lot harder.
Many of you thought I've always been the bitchiest chick on earth. You were so wrong. NOW I am officially the bitchiest chick on earth.
First of all, in my defense, I am sick. Yeah, I know you're saying, "Sick in the head," and I freely admit to that, but I'm talking physically ill. I have a horrible head and chest cold, and I had a nasty fibromyalgia flare-up yesterday. Everything hurt, I had vertigo and a headache, and generally felt like crap.
So I'm at school, and The Thing is going on and on about nothing as usual. He bugs the frickin' crap out of me when I'm at my best, but when I'm sick... holy crap. I wanted to hurt him. We get put into discussion groups to talk about the similarities/differences between four worldviews, and I have the misfortune of getting stuck with The Thing. We're talking about the difference between polytheistic worldviews and monotheistic worldviews. Now, this should not be difficult, since we took a class last spring on worldviews. Well, anything involving The Thing automatically becomes difficult. He's struggling with the definition of polytheism, and I lost it. I go, "Ya know, we just took a WHOLE FRICKIN' CLASS on this stuff. You should know this." He goes, "I can't keep all that information in my head."
I got exasperated, and I kicked him in the shin. Sad thing was, it didn't even phase him. Nor did it shut him up. Made me wish I'd kicked him a lot harder.
Many of you thought I've always been the bitchiest chick on earth. You were so wrong. NOW I am officially the bitchiest chick on earth.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Aerosmith and the Guppy
Last Thursday night I went to the Aerosmith concert at the Target Center. Aerosmith totally rocks. Steven Tyler was as hot as I thought he'd be. He had on these tight little sheer, sparkly pants... soooooooooo nice. I could totally see him too, because we had killer seats. My thighs and butt were so sore Friday morning from dancing. They played mostly classic stuff, and they were in excellent voice.
Couldn't say the same for Motley Crue. I thought they kinda sucked. Very gimmicky in a crappy and vulgar way, I suppose to distract the audience from the fact that musically they sucked ass. They dropped the F-bomb left and right and had naked chicks on the big screen behind them, which was dumb but slightly funny, because I looked around and couldn't believe how many stupid parents brought their little kids... like between 6 and 8 year old kids. Then these parents look all appalled because of what their kids are hearing and seeing, and I'm wondering what the hell they expected from frickin' Motley Crue. Seriously.
So after the concert, we stopped at Big Louie's for a couple drinks. There was this crazy couple there... I laughed my ass off. The guy looked like some kind of albino guppy... he had that really icky color red hair, the kind that's almost a yellowish orange, like a bleached out carrot or something, and his skin was chalk white, except for his bald spot, which was a rosy, shiny pink. His eyes were super far apart and really buggy, and he had this weird, pouty mouth that completed the guppy look. Plus, he was wearing probably the gayest argyle sweater vest I have ever seen. Ever. He was sooooo wasted. His chick was this short, fat, loud bitch that reminded me of Roseanne. She was totally wasted too, and she was yelling at him and insulting him constantly. The meaner she got the more his eyes bugged out. I started wondering if someone should hold his drink under his chin just in case one of those eyeballs bugged out enough to pop out of his pasty, fishlike head.
Anyhow, she starts yelling at him that it's time to go and that he's got five minutes to get his ass in the car or she's leaving without him. She goes outside and he just sits there sipping his drink and annoying everyone with his slurred attempts at intelligent conversation. He tried to put his coat on to leave, but couldn't find the sleeves. After several attempts he gave up and just sat down again to finish his drink. We all start telling him he should just shut up, go home and go to bed, and he's telling us we can't make him leave. I go, "Well, your woman is either gonna leave without you or come back in and kick your ass, and I'm not sure which one I'd like to see more." That just made his eyes even buggier. By this time, I was no longer able to just laugh in my head. I was totally laughing my ass off at the whole situation. Maybe he felt bad that I was laughing at him, but I'm sure he didn't remember much in the morning.
The guppy finally finds his coat arms and leaves, but he's so wasted he doesn't notice that there are a couple steps down to the parking lot. The guppy totally biffed it. HARD. Total belly flop onto the pavement. Since he was so wasted, he didn't feel a thing and got up and stumbled to his car. At this point the bartender called the cops, because these soaks totally shouldn't be on the road. Not thirty seconds later, we see the flashing lights down the street. Yep, the guppy and Roseanne got pulled over and both of them got hauled off to detox. Classic.
What a fabulous night. I had killer seats to Aerosmith, got to lust after Steven Tyler live, got to laugh at drunks at the bar, AND saw one of the sweetest biffs I've seen in a long time. Yeah, baby.
Couldn't say the same for Motley Crue. I thought they kinda sucked. Very gimmicky in a crappy and vulgar way, I suppose to distract the audience from the fact that musically they sucked ass. They dropped the F-bomb left and right and had naked chicks on the big screen behind them, which was dumb but slightly funny, because I looked around and couldn't believe how many stupid parents brought their little kids... like between 6 and 8 year old kids. Then these parents look all appalled because of what their kids are hearing and seeing, and I'm wondering what the hell they expected from frickin' Motley Crue. Seriously.
So after the concert, we stopped at Big Louie's for a couple drinks. There was this crazy couple there... I laughed my ass off. The guy looked like some kind of albino guppy... he had that really icky color red hair, the kind that's almost a yellowish orange, like a bleached out carrot or something, and his skin was chalk white, except for his bald spot, which was a rosy, shiny pink. His eyes were super far apart and really buggy, and he had this weird, pouty mouth that completed the guppy look. Plus, he was wearing probably the gayest argyle sweater vest I have ever seen. Ever. He was sooooo wasted. His chick was this short, fat, loud bitch that reminded me of Roseanne. She was totally wasted too, and she was yelling at him and insulting him constantly. The meaner she got the more his eyes bugged out. I started wondering if someone should hold his drink under his chin just in case one of those eyeballs bugged out enough to pop out of his pasty, fishlike head.
Anyhow, she starts yelling at him that it's time to go and that he's got five minutes to get his ass in the car or she's leaving without him. She goes outside and he just sits there sipping his drink and annoying everyone with his slurred attempts at intelligent conversation. He tried to put his coat on to leave, but couldn't find the sleeves. After several attempts he gave up and just sat down again to finish his drink. We all start telling him he should just shut up, go home and go to bed, and he's telling us we can't make him leave. I go, "Well, your woman is either gonna leave without you or come back in and kick your ass, and I'm not sure which one I'd like to see more." That just made his eyes even buggier. By this time, I was no longer able to just laugh in my head. I was totally laughing my ass off at the whole situation. Maybe he felt bad that I was laughing at him, but I'm sure he didn't remember much in the morning.
The guppy finally finds his coat arms and leaves, but he's so wasted he doesn't notice that there are a couple steps down to the parking lot. The guppy totally biffed it. HARD. Total belly flop onto the pavement. Since he was so wasted, he didn't feel a thing and got up and stumbled to his car. At this point the bartender called the cops, because these soaks totally shouldn't be on the road. Not thirty seconds later, we see the flashing lights down the street. Yep, the guppy and Roseanne got pulled over and both of them got hauled off to detox. Classic.
What a fabulous night. I had killer seats to Aerosmith, got to lust after Steven Tyler live, got to laugh at drunks at the bar, AND saw one of the sweetest biffs I've seen in a long time. Yeah, baby.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Breastfeeding in Public
Got your attention, didn't I?
So I was listening to this story on the news about this woman who was nursing her baby on a Delta flight, and refused to cover her boobs. So the flight attendant kicked her, her husband and their baby off the flight. Apparently nursing mothers across the country had "nurse-in" protests at airports everywhere. The flight attendant was later disciplined by the airline, and Delta apologized to the family.
Know what, lady? You should have taken the damned blanket and covered your frickin' boobies. Yeah, breastfeeding is natural and beautiful and all that crap, but no one should have to look at your veiny, leaking milk machines while you're doing it.
Listen, I nursed four babies. I know it's sometimes difficult to maintain your modesty in public when you have a little one squirming in your lap and yanking at your shirt while he or she nurses. But for cripes sake, I at least tried! I never went out in public without a large blanket to drape over my front in case I had to nurse my baby while out and about. In fact, now they have these huge bibs that you can find in any department store. They snap around your neck so your cover can't fall down and leave you exposed.
Draping a blanket over you and your baby is not going to suffocate the little angel. The kid's head may get a little sweaty, but he'll live. One lady was saying that she didn't want to cover up because she likes to make eye contact with her baby while he nurses. Okay, fine. More power to ya. But that doesn't mean you have to have your blouse tucked up under your frickin' armpits. I mean, seriously. Leave one jug under wraps, and pull your shirt down enough to cover the exposed one and still be able to see your kid.
It's not rocket science, honey. Yeah, you have the right to nurse your baby anywhere you want to. But the rest of us have the right to not have to look into your headlights while you're doing it. Seriously.
So I was listening to this story on the news about this woman who was nursing her baby on a Delta flight, and refused to cover her boobs. So the flight attendant kicked her, her husband and their baby off the flight. Apparently nursing mothers across the country had "nurse-in" protests at airports everywhere. The flight attendant was later disciplined by the airline, and Delta apologized to the family.
Know what, lady? You should have taken the damned blanket and covered your frickin' boobies. Yeah, breastfeeding is natural and beautiful and all that crap, but no one should have to look at your veiny, leaking milk machines while you're doing it.
Listen, I nursed four babies. I know it's sometimes difficult to maintain your modesty in public when you have a little one squirming in your lap and yanking at your shirt while he or she nurses. But for cripes sake, I at least tried! I never went out in public without a large blanket to drape over my front in case I had to nurse my baby while out and about. In fact, now they have these huge bibs that you can find in any department store. They snap around your neck so your cover can't fall down and leave you exposed.
Draping a blanket over you and your baby is not going to suffocate the little angel. The kid's head may get a little sweaty, but he'll live. One lady was saying that she didn't want to cover up because she likes to make eye contact with her baby while he nurses. Okay, fine. More power to ya. But that doesn't mean you have to have your blouse tucked up under your frickin' armpits. I mean, seriously. Leave one jug under wraps, and pull your shirt down enough to cover the exposed one and still be able to see your kid.
It's not rocket science, honey. Yeah, you have the right to nurse your baby anywhere you want to. But the rest of us have the right to not have to look into your headlights while you're doing it. Seriously.
More Weight Issues
Yeah. I'm still losing weight, and I am not happy about it. I look like a frickin' skeleton. I can count my ribs,can see each of my vertebrae in detail, and my hip bones jut out like nobody's business. And the loose skin draped over the bones ain't helping matters, either. Yuck.
I have now lost 104 lbs, and the more I lose the more each pound counts. I mean, when you weigh over two hundred pounds losing five pounds doesn't make much of a difference. When you weigh under 140, even two or three pounds can really change the way you look.
I hate it when people tell me I'm too thin. Too thin is as unattractive as too fat. How the hell did I end up on the other end of the frickin' spectrum???
Here's the kicker: I don't know how the hell to stop it. What am I supposed to do, frickin' gorge myself all day long until I start gaining weight again? Start cooking with bacon fat?
As you know from previous posts, I don't particularly like to eat anymore. It's not really a conscious thing... it's just not something I'm fixated on anymore. I really do eat, and I do eat until I feel full. I even snack, which I'm not really supposed to do. I'm getting the calories in when I think about it, even though I only do it because I have to eat to live. So what is wrong with my body??? Why can't I maintain my weight???
I know what you're thinking. You're sitting there saying that I am way too fixated on my weight. Damn straight I am. I am what other post-ops refer to as a "scale whore." I weigh myself daily, sometimes more than once a day. I keep careful track of my weight loss on an Excel spreadsheet, complete with a line graph.
Here's the thing: can you really blame me? I mean, this is a whole new ballgame for me. I was huge for so many years, and never thought I would be at a normal weight again. Yet here I am. I still feel like it's all a dream, and that I'm going to wake up one morning to find that I'm still fat and sick. This year has knocked me for a loop in every way: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I'm waiting for the wheels to stop spinning, for things to even out, and for the day when this life feels normal, instead of feeling like it's changing every frickin' day.
Just do me one huge favor: next time you see me, lie and say I look great. Tell me I'm too thin and I may have to hurt you. Bad. Like stab you with my hip bones or something.
I have now lost 104 lbs, and the more I lose the more each pound counts. I mean, when you weigh over two hundred pounds losing five pounds doesn't make much of a difference. When you weigh under 140, even two or three pounds can really change the way you look.
I hate it when people tell me I'm too thin. Too thin is as unattractive as too fat. How the hell did I end up on the other end of the frickin' spectrum???
Here's the kicker: I don't know how the hell to stop it. What am I supposed to do, frickin' gorge myself all day long until I start gaining weight again? Start cooking with bacon fat?
As you know from previous posts, I don't particularly like to eat anymore. It's not really a conscious thing... it's just not something I'm fixated on anymore. I really do eat, and I do eat until I feel full. I even snack, which I'm not really supposed to do. I'm getting the calories in when I think about it, even though I only do it because I have to eat to live. So what is wrong with my body??? Why can't I maintain my weight???
I know what you're thinking. You're sitting there saying that I am way too fixated on my weight. Damn straight I am. I am what other post-ops refer to as a "scale whore." I weigh myself daily, sometimes more than once a day. I keep careful track of my weight loss on an Excel spreadsheet, complete with a line graph.
Here's the thing: can you really blame me? I mean, this is a whole new ballgame for me. I was huge for so many years, and never thought I would be at a normal weight again. Yet here I am. I still feel like it's all a dream, and that I'm going to wake up one morning to find that I'm still fat and sick. This year has knocked me for a loop in every way: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I'm waiting for the wheels to stop spinning, for things to even out, and for the day when this life feels normal, instead of feeling like it's changing every frickin' day.
Just do me one huge favor: next time you see me, lie and say I look great. Tell me I'm too thin and I may have to hurt you. Bad. Like stab you with my hip bones or something.
Friday, November 17, 2006
My surgi-versary
One year ago today I had my gastric bypass surgery and got a new lease on life.
One year ago today I weighed well over two hundred pounds. I had diabetes, heart problems, acid reflux disease, and fibromyalgia. I was on a myriad of medications, had to stick my fingers four times a day to check my blood sugar, was in constant pain, always exhausted, and could barely carry out the functions of daily life.
One year ago today my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I felt fat and ugly. I was ashamed of how I looked and ashamed of the lack of self-control that led to my weight problems. I didn't feel I had much to offer, and didn't think I deserved to be loved. I felt like a waste of space. My health problems added to my lack of confidence, because I couldn't do the things I wanted to do or needed to do because of my lack of energy, my pain, and the decline of my neurological functions.
Today I am at a normal weight for the first time in eighteen years. I can exercise, walk, run, dance, and do all the things I couldn't do a year ago. I am not tied down to my medicine cabinet, and now only take two medications for my neuro issues. My diabetes is gone, my heart is normal, I no longer have to worry that acid is burning a hole through my esophagus, and my fibromyalgia flare-ups are minor and few.
Today I can see myself as a woman who has a lot to offer to the world. I am deserving of love and respect. I am a better mother and a better friend than I was a year ago.
This year has not been easy. I've struggled with getting used to the lifestyle change that gastric bypass requires. I've struggled with my changing body image. I struggle with addiction transferrences. Some of my relationships have changed, and not all for the better. I've struggled with the need to redefine myself in this new, healthy body, and there have been times when I've lost sight of who I am and what I want out of life. I've taken risks I wouldn't have taken a year ago, and not all of them have been healthy or wise choices.
I've learned a few things this year. I've learned that there is much more to me than my appearance. I've learned that I cannot fix everything, and that there are some things and some people I just need to let go of. I have learned to love in a way I never knew I could. I've learned to be honest about my needs, wants and feelings, both with others and with myself. I've learned to take chances in life, because I could miss out on something wonderful if I am too afraid to try. I've learned that there can be strength in vulnerability. I've learned that I am on the threshold of something great, and that I have what it takes to step over that threshold with a new honesty and boldness.
I have lost some significant things because of the changes in me, but I have gained so much. Even though this first year after gastric bypass has been more difficult and more intense than I ever could have imagined, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I have been given a rare opportunity to reinvent myself as a healthy, attractive, normal woman. I am a new creature, and my life can be whatever I am willing to make of it.
So wish me a happy surgi-versary, celebrate this new life with me, and keep trying to guess what I'm going to do next. Today the world is my oyster, baby.
One year ago today I weighed well over two hundred pounds. I had diabetes, heart problems, acid reflux disease, and fibromyalgia. I was on a myriad of medications, had to stick my fingers four times a day to check my blood sugar, was in constant pain, always exhausted, and could barely carry out the functions of daily life.
One year ago today my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I felt fat and ugly. I was ashamed of how I looked and ashamed of the lack of self-control that led to my weight problems. I didn't feel I had much to offer, and didn't think I deserved to be loved. I felt like a waste of space. My health problems added to my lack of confidence, because I couldn't do the things I wanted to do or needed to do because of my lack of energy, my pain, and the decline of my neurological functions.
Today I am at a normal weight for the first time in eighteen years. I can exercise, walk, run, dance, and do all the things I couldn't do a year ago. I am not tied down to my medicine cabinet, and now only take two medications for my neuro issues. My diabetes is gone, my heart is normal, I no longer have to worry that acid is burning a hole through my esophagus, and my fibromyalgia flare-ups are minor and few.
Today I can see myself as a woman who has a lot to offer to the world. I am deserving of love and respect. I am a better mother and a better friend than I was a year ago.
This year has not been easy. I've struggled with getting used to the lifestyle change that gastric bypass requires. I've struggled with my changing body image. I struggle with addiction transferrences. Some of my relationships have changed, and not all for the better. I've struggled with the need to redefine myself in this new, healthy body, and there have been times when I've lost sight of who I am and what I want out of life. I've taken risks I wouldn't have taken a year ago, and not all of them have been healthy or wise choices.
I've learned a few things this year. I've learned that there is much more to me than my appearance. I've learned that I cannot fix everything, and that there are some things and some people I just need to let go of. I have learned to love in a way I never knew I could. I've learned to be honest about my needs, wants and feelings, both with others and with myself. I've learned to take chances in life, because I could miss out on something wonderful if I am too afraid to try. I've learned that there can be strength in vulnerability. I've learned that I am on the threshold of something great, and that I have what it takes to step over that threshold with a new honesty and boldness.
I have lost some significant things because of the changes in me, but I have gained so much. Even though this first year after gastric bypass has been more difficult and more intense than I ever could have imagined, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I have been given a rare opportunity to reinvent myself as a healthy, attractive, normal woman. I am a new creature, and my life can be whatever I am willing to make of it.
So wish me a happy surgi-versary, celebrate this new life with me, and keep trying to guess what I'm going to do next. Today the world is my oyster, baby.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Some sweet biffs
My friend Sherry sent me this video. It's not people biffing it on the ice, but it is people falling, so it's still funny. Click on the thumbnail to watch it.
Here's another one.
I think some of these people get totally hurt, which makes it even better.
Here's another one.
I think some of these people get totally hurt, which makes it even better.
Last Night
So, the Karaoke Finals were last night. I woke up with a nasty hangover this morning, so I know I had fun.
I didn't win anything, but I had an absolute blast... and really, that was all that mattered. I sang Welcome to the Jungle by Guns 'n' Roses... it's one of my favorite songs. When I do it I strut around the bar a couple of times, sing to the guys, and do a little dancin'. My husband said it was very sexy... like a striptease without the clothes coming off. My friend could see the judges from where he was sitting, and he said that one of the male judges kinda shook out the collar of his shirt while I was singing, ya know, like he was getting hot or something. Unfortunately, his wife was sitting next to him and also was one of the judges, and my friend said he could tell she didn't like me at all. But she looked like a shriveled, bitter bitch, so I didn't care. This one guy walked past me on his way to the bathroom and goes, "Ooooh, thank you, baby!" Funny.
There's this one hispanic dude that hangs out at Big Louie's all the time, and he's always giving me the eye. His English is not real great, so he doesn't say too much. I was talking to one of the girls, and he comes up and gives me a hug. I guess that was okay. But then.... he totally grabbed my ass. Seriously. The girl I was talking to goes, "No! No! Muy mal!" (No! No! Very bad!) And I'm pushing him away going, "No Mas! No Mas!" (No more! No more!) Holy frickin' crap, dude! Do Not Frickin' Touch Me! EVER! My husband sat there shooting daggers at him the rest of the night.
Okay, maybe I sorta had it comin'. I mean, I know my performance was a little provocative. Okay, maybe more than a little. But come on! Several guys came up and wanted to hug me, and I know it wasn't just to be nice. Of course they all wanted a giddy little thrill... I mean, guys are guys. I can't say I hate the attention, because it is flattering to know that men find me attractive. Hugs I can handle, requests for my phone number can be easily deflected, compliments are very nice, but ass-grabbing is a definite no-no. A DEFINITE no-no.
The Monster Mash guy was there, totally in costume as expected. He didn't win anything either. My sister and brother-in-law came up, and Monster Mash came over to say hi. My brother-in-law is probably close to seven feet tall... he is HUGE. Monster Mash comes maybe up to my shoulder, and I'm only 5' 4". I wish my brother-in-law had stood up to say hi to Monster Mash... the poor little guy probably would've ended up staring straight into his crotch.
There was this kinda creepy guy up there... he was wearing a black t-shirt with this huge cross necklace. He seemed like he'd be a child molester or something. Just gave off a weird, yucky vibe all night. And he was up there with this one chick... the first time I saw her, I honestly couldn't tell if she was a man or a woman. She has a total mustache and a unibrow. I think she might be working on growing a goatee, too. The creepy guy went over to try to pick up this one hot chick, and after about thirty minutes the bearded lady got pissed and kinda yelled at him. It was fun to watch. Another weird guy that is up there a lot lately has bleached blond hair and the most orange skin I've ever seen. He looks like a frickin' Oompa Loompa. He seriously needs to lay off the tan in a can. My husband says he stares at us, but I've never seen it.
My favorite bartender gave me a gift last night: a magnet that says something like, "If you can't say anything nice about someone, I want to hear it!", and a cigarette case that says, "Damn right I keep score!" Both have ladies from the 50's on the front... too cool. She is such a sweetheart.
I love Big Louie's. Awesome bartenders, interesting regulars, lots of great people-watching and high drama, and one of the only places I know where you can smoke inside.
The only sucky thing is that now my sweet leather coat totally smells like smoke.
I'm procrastinating on writing a paper that's due tomorrow night. I was supposed to read a book and write a literature review, and I haven't even finished the frickin' book. I am a master at putting things off until the absolute last minute... I'm always late to parties, events, church, etc, and I usually finish my papers about thirty minutes before I have to leave for school. I'm not sure why I always do this to myself... maybe it fulfills my own sick need for a little extra drama. Who knows?
Anyway, I'm glad the karaoke contest is done. Now I can go back to goofing around and really enjoying my Sunday Nights at the Church of Big Louie's.
I didn't win anything, but I had an absolute blast... and really, that was all that mattered. I sang Welcome to the Jungle by Guns 'n' Roses... it's one of my favorite songs. When I do it I strut around the bar a couple of times, sing to the guys, and do a little dancin'. My husband said it was very sexy... like a striptease without the clothes coming off. My friend could see the judges from where he was sitting, and he said that one of the male judges kinda shook out the collar of his shirt while I was singing, ya know, like he was getting hot or something. Unfortunately, his wife was sitting next to him and also was one of the judges, and my friend said he could tell she didn't like me at all. But she looked like a shriveled, bitter bitch, so I didn't care. This one guy walked past me on his way to the bathroom and goes, "Ooooh, thank you, baby!" Funny.
There's this one hispanic dude that hangs out at Big Louie's all the time, and he's always giving me the eye. His English is not real great, so he doesn't say too much. I was talking to one of the girls, and he comes up and gives me a hug. I guess that was okay. But then.... he totally grabbed my ass. Seriously. The girl I was talking to goes, "No! No! Muy mal!" (No! No! Very bad!) And I'm pushing him away going, "No Mas! No Mas!" (No more! No more!) Holy frickin' crap, dude! Do Not Frickin' Touch Me! EVER! My husband sat there shooting daggers at him the rest of the night.
Okay, maybe I sorta had it comin'. I mean, I know my performance was a little provocative. Okay, maybe more than a little. But come on! Several guys came up and wanted to hug me, and I know it wasn't just to be nice. Of course they all wanted a giddy little thrill... I mean, guys are guys. I can't say I hate the attention, because it is flattering to know that men find me attractive. Hugs I can handle, requests for my phone number can be easily deflected, compliments are very nice, but ass-grabbing is a definite no-no. A DEFINITE no-no.
The Monster Mash guy was there, totally in costume as expected. He didn't win anything either. My sister and brother-in-law came up, and Monster Mash came over to say hi. My brother-in-law is probably close to seven feet tall... he is HUGE. Monster Mash comes maybe up to my shoulder, and I'm only 5' 4". I wish my brother-in-law had stood up to say hi to Monster Mash... the poor little guy probably would've ended up staring straight into his crotch.
There was this kinda creepy guy up there... he was wearing a black t-shirt with this huge cross necklace. He seemed like he'd be a child molester or something. Just gave off a weird, yucky vibe all night. And he was up there with this one chick... the first time I saw her, I honestly couldn't tell if she was a man or a woman. She has a total mustache and a unibrow. I think she might be working on growing a goatee, too. The creepy guy went over to try to pick up this one hot chick, and after about thirty minutes the bearded lady got pissed and kinda yelled at him. It was fun to watch. Another weird guy that is up there a lot lately has bleached blond hair and the most orange skin I've ever seen. He looks like a frickin' Oompa Loompa. He seriously needs to lay off the tan in a can. My husband says he stares at us, but I've never seen it.
My favorite bartender gave me a gift last night: a magnet that says something like, "If you can't say anything nice about someone, I want to hear it!", and a cigarette case that says, "Damn right I keep score!" Both have ladies from the 50's on the front... too cool. She is such a sweetheart.
I love Big Louie's. Awesome bartenders, interesting regulars, lots of great people-watching and high drama, and one of the only places I know where you can smoke inside.
The only sucky thing is that now my sweet leather coat totally smells like smoke.
I'm procrastinating on writing a paper that's due tomorrow night. I was supposed to read a book and write a literature review, and I haven't even finished the frickin' book. I am a master at putting things off until the absolute last minute... I'm always late to parties, events, church, etc, and I usually finish my papers about thirty minutes before I have to leave for school. I'm not sure why I always do this to myself... maybe it fulfills my own sick need for a little extra drama. Who knows?
Anyway, I'm glad the karaoke contest is done. Now I can go back to goofing around and really enjoying my Sunday Nights at the Church of Big Louie's.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Oh...My...GOD!!!!
So, I was up at the bar last night (shut up), and you will not believe who I saw!
The bartender alerts us to these two ladies sitting across the bar, and tells us that the chick in the white is talking nonstop, and the poor girl in the red can't get a word in edgewise. I took note, but didn't think too hard about it.
Suddenly, the girl in the red who can't get a word in edgewise is standing next to me, and she turns out to be one of my best friends from high school! What a frickin' trip.
This girl and I cried on each other's shoulders over various break-ups and mean girls (wow... and now I AM a mean girl), I was at her wedding, was one of the first non-family members to hold her new baby, and she was the one who drove me to the doctor's office when I found out I was knocked up with my twins. I think she was the first non-family member to hold my babies, too. We were super close... told each other practically everything.
She moved to 'Sconi about 10 or 11 years ago, and we lost touch. I really missed her. Apparently, she's back in the Twin Cities for good.
It was awesome to see her, and at my neighborhood hangout no less! We exchanged phone numbers, and I can't wait to get together with her to catch up.
The weird thing is that I was just thinking about her last week. I was thinking about my 20 year class reunion coming up next summer, and thinking that the only way I would go is if I went with one of my girlfriends. I found myself really wishing that I'd stayed in touch with this particular friend, because we both hated high school so much, and her sense of humor is as mean as mine, so I know we'd have fun. And then I saw her at frickin' Big Louie's. Sa-weet for me.
There was some weird stuff going on at the bar last night. There was this drunk couple across the bar, and the woman was totally bawling... I'm talking Ugly Crying. Nose running, eyes puffy, gasping for breath, the works. The guy was slurring his words something awful, and he was giving her these playful punches in the arm... not a smart thing to do with a crying chick. It was high drama for a while... fun to watch.
Then we come to find out that this one regular who comes up and plays pulltabs with his wife all the time, plus they fight constantly while they gamble, is sitting a ways down the bar and has just walked out on his wife. Holy crap. He's crying, and the pulltab lady is sitting with him, trying to make him feel better, I guess. Then, a little later, we notice that the pulltab lady has moved on to the drunk couple with the crying chick at the end of the bar, and she's encouraging them to play some pulltabs, like that's going to solve their problems or something. The funny thing was, it did seem to help. I mean, at first the chick was still kinda crying while opening pulltabs, but then she merely looked disgruntled, and then she actually seemed to get a little happier. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.
Tonight are the Big Karaoke Finals. It should be pretty fun... I hear it's gonna be packed, which maybe makes me a little nervous, but all in all it should be a good time. My sister's coming up, plus a couple good friends, and even a lady I haven't met in person yet. I've been looking forward to meeting her, though. We met through a message board for people who have had bariatric surgery, and we've been emailing... she seems pretty cool. And she likes reading my blog, so that alone makes her super cool. I'm excited to hear all the other finalists perform tonight. There are some really good singers. Oh, and that one guy who does the frickin' Monster Mash. Can't wait. I'll tell ya all about it tomorrow.
Yesterday I got this kickass leather coat I've had my eye on, along with a pair of pink leather gloves. These gloves... when I first laid eyes on them I had a total out-of-body experience. I knew I had to possess these gloves no matter what. Lemme tell you, they feel as good as they look, and the fact that they are in my signature color is a magnificent bonus. The coat is black, goes about to my knees, and is very fitted. I feel pretty damned cool in it. It's so totally awesome to actually have a figure to fit a coat around for the first time... never thought the day would come.
Well, I gotta feed the fam before I head up to the bar. Wish me luck tonight.
The bartender alerts us to these two ladies sitting across the bar, and tells us that the chick in the white is talking nonstop, and the poor girl in the red can't get a word in edgewise. I took note, but didn't think too hard about it.
Suddenly, the girl in the red who can't get a word in edgewise is standing next to me, and she turns out to be one of my best friends from high school! What a frickin' trip.
This girl and I cried on each other's shoulders over various break-ups and mean girls (wow... and now I AM a mean girl), I was at her wedding, was one of the first non-family members to hold her new baby, and she was the one who drove me to the doctor's office when I found out I was knocked up with my twins. I think she was the first non-family member to hold my babies, too. We were super close... told each other practically everything.
She moved to 'Sconi about 10 or 11 years ago, and we lost touch. I really missed her. Apparently, she's back in the Twin Cities for good.
It was awesome to see her, and at my neighborhood hangout no less! We exchanged phone numbers, and I can't wait to get together with her to catch up.
The weird thing is that I was just thinking about her last week. I was thinking about my 20 year class reunion coming up next summer, and thinking that the only way I would go is if I went with one of my girlfriends. I found myself really wishing that I'd stayed in touch with this particular friend, because we both hated high school so much, and her sense of humor is as mean as mine, so I know we'd have fun. And then I saw her at frickin' Big Louie's. Sa-weet for me.
There was some weird stuff going on at the bar last night. There was this drunk couple across the bar, and the woman was totally bawling... I'm talking Ugly Crying. Nose running, eyes puffy, gasping for breath, the works. The guy was slurring his words something awful, and he was giving her these playful punches in the arm... not a smart thing to do with a crying chick. It was high drama for a while... fun to watch.
Then we come to find out that this one regular who comes up and plays pulltabs with his wife all the time, plus they fight constantly while they gamble, is sitting a ways down the bar and has just walked out on his wife. Holy crap. He's crying, and the pulltab lady is sitting with him, trying to make him feel better, I guess. Then, a little later, we notice that the pulltab lady has moved on to the drunk couple with the crying chick at the end of the bar, and she's encouraging them to play some pulltabs, like that's going to solve their problems or something. The funny thing was, it did seem to help. I mean, at first the chick was still kinda crying while opening pulltabs, but then she merely looked disgruntled, and then she actually seemed to get a little happier. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.
Tonight are the Big Karaoke Finals. It should be pretty fun... I hear it's gonna be packed, which maybe makes me a little nervous, but all in all it should be a good time. My sister's coming up, plus a couple good friends, and even a lady I haven't met in person yet. I've been looking forward to meeting her, though. We met through a message board for people who have had bariatric surgery, and we've been emailing... she seems pretty cool. And she likes reading my blog, so that alone makes her super cool. I'm excited to hear all the other finalists perform tonight. There are some really good singers. Oh, and that one guy who does the frickin' Monster Mash. Can't wait. I'll tell ya all about it tomorrow.
Yesterday I got this kickass leather coat I've had my eye on, along with a pair of pink leather gloves. These gloves... when I first laid eyes on them I had a total out-of-body experience. I knew I had to possess these gloves no matter what. Lemme tell you, they feel as good as they look, and the fact that they are in my signature color is a magnificent bonus. The coat is black, goes about to my knees, and is very fitted. I feel pretty damned cool in it. It's so totally awesome to actually have a figure to fit a coat around for the first time... never thought the day would come.
Well, I gotta feed the fam before I head up to the bar. Wish me luck tonight.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Aerosmith, Baby!
Yeah, that's right... I'm gonna see Aerosmith at the Target Center in December. I so cannot wait.
Even though Steven Tyler is old enough to be my dad and seems to be a few fries short of a Happy Meal, there is something decidedly sexy about him. I know some people are freaked out by the huge mouth and lips... I'll admit, they make him look a little like a muppet... but for some reason I kinda like 'em. I would imagine he's a pretty great kisser, if he can avoid swallowing the chick's whole head.
My husband is taking me to the concert. I'm not completely sure why, because I don't even think he really likes me right now. And he hates Aerosmith, in fact, he calls them "Aerocrap." I have a girlfriend who would've gone with me instead, but my husband said no go. For reasons I can't entirely go into here, he doesn't trust me any farther than he can throw me. A small part of it is that he's witnessed one too many guys hitting on me at the bar... but that was before I got my wedding rings resized. Now, as long as I'm wearing my bling, most guys have enough common sense to keep their distance. Ya know, one hundred pounds ago he wouldn't have given a crap if men hit on me... but then I looked like Jabba the frickin' Hut, so no men ever did.
Our 17 year old son wanted to go with me, but I told him to just trust me when I say that a teenaged boy does NOT want to be caught dead at an Aerosmith concert with his mom, and especially not when that mom lusts after Steven Tyler. He goes, "Why? Will you be dancing around? Singing? Drinking? Smoking? Flashing?" I go, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, and possibly." (I wouldn't really flash anyone... even I have my standards... I just wanted to gross my kid out.) He just rolls his eyes and goes, "Well, you have fun embarrassing Dad, then." I assured him that I will.
Break out the extra-grande tube of chapstick, Steven baby... here I come.
Even though Steven Tyler is old enough to be my dad and seems to be a few fries short of a Happy Meal, there is something decidedly sexy about him. I know some people are freaked out by the huge mouth and lips... I'll admit, they make him look a little like a muppet... but for some reason I kinda like 'em. I would imagine he's a pretty great kisser, if he can avoid swallowing the chick's whole head.
My husband is taking me to the concert. I'm not completely sure why, because I don't even think he really likes me right now. And he hates Aerosmith, in fact, he calls them "Aerocrap." I have a girlfriend who would've gone with me instead, but my husband said no go. For reasons I can't entirely go into here, he doesn't trust me any farther than he can throw me. A small part of it is that he's witnessed one too many guys hitting on me at the bar... but that was before I got my wedding rings resized. Now, as long as I'm wearing my bling, most guys have enough common sense to keep their distance. Ya know, one hundred pounds ago he wouldn't have given a crap if men hit on me... but then I looked like Jabba the frickin' Hut, so no men ever did.
Our 17 year old son wanted to go with me, but I told him to just trust me when I say that a teenaged boy does NOT want to be caught dead at an Aerosmith concert with his mom, and especially not when that mom lusts after Steven Tyler. He goes, "Why? Will you be dancing around? Singing? Drinking? Smoking? Flashing?" I go, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, and possibly." (I wouldn't really flash anyone... even I have my standards... I just wanted to gross my kid out.) He just rolls his eyes and goes, "Well, you have fun embarrassing Dad, then." I assured him that I will.
Break out the extra-grande tube of chapstick, Steven baby... here I come.
Hmmmmmmm....
Another thing that happened at Big Louie's last night...
Let me start by saying that one of the things I love about this place is the bartenders. I have a couple favorites, but they're all pretty cool, and they all know how to make a Southern Hospitality, which pleases me.
My absolute favorite is this young girl who is just a sweetie. Cute, bubbly, likes to talk, always interesting. Plus, she's the only bartender who gives me the extra booze from my Southern Hospitality in a little silver shaker. It's basically two drinks for the price of one. No wonder I get drunker when she's behind the bar. I went out drinking with her and a couple other bartenders from there one night... it was a total blast.
Anyhow, last night she was telling me about this magnet she saw that said, "Maybe I WANT to look cheap!" She asked if I would like to have one. Okay, being one who always analyzes conversations for nuances and hidden meanings, I go, "Why? Do I look cheap?" She said no, but now I'm a little paranoid.
I mean, sure I like to flash a little cleavage here and there, and maybe some of my jeans are a little... shall we say, "fitted." But I really hope I don't come off as cheap or slutty!
So now I'm looking in the mirror, totally paranoid that I look like a hootchie. Maybe too much eyeliner? Lipstick maybe a little too pink? Sweater too tight? I didn't think so yesterday, and I don't look any different today, but.... the MAGNET thing.
My girlfriends would tell me, right? Well, maybe not... they had no problem telling me that I drank too much last summer, and they have no problem giving me crap for picking up the smoking habit again, but last night I found out that they all pretty much thought I was too thin and needed to gain weight but never said a word about it until I told them I thought I'd lost a few pounds too many. Hmmm....
Maybe the truth will come out if I sit down with them and go, "I'm thinking I've been looking a little slutty lately..."
The thing is, even if they agreed, I'm not sure I could do the "suburban mom look" again... that look was me one hundred pounds ago because larger women really have no other choice, but it is sooooo not me now. I can finally wear really cute clothes that my 17 year old daughter is dying to borrow and, dammit, I'm gonna wear 'em!
Okay... maybe I WANT to look cheap.
Let me start by saying that one of the things I love about this place is the bartenders. I have a couple favorites, but they're all pretty cool, and they all know how to make a Southern Hospitality, which pleases me.
My absolute favorite is this young girl who is just a sweetie. Cute, bubbly, likes to talk, always interesting. Plus, she's the only bartender who gives me the extra booze from my Southern Hospitality in a little silver shaker. It's basically two drinks for the price of one. No wonder I get drunker when she's behind the bar. I went out drinking with her and a couple other bartenders from there one night... it was a total blast.
Anyhow, last night she was telling me about this magnet she saw that said, "Maybe I WANT to look cheap!" She asked if I would like to have one. Okay, being one who always analyzes conversations for nuances and hidden meanings, I go, "Why? Do I look cheap?" She said no, but now I'm a little paranoid.
I mean, sure I like to flash a little cleavage here and there, and maybe some of my jeans are a little... shall we say, "fitted." But I really hope I don't come off as cheap or slutty!
So now I'm looking in the mirror, totally paranoid that I look like a hootchie. Maybe too much eyeliner? Lipstick maybe a little too pink? Sweater too tight? I didn't think so yesterday, and I don't look any different today, but.... the MAGNET thing.
My girlfriends would tell me, right? Well, maybe not... they had no problem telling me that I drank too much last summer, and they have no problem giving me crap for picking up the smoking habit again, but last night I found out that they all pretty much thought I was too thin and needed to gain weight but never said a word about it until I told them I thought I'd lost a few pounds too many. Hmmm....
Maybe the truth will come out if I sit down with them and go, "I'm thinking I've been looking a little slutty lately..."
The thing is, even if they agreed, I'm not sure I could do the "suburban mom look" again... that look was me one hundred pounds ago because larger women really have no other choice, but it is sooooo not me now. I can finally wear really cute clothes that my 17 year old daughter is dying to borrow and, dammit, I'm gonna wear 'em!
Okay... maybe I WANT to look cheap.
The Master Food Critic Speaks
Well, I'm not really a master food critic... but I know what I like, and I know what I don't like. Last night I had something that was kinda rude.
So, I'm up at Big Louie's (surprise surprise) with my husband, and we decide to try these new Big Louie Bites off the appetizer menu. They're deep-fried steak bites. We've heard a few people say they're really good, so even though the thought of deep-frying perfectly good steak seemed like a tragedy to me, we ordered them. I was less than impressed with them, lemme tell ya.
Okay. First of all, they look disgusting. Like little dried cat turds. Second, the bites are super small, like not even a whole bite, not even for me. You cut a piece of meat that small and toss it in the deep fryer, and it's gonna come out less than tender. There were a couple nice-sized chunks, but most of them were these miniscule, rubbery fiascos. Third, we tried the teriyaki and ranch sauces for dipping. Take note of this: steak and ranch dressing are not a winning combination, no way no how. The teriyaki was okay, but left much to be desired.
I actually felt guilty eating them. My dad was a steak connoisseur, and I just know he was turning over in his grave last night while I was eating these crappy deep-fried steak bites. I mean, this was a man who believed that even salt and pepper destroys the flavor of a really good steak. A-1 and Heinz 57 were not allowed anywhere near the table on Steak Saturdays at our house, and you couldn't even say the word "ketchup" in the presence of the steak.
So, yeah... moral of the story: Big Louie Bites, well... they bite.
So, I'm up at Big Louie's (surprise surprise) with my husband, and we decide to try these new Big Louie Bites off the appetizer menu. They're deep-fried steak bites. We've heard a few people say they're really good, so even though the thought of deep-frying perfectly good steak seemed like a tragedy to me, we ordered them. I was less than impressed with them, lemme tell ya.
Okay. First of all, they look disgusting. Like little dried cat turds. Second, the bites are super small, like not even a whole bite, not even for me. You cut a piece of meat that small and toss it in the deep fryer, and it's gonna come out less than tender. There were a couple nice-sized chunks, but most of them were these miniscule, rubbery fiascos. Third, we tried the teriyaki and ranch sauces for dipping. Take note of this: steak and ranch dressing are not a winning combination, no way no how. The teriyaki was okay, but left much to be desired.
I actually felt guilty eating them. My dad was a steak connoisseur, and I just know he was turning over in his grave last night while I was eating these crappy deep-fried steak bites. I mean, this was a man who believed that even salt and pepper destroys the flavor of a really good steak. A-1 and Heinz 57 were not allowed anywhere near the table on Steak Saturdays at our house, and you couldn't even say the word "ketchup" in the presence of the steak.
So, yeah... moral of the story: Big Louie Bites, well... they bite.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Brilliant strategist or control freak?
You be the judge.
A couple of people recently said that it is impossible to win an argument with me. As ridiculous as that may sound, it just may be true. I'm not bragging or anything... I'm just sayin'.
The stated reason for my undefeated status is that I usually come at an argument from my opponent's position. I figure out what the other person's stance is, hit it before they have a chance to do it themselves, and then state my case. In doing so, I render any attempt the other person makes to take a stand seem redundant and irrelevant.
Okay... I guess I do resort to what may be seen as dirty fighting when the stakes are high. I totally admit that. However, it appears to be second nature for me. Not that I'm making excuses, mind you... I'm just sayin'.
So my question is this: Is this a result of my freakish need to somehow control every situation and maintain the upper hand, or is it a result of my naturally analytical, strategically-inclined thought process? Or could it be a little of both?
Here are some other questions that follow: If I do in fact fight this way, is it undesirable? Do I need to release my intensity, back down, and, in essence, roll over and show my opponent my belly? (If you took that in a sexual way, you're a perv.) If I do just letitgo, am I somehow denying my true nature and becoming something I was never intended to be? Or, if I choose to continue trying to remain one step ahead of the game, am I dooming myself to a lonely life, surrounded by people who either can't or no longer wish to try to stand up to me? And is it really possible for me to choose at all?
Which leads me to ask this: Is this post starting to remind you of that scene in The Princess Bride where the little smart guy goes on and on while trying to decide which cup of wine contains the iocaine poison, and in the end he drops dead anyway because both cups are poisoned?
Man, my head hurts... I think I broke something. If you were looking to pick a fight with me, now would be a good time... you would definitely have the advantage.
A couple of people recently said that it is impossible to win an argument with me. As ridiculous as that may sound, it just may be true. I'm not bragging or anything... I'm just sayin'.
The stated reason for my undefeated status is that I usually come at an argument from my opponent's position. I figure out what the other person's stance is, hit it before they have a chance to do it themselves, and then state my case. In doing so, I render any attempt the other person makes to take a stand seem redundant and irrelevant.
Okay... I guess I do resort to what may be seen as dirty fighting when the stakes are high. I totally admit that. However, it appears to be second nature for me. Not that I'm making excuses, mind you... I'm just sayin'.
So my question is this: Is this a result of my freakish need to somehow control every situation and maintain the upper hand, or is it a result of my naturally analytical, strategically-inclined thought process? Or could it be a little of both?
Here are some other questions that follow: If I do in fact fight this way, is it undesirable? Do I need to release my intensity, back down, and, in essence, roll over and show my opponent my belly? (If you took that in a sexual way, you're a perv.) If I do just letitgo, am I somehow denying my true nature and becoming something I was never intended to be? Or, if I choose to continue trying to remain one step ahead of the game, am I dooming myself to a lonely life, surrounded by people who either can't or no longer wish to try to stand up to me? And is it really possible for me to choose at all?
Which leads me to ask this: Is this post starting to remind you of that scene in The Princess Bride where the little smart guy goes on and on while trying to decide which cup of wine contains the iocaine poison, and in the end he drops dead anyway because both cups are poisoned?
Man, my head hurts... I think I broke something. If you were looking to pick a fight with me, now would be a good time... you would definitely have the advantage.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Do I look like a magnet to you???
Well, I am. I am an unfortunate magnet for Things That Won't Shut Up.
Yes, there's the one at my school. But he wasn't my first.
My first Thing was this stupid lady at church who always managed to say something offensive or upsetting. Nine years ago, a few months after my mom died in a car accident, she came up to me, at the Christmas pageant no less, and all she wanted to talk about was the horrible, tragic, painful way my mother died. I started to cry, but she didn't catch the hint. Then, when I was massively pregnant with my third kid, she basically told me I looked like crap. I believe her exact words were "tired and bloated." If I hadn't been so tired and bloated, I would've kicked her ass right there in front of the baptistry.
The next Thing in my life was another church lady. I used to take care of this sweet little disabled boy, and he got sick and died. I saw Thing 2 at the pharmacy, and she started asking me all kinds of inappropriate questions about this kid and about how he died. Like wanting to know if he was a "vegetable" and crap. I wanted to deck her, but I was massively preggo with kid number four. I did manage, through clenched teeth, to let her know that she was being completely insensitive and ignorant.
Then there was the Thing who felt it necessary to loudly state that the morbidly obese man sitting in the row in front of her at Cub Scouts smelled "like rotting flesh."
Today I ended up sitting next to a completely new Thing at a funeral. This lady just would not shut up, and every single thing she said was insensitive and inappropriate, and of course she didn't have the decency to even whisper. Crap like, "If she had a daughter, why isn't she here? Does she know her mother is dead?" Or, "Oooooh boy. I hate it when they shut the coffin before the service. The family will never see her face again. She's all alone in that dark box." Holy crap, you stupid bitch! SHUT THE FRICK UP!!!!! Don't you see that people are shooting crusty looks your way left and right? For God's sake, shut up!!!
I ask you, why am I a magnet for these people??? They seem to gravitate toward me wherever I go. I always end up sitting next to a stranger who has verbal diarrhea, or someone I've just met gloms onto me and starts spewing inane chatter. What have I ever done to deserve such a crappy fate???
Oh yeah... wait... don't answer that.
Yes, there's the one at my school. But he wasn't my first.
My first Thing was this stupid lady at church who always managed to say something offensive or upsetting. Nine years ago, a few months after my mom died in a car accident, she came up to me, at the Christmas pageant no less, and all she wanted to talk about was the horrible, tragic, painful way my mother died. I started to cry, but she didn't catch the hint. Then, when I was massively pregnant with my third kid, she basically told me I looked like crap. I believe her exact words were "tired and bloated." If I hadn't been so tired and bloated, I would've kicked her ass right there in front of the baptistry.
The next Thing in my life was another church lady. I used to take care of this sweet little disabled boy, and he got sick and died. I saw Thing 2 at the pharmacy, and she started asking me all kinds of inappropriate questions about this kid and about how he died. Like wanting to know if he was a "vegetable" and crap. I wanted to deck her, but I was massively preggo with kid number four. I did manage, through clenched teeth, to let her know that she was being completely insensitive and ignorant.
Then there was the Thing who felt it necessary to loudly state that the morbidly obese man sitting in the row in front of her at Cub Scouts smelled "like rotting flesh."
Today I ended up sitting next to a completely new Thing at a funeral. This lady just would not shut up, and every single thing she said was insensitive and inappropriate, and of course she didn't have the decency to even whisper. Crap like, "If she had a daughter, why isn't she here? Does she know her mother is dead?" Or, "Oooooh boy. I hate it when they shut the coffin before the service. The family will never see her face again. She's all alone in that dark box." Holy crap, you stupid bitch! SHUT THE FRICK UP!!!!! Don't you see that people are shooting crusty looks your way left and right? For God's sake, shut up!!!
I ask you, why am I a magnet for these people??? They seem to gravitate toward me wherever I go. I always end up sitting next to a stranger who has verbal diarrhea, or someone I've just met gloms onto me and starts spewing inane chatter. What have I ever done to deserve such a crappy fate???
Oh yeah... wait... don't answer that.
'Tis the season
Well, almost.
Now, I'm not talking about Christmas. I am, however, talking about something that brings me almost as much joy: Icy Sidewalk Season.
If you know me, you know that seeing people fall on the ice makes me happy in the most perverted sense of the word. I think I blogged a bit about people who biff it on the ice last summer, when the weather was warm and balmy and I was longing to see a good, painful winter wipeout.
It's almost time, people. So get out your high heels, slippery-soled loafers, whatever you wear in the name of fashion that makes it necessary to take careful, mincing steps on icy sidewalks and driveways. After the first good freezing rain, I want you to put those shoes on and run with abandon down the iciest sidewalk you can find. Trust me, I will be there watching for you. I have a spidey-sense for these kinds of things.
You will biff it. Oh yes my friend, you will go down hard. If I'm really lucky, and I often am, you will slide at least another four feet on your back before you come to a complete stop. And I will laugh my ass off until I hyperventilate and pass out. It will be magnificent. So, do we have a date?
I know what you're thinking: this woman is insane, sadistic, and just plain mean-spirited. Guilty as charged, on all counts. I also know that I may be totally jinxing myself for a big biff of my own. Like my sister did with throwing up.
One day when we were teenagers, out of the blue, my sister goes, "Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!" That was huge, because we'd lived there for about eight years. And, frankly, it pissed me off because I'd just barfed earlier that day and it was my own damn fault. (Long story... something involving a down-filled pillow, a large pillowcase, and a Jackass-like stunt I'd conjured up.) Anyhow, the very next day I awakened to the sound of my sister puking her guts out with stomach flu. I was so very, very happy. She'd totally jinxed herself with her arrogant boasting.
Several years later, when she was married and living in CowTown USA, We were on the phone and she told me she'd been puking all day. I go, "You didn't happen to say anything like 'Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!' in the last few days, did you?" Get this: SHE TOTALLY DID. The first time wasn't enough to teach her a valuable lesson about personal jinxes... she went and jinxed herself again. Priceless.
I know that some of you out there are praying for the jinx effect to take place in my life in regard to my love of seeing people fall down. I fully accept this, and I forgive you. Because you are the ones I want to see biff it the most.
Now, I'm not talking about Christmas. I am, however, talking about something that brings me almost as much joy: Icy Sidewalk Season.
If you know me, you know that seeing people fall on the ice makes me happy in the most perverted sense of the word. I think I blogged a bit about people who biff it on the ice last summer, when the weather was warm and balmy and I was longing to see a good, painful winter wipeout.
It's almost time, people. So get out your high heels, slippery-soled loafers, whatever you wear in the name of fashion that makes it necessary to take careful, mincing steps on icy sidewalks and driveways. After the first good freezing rain, I want you to put those shoes on and run with abandon down the iciest sidewalk you can find. Trust me, I will be there watching for you. I have a spidey-sense for these kinds of things.
You will biff it. Oh yes my friend, you will go down hard. If I'm really lucky, and I often am, you will slide at least another four feet on your back before you come to a complete stop. And I will laugh my ass off until I hyperventilate and pass out. It will be magnificent. So, do we have a date?
I know what you're thinking: this woman is insane, sadistic, and just plain mean-spirited. Guilty as charged, on all counts. I also know that I may be totally jinxing myself for a big biff of my own. Like my sister did with throwing up.
One day when we were teenagers, out of the blue, my sister goes, "Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!" That was huge, because we'd lived there for about eight years. And, frankly, it pissed me off because I'd just barfed earlier that day and it was my own damn fault. (Long story... something involving a down-filled pillow, a large pillowcase, and a Jackass-like stunt I'd conjured up.) Anyhow, the very next day I awakened to the sound of my sister puking her guts out with stomach flu. I was so very, very happy. She'd totally jinxed herself with her arrogant boasting.
Several years later, when she was married and living in CowTown USA, We were on the phone and she told me she'd been puking all day. I go, "You didn't happen to say anything like 'Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!' in the last few days, did you?" Get this: SHE TOTALLY DID. The first time wasn't enough to teach her a valuable lesson about personal jinxes... she went and jinxed herself again. Priceless.
I know that some of you out there are praying for the jinx effect to take place in my life in regard to my love of seeing people fall down. I fully accept this, and I forgive you. Because you are the ones I want to see biff it the most.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Why I don't vote
That's right, people, I don't even bother to go to the polls anymore. Here's why:
1) My husband is a Democrat. He thinks I am a Republican because of my pro-life stance, but he is dead wrong. I do not, nor have I ever, really affiliated myself with any one party. Okay, when I used to vote I sometimes voted Republican, but not ALWAYS. Anyhow, we never agree on politics, and he won't even listen to what I think. If I just say I don't give a flying frick about any of it, it's one less thing for us to fight about. Although, the other night he picked a fight with me because I said I wasn't voting. Whatever. There's no way to anticipate what's going to annoy him about me, so I've stopped trying to figure it out.
2) ALL the candidates suck in my opinion, in every single election. I got tired of trying to figure out who was the lesser of the two evils, so I gave up. Yeah, I know what you're saying: that by not casting a vote, I'm voting for my candidate's opponent by default. But, since I don't have a candidate, I say BULL.
If not voting casts a default vote for my candidate's opponent, but I don't have a candidate, then my nonvote should actually count as TWO votes, one for each evil party. See? It all evens out in the end. I'm either mental or brilliant... take your pick. Just as long as you know that if you don't make a choice you're choosing the one you wouldn't have picked in the first place....
1) My husband is a Democrat. He thinks I am a Republican because of my pro-life stance, but he is dead wrong. I do not, nor have I ever, really affiliated myself with any one party. Okay, when I used to vote I sometimes voted Republican, but not ALWAYS. Anyhow, we never agree on politics, and he won't even listen to what I think. If I just say I don't give a flying frick about any of it, it's one less thing for us to fight about. Although, the other night he picked a fight with me because I said I wasn't voting. Whatever. There's no way to anticipate what's going to annoy him about me, so I've stopped trying to figure it out.
2) ALL the candidates suck in my opinion, in every single election. I got tired of trying to figure out who was the lesser of the two evils, so I gave up. Yeah, I know what you're saying: that by not casting a vote, I'm voting for my candidate's opponent by default. But, since I don't have a candidate, I say BULL.
If not voting casts a default vote for my candidate's opponent, but I don't have a candidate, then my nonvote should actually count as TWO votes, one for each evil party. See? It all evens out in the end. I'm either mental or brilliant... take your pick. Just as long as you know that if you don't make a choice you're choosing the one you wouldn't have picked in the first place....
Monday, October 30, 2006
That one gross guy
One of my early posts was about a guy that hangs out up at the local bar. You know the one... the big, nasty bus driver who lives in his parents' basement and lusts after teenaged girls.
Well, a couple weeks ago my husband took me to see Jackass 2 (Oh, it was wonderful... I laughed so hard I had tears rolling down my face... my husband chuckled a couple times, but otherwise just sat there shaking his head... but that's another post entirely) and we hit the bar afterward.
That gross dude was there, and he frickin' bought me a drink. Okay, usually that's a good thing, but for me that meant that when he came over to talk to us, and I knew he would, I'd have to be nice. Crap.
So he comes over to chat us up, and he's got a frickin' stuffed animal with him. Yeah, you heard me. A little black cow with a shock of green hair. He goes, "This is my mascot, Lucifer Beelzebub Rex. He sits in my car. I've had him for about four years." And you decided to bring him into the bar with you tonight WHY??? I guess it's a good thing it sits in his car... I was afraid maybe he brought it on his school bus to lure unsuspecting girls into conversation or something. I was actually glad to meet his little mascot... one more thing to mock him about. Yeah, hi, I'm a forty-five year old man drinking Pepsi at the bar with a frickin' stuffed animal on my lap. Please be my friend.
So my husband asks him if he's going to go home and catch the end of Saturday Night Live. I half expected him to say something gay like, "My mom doesn't let me watch late night tv," but instead he goes into this long explanation of how he likes to watch the Disney Channel and ABC Family. Well, I suppose it's important for him to stay current on what the teeny-boppers are watching if he's going to snag himself a date, right? Yuck.
It was sooooo hard, because inside I was laughing my frickin' ass off, but I had to be nice because he bought me a frickin' drink. Stifling my laughter was almost physically painful.
In case you can't tell, I'm feeling much better today... I think the fact that my bitchy commentary on life is back on track is a good sign, don't you?
Well, a couple weeks ago my husband took me to see Jackass 2 (Oh, it was wonderful... I laughed so hard I had tears rolling down my face... my husband chuckled a couple times, but otherwise just sat there shaking his head... but that's another post entirely) and we hit the bar afterward.
That gross dude was there, and he frickin' bought me a drink. Okay, usually that's a good thing, but for me that meant that when he came over to talk to us, and I knew he would, I'd have to be nice. Crap.
So he comes over to chat us up, and he's got a frickin' stuffed animal with him. Yeah, you heard me. A little black cow with a shock of green hair. He goes, "This is my mascot, Lucifer Beelzebub Rex. He sits in my car. I've had him for about four years." And you decided to bring him into the bar with you tonight WHY??? I guess it's a good thing it sits in his car... I was afraid maybe he brought it on his school bus to lure unsuspecting girls into conversation or something. I was actually glad to meet his little mascot... one more thing to mock him about. Yeah, hi, I'm a forty-five year old man drinking Pepsi at the bar with a frickin' stuffed animal on my lap. Please be my friend.
So my husband asks him if he's going to go home and catch the end of Saturday Night Live. I half expected him to say something gay like, "My mom doesn't let me watch late night tv," but instead he goes into this long explanation of how he likes to watch the Disney Channel and ABC Family. Well, I suppose it's important for him to stay current on what the teeny-boppers are watching if he's going to snag himself a date, right? Yuck.
It was sooooo hard, because inside I was laughing my frickin' ass off, but I had to be nice because he bought me a frickin' drink. Stifling my laughter was almost physically painful.
In case you can't tell, I'm feeling much better today... I think the fact that my bitchy commentary on life is back on track is a good sign, don't you?
Empty calories
Okay, yeah... so I am actually trying to make more of an effort to eat. After re-reading my post about not eating, I realized that I am massively screwed in the head, and so I'm making a real effort here.
Unfortunately, all I really want to eat is crap like Krispy Kremes and Ben & Jerry's. Cherry Garcia rocks.
My husband got on my case for eating crap, but I told him to shut the hell up. First he's all pissed because I'm not eating, then he's pissed because I'm eating empty calories. Whatever. Nothing I ever do is going to please him.
For some reason, I decided I wanted ice cream around 2 AM last night. So there I am, in my jammies, watching some drivel on tv and eating Cherry Garcia. It was sooooo good. For about 20 minutes. Then the sugar hit my bloodstream and I got violently ill. Remember the dumping syndrome I told you about? Yeah, I dumped big time. Couldn't breathe, sweating, heart racing, retching, the works.
Will that keep me from getting up in the middle of the night tonight to eat more ice cream? Hmmm... probably not.
Unfortunately, all I really want to eat is crap like Krispy Kremes and Ben & Jerry's. Cherry Garcia rocks.
My husband got on my case for eating crap, but I told him to shut the hell up. First he's all pissed because I'm not eating, then he's pissed because I'm eating empty calories. Whatever. Nothing I ever do is going to please him.
For some reason, I decided I wanted ice cream around 2 AM last night. So there I am, in my jammies, watching some drivel on tv and eating Cherry Garcia. It was sooooo good. For about 20 minutes. Then the sugar hit my bloodstream and I got violently ill. Remember the dumping syndrome I told you about? Yeah, I dumped big time. Couldn't breathe, sweating, heart racing, retching, the works.
Will that keep me from getting up in the middle of the night tonight to eat more ice cream? Hmmm... probably not.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Depression and anorexia
I have been so depressed for the last week. Depressed because of the blow-out with my dear friend, depressed because of a touchy conversation with my husband that could've destroyed my life as I know it, and emotionally out-of-control because of stupid old PMS.
I cried all day every day, moped around, didn't shower (I know... gross), didn't cook or clean (again, gross), didn't sleep well, and didn't eat. I've finally stopped crying and moping, I have showered, and I'm slowly trying to get out from under the mess that piled up around my house. However, I still have big, dark bags under my eyes and I have lost two more pounds... pounds I really couldn't afford to lose.
The thing is, I really still don't want to eat. I just don't want to. I have to force myself to do it, and I get no pleasure from it. My husband is alarmed. He is on my case day and night to stuff my face, and yells at me when he finds out I haven't eaten all day. It's gotten to the point where I'll eat a tablespoon of peanut butter in front of him just to shut him up. And I'll have a few bites of dinner with the fam for appearances.
My appetite is coming back just a little in the past couple days. Unfortunately, now eating is making me sick. It gets harder and harder to choke down food, and I physically feel like crap every time I eat.
I don't dare tell most people that I am struggling with this, because most women say crappy things like, "Oh, I wish I had your problem." Oh, really?? You want to feel anxious every time you think about having to eat? You want to have a hard time swallowing every bite? You want to end up vomiting half of it back up? You want to spend an hour after you eat in physical pain as your intestines try to digest what you managed to keep down? Yeah, bitch... try that for a few days and then come back and let me know how it's working out for you.
What's really sick is that last year I probably would have said the same thing to a skinny chick who was complaining about losing too much weight.
My friend told me he thinks I should see a doctor. Yeah, I probably should. But I probably won't. The reason is ridiculous and pathetic: I won't go because I don't really care at this point. Yeah, it bothers me and frustrates me, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Eventually I will crash and burn, and then I will take action. I have this insanely perverted need to hit rock-bottom before I will get off my ass and do what I need to do to fix anything. That's the way I work, ask anyone. And I'm not likely to change my spots any time soon.
Next time you hit Krispy Kreme, suck down a couple fresh-baked glazed ones for me.
I cried all day every day, moped around, didn't shower (I know... gross), didn't cook or clean (again, gross), didn't sleep well, and didn't eat. I've finally stopped crying and moping, I have showered, and I'm slowly trying to get out from under the mess that piled up around my house. However, I still have big, dark bags under my eyes and I have lost two more pounds... pounds I really couldn't afford to lose.
The thing is, I really still don't want to eat. I just don't want to. I have to force myself to do it, and I get no pleasure from it. My husband is alarmed. He is on my case day and night to stuff my face, and yells at me when he finds out I haven't eaten all day. It's gotten to the point where I'll eat a tablespoon of peanut butter in front of him just to shut him up. And I'll have a few bites of dinner with the fam for appearances.
My appetite is coming back just a little in the past couple days. Unfortunately, now eating is making me sick. It gets harder and harder to choke down food, and I physically feel like crap every time I eat.
I don't dare tell most people that I am struggling with this, because most women say crappy things like, "Oh, I wish I had your problem." Oh, really?? You want to feel anxious every time you think about having to eat? You want to have a hard time swallowing every bite? You want to end up vomiting half of it back up? You want to spend an hour after you eat in physical pain as your intestines try to digest what you managed to keep down? Yeah, bitch... try that for a few days and then come back and let me know how it's working out for you.
What's really sick is that last year I probably would have said the same thing to a skinny chick who was complaining about losing too much weight.
My friend told me he thinks I should see a doctor. Yeah, I probably should. But I probably won't. The reason is ridiculous and pathetic: I won't go because I don't really care at this point. Yeah, it bothers me and frustrates me, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Eventually I will crash and burn, and then I will take action. I have this insanely perverted need to hit rock-bottom before I will get off my ass and do what I need to do to fix anything. That's the way I work, ask anyone. And I'm not likely to change my spots any time soon.
Next time you hit Krispy Kreme, suck down a couple fresh-baked glazed ones for me.
Why PMS is a good thing
Just Kidding. PMS is never a good thing.
I realized last Friday that I was in the middle of a raging case of PMS, which totally explains why I've been such an emotional freak for the past week and a half. It doesn't excuse my behavior in any way, shape or form, but it does explain a lot.
I feel horrible that my poor friend got hit head on by my hormones. That poor, sweet man... he so did not deserve everything I threw at him.
We got together and talked last Sunday, and I think we came to an understanding of sorts. I'm not sure things will ever be completely the same between us, but the fact that he was willing to even try to save our friendship says a lot. Basically, we are starting over from scratch with some better-defined boundaries. I'd rather start over than have no relationship with him at all. He is so very important to me, and I love him a lot.
I wish I could better anticipate my hormones so that I could go live in a cave for about ten days every month so that my PMS doesn't rear its ugly head and screw up every good thing I have.
I realized last Friday that I was in the middle of a raging case of PMS, which totally explains why I've been such an emotional freak for the past week and a half. It doesn't excuse my behavior in any way, shape or form, but it does explain a lot.
I feel horrible that my poor friend got hit head on by my hormones. That poor, sweet man... he so did not deserve everything I threw at him.
We got together and talked last Sunday, and I think we came to an understanding of sorts. I'm not sure things will ever be completely the same between us, but the fact that he was willing to even try to save our friendship says a lot. Basically, we are starting over from scratch with some better-defined boundaries. I'd rather start over than have no relationship with him at all. He is so very important to me, and I love him a lot.
I wish I could better anticipate my hormones so that I could go live in a cave for about ten days every month so that my PMS doesn't rear its ugly head and screw up every good thing I have.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Heartbroken
I am so sad today. I've lost my best friend.
I overreacted to a situation, said some things I really didn't mean, and forced an all-or-nothing confrontation. I want to take it all back and go back to the way things were, but I'm not sure it's possible. I'm afraid the damage is done.
The thing is, I know in my heart that I can't live without him. He is my best friend, my drinking buddy, my confidant, my comforter, my sounding board, my truth-teller, and my equal in every way. I have never known anyone who challenges me, accepts me, respects me, cares about me, and instinctually understands me the way this man does. Aside from my children, there is no one more important to me than him. Yet I pushed him away in a temporary rush of anger... I hurt the one person I swore I would never hurt, and I'm not sure he can forgive me, because I know I can't forgive myself.
I would do just about anything to fix this. I will beg forgiveness on my hands and knees if I have to. I am so full of regret, remorse, and horror. I can't stop crying, can't stop the physical pain of this grief, can't stop wishing I could erase what I've done.
I wish I knew why I act the way I do. I wish I could stop being so intense, so controlling, so emotional. I cause nothing but heartache and confusion, both for myself and for everyone I love.
I want my best friend back. I want it more than anything in the world.
I overreacted to a situation, said some things I really didn't mean, and forced an all-or-nothing confrontation. I want to take it all back and go back to the way things were, but I'm not sure it's possible. I'm afraid the damage is done.
The thing is, I know in my heart that I can't live without him. He is my best friend, my drinking buddy, my confidant, my comforter, my sounding board, my truth-teller, and my equal in every way. I have never known anyone who challenges me, accepts me, respects me, cares about me, and instinctually understands me the way this man does. Aside from my children, there is no one more important to me than him. Yet I pushed him away in a temporary rush of anger... I hurt the one person I swore I would never hurt, and I'm not sure he can forgive me, because I know I can't forgive myself.
I would do just about anything to fix this. I will beg forgiveness on my hands and knees if I have to. I am so full of regret, remorse, and horror. I can't stop crying, can't stop the physical pain of this grief, can't stop wishing I could erase what I've done.
I wish I knew why I act the way I do. I wish I could stop being so intense, so controlling, so emotional. I cause nothing but heartache and confusion, both for myself and for everyone I love.
I want my best friend back. I want it more than anything in the world.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
One Hundred Pounds!
Yeah, that's right. My surgery was 11 months ago today, and as of this morning I have lost 100 lbs. Unbelievable, right? Check out these pics:
Holy frickin' crap. Somebody pinch me. Hard.
Holy frickin' crap. Somebody pinch me. Hard.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Karaoke Contest
Did I mention that I am a finalist in the big karaoke contest at the bar where I hang out?
It's kinda funny. The prizes are not real spectacular, but several people have told me that they are depending on the cash being offered as first prize to better their lives. Okay... if you really think that a couple hundred bucks is gonna change your life, then you should be doing better things with your time than practicing for a crappy karaoke contest... like maybe getting a job or something. The second and third prizes are gift certificates to the bar.
So the contest is really just for fun, and apparently to lure more people up there on Sunday nights during football season.
I generally dislike competition, so I really don't care if I win or not. It's socially acceptable exhibitionism, which is right up my alley. Plus I get a chance to sing, and since I no longer sing at church I've shifted to the Church of Big Louie's Bar and Grill. And to top things off, I get to watch people and pick them apart as much as I want without worrying that they might see me watching and picking and be offended.
The first night of the contest, one of the finalists took the whole thing super duper seriously. He drank hot tea with lemon all night to warm his pipes up, and then he changed into a costume in the bathroom before he sang. What did he sing, you ask? The frickin' Monster Mash. Complete with the Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre impersonations. Now I ask you: why would you feel the need to keep your vocal cords supple for such a gay song? I mean really. The costume I can kinda see... I mean, you can't really hope to be taken seriously with a song like that, so you might as well ham it up. But the hot tea... I mean, I was sitting there sucking down Southern Hospitalities and chain smoking, and I managed to stumble my way into the finals. Why get your undies all in a bunch over nothing?
What was really funny was the guy's wife. She was there for moral support, and while he was singing she was up there dancing like he was Tom Jones or something. I was a little surprised she didn't throw her panties at him or flash her boobs. I'm glad she didn't go that far, though... she was old and not real attractive. For a brief second I thought about the sad sickness of the fact that she seemed to be getting all hot and bothered about this little guy singing the Monster Mash... I mean, what does that say about their sex life??? Kinky.
The only problem I have with the whole costume thing is wondering what this guy is gonna wear for the finals. Does this mean I have to wear a costume too? Maybe if I show up flashing a lot of cleavage and then spill hot tea with lemon on my top I can score the third prize gift certificate... although I could burn that up in one evening of drinking, so it would hardly be worth it.
It's kinda funny. The prizes are not real spectacular, but several people have told me that they are depending on the cash being offered as first prize to better their lives. Okay... if you really think that a couple hundred bucks is gonna change your life, then you should be doing better things with your time than practicing for a crappy karaoke contest... like maybe getting a job or something. The second and third prizes are gift certificates to the bar.
So the contest is really just for fun, and apparently to lure more people up there on Sunday nights during football season.
I generally dislike competition, so I really don't care if I win or not. It's socially acceptable exhibitionism, which is right up my alley. Plus I get a chance to sing, and since I no longer sing at church I've shifted to the Church of Big Louie's Bar and Grill. And to top things off, I get to watch people and pick them apart as much as I want without worrying that they might see me watching and picking and be offended.
The first night of the contest, one of the finalists took the whole thing super duper seriously. He drank hot tea with lemon all night to warm his pipes up, and then he changed into a costume in the bathroom before he sang. What did he sing, you ask? The frickin' Monster Mash. Complete with the Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre impersonations. Now I ask you: why would you feel the need to keep your vocal cords supple for such a gay song? I mean really. The costume I can kinda see... I mean, you can't really hope to be taken seriously with a song like that, so you might as well ham it up. But the hot tea... I mean, I was sitting there sucking down Southern Hospitalities and chain smoking, and I managed to stumble my way into the finals. Why get your undies all in a bunch over nothing?
What was really funny was the guy's wife. She was there for moral support, and while he was singing she was up there dancing like he was Tom Jones or something. I was a little surprised she didn't throw her panties at him or flash her boobs. I'm glad she didn't go that far, though... she was old and not real attractive. For a brief second I thought about the sad sickness of the fact that she seemed to be getting all hot and bothered about this little guy singing the Monster Mash... I mean, what does that say about their sex life??? Kinky.
The only problem I have with the whole costume thing is wondering what this guy is gonna wear for the finals. Does this mean I have to wear a costume too? Maybe if I show up flashing a lot of cleavage and then spill hot tea with lemon on my top I can score the third prize gift certificate... although I could burn that up in one evening of drinking, so it would hardly be worth it.
Movies I wanna see
1. Jackass Number Two
I loved the first Jackass movie. There is something absolutely hilarious about people getting hurt, especially when they're doing it to themselves out of their own stupidity. The first time I saw Jackass (yeah, I saw it more than once and it never got less funny to me) I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. I can only imagine how much stupider (i.e. funnier) this one will be.
2. The Grudge 2
The first one was soooooo creepy. I love horror movies... always have, always will. The scarier the better. A movie with pissed off ghosts? Awesome. A sequel where the pissed off ghosts are even more pissed off? Priceless.
3. Saw III
The Saw movies are some of the goriest I've seen. Gore is good. Plus, the storyline is so twisted. There is nothing better than a suspenseful, gory movie that makes you have to think a little to figure out where the plot is going.
4. The Departed
Okay... this one is a departure for me. Not funny, not scary. But it has a great cast (except for Leonardo DiCaprio... could his head possibly get any larger???) and the plot sounds interesting. And Mark Wahlberg... yummy.
I'm trying to talk my husband and my best friend into seeing Jackass 2 with me. Yeah, they talk like they're too highbrow for such a dumb movie, but I know in my heart that they would both laugh their asses off. They secretly love to see dumbasses getting injured, almost as much as I do. At least I'm honest about it. I'd probably have an easier time talking them into seeing The Departed, but I'm going balls to the wall and pushing for Jackass.
The horror movies I will definitely have to see alone. No one I know could be cajoled into seeing them with me. So I will go to matinee showings, probably be the only one in the whole theater (not a terrible thing, because I can rattle my wrappers, laugh at inappropriate times and talk back to the screen as much as I want) and be sufficiently creeped out.
I loved the first Jackass movie. There is something absolutely hilarious about people getting hurt, especially when they're doing it to themselves out of their own stupidity. The first time I saw Jackass (yeah, I saw it more than once and it never got less funny to me) I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. I can only imagine how much stupider (i.e. funnier) this one will be.
2. The Grudge 2
The first one was soooooo creepy. I love horror movies... always have, always will. The scarier the better. A movie with pissed off ghosts? Awesome. A sequel where the pissed off ghosts are even more pissed off? Priceless.
3. Saw III
The Saw movies are some of the goriest I've seen. Gore is good. Plus, the storyline is so twisted. There is nothing better than a suspenseful, gory movie that makes you have to think a little to figure out where the plot is going.
4. The Departed
Okay... this one is a departure for me. Not funny, not scary. But it has a great cast (except for Leonardo DiCaprio... could his head possibly get any larger???) and the plot sounds interesting. And Mark Wahlberg... yummy.
I'm trying to talk my husband and my best friend into seeing Jackass 2 with me. Yeah, they talk like they're too highbrow for such a dumb movie, but I know in my heart that they would both laugh their asses off. They secretly love to see dumbasses getting injured, almost as much as I do. At least I'm honest about it. I'd probably have an easier time talking them into seeing The Departed, but I'm going balls to the wall and pushing for Jackass.
The horror movies I will definitely have to see alone. No one I know could be cajoled into seeing them with me. So I will go to matinee showings, probably be the only one in the whole theater (not a terrible thing, because I can rattle my wrappers, laugh at inappropriate times and talk back to the screen as much as I want) and be sufficiently creeped out.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Soooooooo gross!!!
So yeah.... school again last night.
Once again, The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up was in top form. Didn't do the readings, yet had soooooooooo much to say. Poor "LeeAnn" (at least that's what The Thing thinks her name is) had to be in a discussion group with him for the first time, and by the end of class the poor girl was about to blow a gasket. In all the time I've known her I've never seen her that pissed off. I felt bad for leaving her to fend for herself with The Thing, but come on... I had to be in a group with him last week, and I just could not do it again. I would've had to injure him. Bad.
Here's what was really gross. Computer Boy was sitting a few seats down from me, and I had an unfortunate view of an awful wardrobe malfunction. Ya know how some guys wear their pants waaaaay too low, and when they sit down or bend over you get almost a full moon? Well, Computer Boy's pants had slid so far down that 3/4 of his bare ass was in direct contact with his chair. Okay, could he not feel that????? I would think that he would recognize that the texture of the chair was markedly different than that of his pants, or that he would at least feel the draft on his skin. He must have a numb ass, because he just sat there making no move whatsoever to pull his frickin' pants up. For like at least an hour. Luckily the chair he was sitting in was different than all the other chairs in the room, so I can avoid ever sitting in it. I mean really. How rude. Now that chair probably smells like ass and is covered in E. coli. Get a frickin' belt, Computer Boy. Or maybe all men who wear their pants too low should be required by law to wear a sensor that beeps or gives them a little electric shock when they start showing too much coin slot.
Here's something that bummed me out and pissed me off. I had a really sucky day yesterday, and when I get angry or anxious I clench my teeth like there's no tomorrow. So I pretty much had my jaw clenched all day, and it stayed clenched at school as my frustration level continued to build. All of a sudden I realize that I have CHIPPED A FRICKIN' TOOTH. That's right friends. Right in the middle of class, I manage to clench a little piece of one of my front bottom teeth right off. I guess I need to work on stress reduction, or else wear a mouth guard all the time. Holy crap. So now I have to go to the frickin' dentist to get my tooth filed down or something. I hate going to the dentist. I hate the smell of dentistry, the whine of the drills, the taste of the tooth polish, the easy listening music... I hate it all. The very first time I saw my new dentist I told her to give me nitrous for any and all procedures. The only way I can tolerate having stuff done to my teeth without either gagging or having a panic attack is to be high as a frickin' kite. Oh no... I'm clenching my teeth again...
Once again, The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up was in top form. Didn't do the readings, yet had soooooooooo much to say. Poor "LeeAnn" (at least that's what The Thing thinks her name is) had to be in a discussion group with him for the first time, and by the end of class the poor girl was about to blow a gasket. In all the time I've known her I've never seen her that pissed off. I felt bad for leaving her to fend for herself with The Thing, but come on... I had to be in a group with him last week, and I just could not do it again. I would've had to injure him. Bad.
Here's what was really gross. Computer Boy was sitting a few seats down from me, and I had an unfortunate view of an awful wardrobe malfunction. Ya know how some guys wear their pants waaaaay too low, and when they sit down or bend over you get almost a full moon? Well, Computer Boy's pants had slid so far down that 3/4 of his bare ass was in direct contact with his chair. Okay, could he not feel that????? I would think that he would recognize that the texture of the chair was markedly different than that of his pants, or that he would at least feel the draft on his skin. He must have a numb ass, because he just sat there making no move whatsoever to pull his frickin' pants up. For like at least an hour. Luckily the chair he was sitting in was different than all the other chairs in the room, so I can avoid ever sitting in it. I mean really. How rude. Now that chair probably smells like ass and is covered in E. coli. Get a frickin' belt, Computer Boy. Or maybe all men who wear their pants too low should be required by law to wear a sensor that beeps or gives them a little electric shock when they start showing too much coin slot.
Here's something that bummed me out and pissed me off. I had a really sucky day yesterday, and when I get angry or anxious I clench my teeth like there's no tomorrow. So I pretty much had my jaw clenched all day, and it stayed clenched at school as my frustration level continued to build. All of a sudden I realize that I have CHIPPED A FRICKIN' TOOTH. That's right friends. Right in the middle of class, I manage to clench a little piece of one of my front bottom teeth right off. I guess I need to work on stress reduction, or else wear a mouth guard all the time. Holy crap. So now I have to go to the frickin' dentist to get my tooth filed down or something. I hate going to the dentist. I hate the smell of dentistry, the whine of the drills, the taste of the tooth polish, the easy listening music... I hate it all. The very first time I saw my new dentist I told her to give me nitrous for any and all procedures. The only way I can tolerate having stuff done to my teeth without either gagging or having a panic attack is to be high as a frickin' kite. Oh no... I'm clenching my teeth again...
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Stupid frickin' school
Yeah, I've just about had it with The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up.
First, he strolls into class about a half hour late last night. Now, this is nothing new. He's usually late, but he seems to make less and less of an effort to get to class on time every dang week.
Second, he sits smack next to me. What he didn't realize was that he'd put himself in a very dangerous place. I was feeling extra bitchy last night, and I actually felt the physical urge to start kicking him under the table. Hard. Like hard enough to leave large bruises. I restrained myself of course, but that man has no idea how close he came to a good shinning.
Third, he once again monopolized the discussion even though he had no frickin' idea what we were discussing. Every time he opened his damned mouth I started feeling that shin kickin' urge again. It never ceases to amaze me how far off the topic he always seems to be. He's quoting scriptures that have no relevance to the discussion, rambling on and on about who knows what, and preaching mini sermons. Gearing up for that future ordaination, I guess. If you look around the room when he starts talking, you'll notice that as soon as he says, "Yeah, when you said that I started thinking about..." (which is the way every ridiculous utterance starts out with him) everyone else in the room gets this zoned out look on their face: the eyes glaze over, the gaze drops to the table, people start picking lint off their clothes or doodling, and the guy who plays games and crap on his laptop all night long totally disengages and drifts into a Sim fantasy world. How does this dumbass not see how the rest of the class reacts to him???
Fourth, we got split up into discussion groups to talk about this reading that was posted online. This other lady and I got stuck with The Thing. She and I are looking at the reading (thank God she printed it out and brought it, because I forgot to bring a copy), and The Thing looks all confused and goes, "Uh, did the teacher hand those out last week?" Um, yeah... you were there last week.... did you get a frickin' handout??? I wanted to just ignore him, but I just couldn't be that cruel... yet. So I tell him all the readings that aren't in the text books are online, JUST LIKE THE PROF TOLD US THEY WOULD BE. He goes, "Ooooh.... I guess I didn't go online." Really? I didn't see that one coming. So he goes up front and asks the prof for an extra copy. He comes back, and we tell him what section we're discussing, and even the page it's on. By this time this other lady and I are pretty much done discussing and are talking about what we're going to present to the class. All of a sudden I hear The Thing reading out loud to himself... AND HE'S READING THE WRONG DAMNED SECTION. Holy crap, could he be any dumber???? So he sidles up and wants to know what we got out of the reading, and what we're going to say about it. We totally ignored him. Then he starts rambling on about God answering people's prayers by giving us the church to provide for us, and how that's the way our cohort works. Yeah, well... pray away for someone to pick up your slack in class and make it easier for you to bullshit your way to a degree, buddy. Just so ya know, it ain't gonna be me. So we just continued to ignore him. I couldn't even LOOK at him I was so pissed. So anyway, each group presents their interpretation of the reading. After our group says its piece, The Thing starts in with his little analogy of our cohort being like the church, there to help others. First of all, that wasn't even a topic in the reading. Second of all, the prof never makes a move to shut him the hell up. Lastly, there's no way in hell any of us are going to go out of our way to help him because he is such a frickin' slacker. God helps those who help themselves, dude. Or those who at least know when to shut their frickin' yaps in class.
I was pissed when I left school, still pissed when I got home, and STILL pissed when I went to bed. And, as you can see, I still haven't quite let go of my anger. But at least I'm not yelling about it anymore.
However, as I write this, I'm sending some telepathic shin kicks The Thing's way. I hope he feels them.
First, he strolls into class about a half hour late last night. Now, this is nothing new. He's usually late, but he seems to make less and less of an effort to get to class on time every dang week.
Second, he sits smack next to me. What he didn't realize was that he'd put himself in a very dangerous place. I was feeling extra bitchy last night, and I actually felt the physical urge to start kicking him under the table. Hard. Like hard enough to leave large bruises. I restrained myself of course, but that man has no idea how close he came to a good shinning.
Third, he once again monopolized the discussion even though he had no frickin' idea what we were discussing. Every time he opened his damned mouth I started feeling that shin kickin' urge again. It never ceases to amaze me how far off the topic he always seems to be. He's quoting scriptures that have no relevance to the discussion, rambling on and on about who knows what, and preaching mini sermons. Gearing up for that future ordaination, I guess. If you look around the room when he starts talking, you'll notice that as soon as he says, "Yeah, when you said that I started thinking about..." (which is the way every ridiculous utterance starts out with him) everyone else in the room gets this zoned out look on their face: the eyes glaze over, the gaze drops to the table, people start picking lint off their clothes or doodling, and the guy who plays games and crap on his laptop all night long totally disengages and drifts into a Sim fantasy world. How does this dumbass not see how the rest of the class reacts to him???
Fourth, we got split up into discussion groups to talk about this reading that was posted online. This other lady and I got stuck with The Thing. She and I are looking at the reading (thank God she printed it out and brought it, because I forgot to bring a copy), and The Thing looks all confused and goes, "Uh, did the teacher hand those out last week?" Um, yeah... you were there last week.... did you get a frickin' handout??? I wanted to just ignore him, but I just couldn't be that cruel... yet. So I tell him all the readings that aren't in the text books are online, JUST LIKE THE PROF TOLD US THEY WOULD BE. He goes, "Ooooh.... I guess I didn't go online." Really? I didn't see that one coming. So he goes up front and asks the prof for an extra copy. He comes back, and we tell him what section we're discussing, and even the page it's on. By this time this other lady and I are pretty much done discussing and are talking about what we're going to present to the class. All of a sudden I hear The Thing reading out loud to himself... AND HE'S READING THE WRONG DAMNED SECTION. Holy crap, could he be any dumber???? So he sidles up and wants to know what we got out of the reading, and what we're going to say about it. We totally ignored him. Then he starts rambling on about God answering people's prayers by giving us the church to provide for us, and how that's the way our cohort works. Yeah, well... pray away for someone to pick up your slack in class and make it easier for you to bullshit your way to a degree, buddy. Just so ya know, it ain't gonna be me. So we just continued to ignore him. I couldn't even LOOK at him I was so pissed. So anyway, each group presents their interpretation of the reading. After our group says its piece, The Thing starts in with his little analogy of our cohort being like the church, there to help others. First of all, that wasn't even a topic in the reading. Second of all, the prof never makes a move to shut him the hell up. Lastly, there's no way in hell any of us are going to go out of our way to help him because he is such a frickin' slacker. God helps those who help themselves, dude. Or those who at least know when to shut their frickin' yaps in class.
I was pissed when I left school, still pissed when I got home, and STILL pissed when I went to bed. And, as you can see, I still haven't quite let go of my anger. But at least I'm not yelling about it anymore.
However, as I write this, I'm sending some telepathic shin kicks The Thing's way. I hope he feels them.
Something to think about...
My husband criticized me for being "balls to the wall" all the time. He says that there are some things I should just not say, and that I need to learn to let things go. Hmmmmm. My best friend agrees that I can sometimes be freakishly intense.
I do know this about myself, don't get me wrong. My mom used to tell me that I've been intense since the day I was born. I feel everything very deeply, almost to an unhealthy extreme. I analyze everything and everyone, sometimes too much. I have a hard time letting things go.
Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I can't change the way I am. It seems obvious to me that this is how I'm wired, and maybe the trick is to learn a little self-censorship rather than try to change the way I experience life. Sometimes, though, I just have to say what's on my mind before it eats me alive.
Something for me to think about, I guess...
I do know this about myself, don't get me wrong. My mom used to tell me that I've been intense since the day I was born. I feel everything very deeply, almost to an unhealthy extreme. I analyze everything and everyone, sometimes too much. I have a hard time letting things go.
Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I can't change the way I am. It seems obvious to me that this is how I'm wired, and maybe the trick is to learn a little self-censorship rather than try to change the way I experience life. Sometimes, though, I just have to say what's on my mind before it eats me alive.
Something for me to think about, I guess...
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
BlahBlahFricketyBlah
I started school again last night. This is my last year... in April I will finally earn my B.A. in Christian Ministry. Sweet.
This new class is on the significance of the New Testament. Very interesting subject, and the prof seems pretty cool. Tough, but cool. It's weird... he's several years younger than me, and he has a Ph.D. Makes me feel like a bit of an underacheiver.
The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up is back with a vengeance. He pissed me off sooooooooooooo much last night. First of all, he didn't even open his textbooks before class. The bindings weren't even cracked. He even said that he didn't do any of the readings. However, he had a lot to say. How the hell can you participate in a discussion of the text in an intelligent manner when you haven't even read it????? Well, you can't. And he didn't. Blahblahblah, all frickin' night. "Yeah, when you said that, I started thinking about how so-and-so got himself a puppy, and how he wanted to bless that puppy..." What the frick????? What does that have to do with the formation of the New Testament canon in the third century???? The worst part was that the prof didn't seem able or willing to just cut him off and get back to the topic. I'm sure we could've gotten out of there at least a half hour earlier if that guy would've just put a frickin' sock in it.
The funny thing is that he's STILL calling that one lady "LeeAnn", and that's not even her name! For cripe's sake, we've been taking classes with her for a year and a half, and he still can't get her frickin' name right no matter how many times we tell him it's NOT "LeeAnn"! I mean, come on!
Apparently, this guy is going to be ordained as a Baptist minister in his church. I would hate, hate, frickin' HATE to go to his church and listen to one of his sermons. It would take like two hours, and it would most likely be a rambling, pointless, mispronounced mess and a half.
I still totally do not get how he continues to make his way through the program. He turns all his crap in late, if he turns it in at all. I know for a fact that he has turned in papers over a month after the end of a class. How can he be passing any class we've taken when he never does the frickin' work???
I know I shouldn't let this get to me, but it does. I work my frickin' ass off in school. I study, highlight, take notes, write my papers and turn them in on time. He has no job, has no kids at home, has a buttload more free time than I do, yet he never does the work for any class we've taken but somehow manages to pass. What the hell does he do all day???
Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system I feel much better. In my defense, I do have a bit of PMS this week so I'm feeling extra bitchy. Hopefully it will be gone by the next time I have class. If not, The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up might end up getting his ass kicked.
This new class is on the significance of the New Testament. Very interesting subject, and the prof seems pretty cool. Tough, but cool. It's weird... he's several years younger than me, and he has a Ph.D. Makes me feel like a bit of an underacheiver.
The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up is back with a vengeance. He pissed me off sooooooooooooo much last night. First of all, he didn't even open his textbooks before class. The bindings weren't even cracked. He even said that he didn't do any of the readings. However, he had a lot to say. How the hell can you participate in a discussion of the text in an intelligent manner when you haven't even read it????? Well, you can't. And he didn't. Blahblahblah, all frickin' night. "Yeah, when you said that, I started thinking about how so-and-so got himself a puppy, and how he wanted to bless that puppy..." What the frick????? What does that have to do with the formation of the New Testament canon in the third century???? The worst part was that the prof didn't seem able or willing to just cut him off and get back to the topic. I'm sure we could've gotten out of there at least a half hour earlier if that guy would've just put a frickin' sock in it.
The funny thing is that he's STILL calling that one lady "LeeAnn", and that's not even her name! For cripe's sake, we've been taking classes with her for a year and a half, and he still can't get her frickin' name right no matter how many times we tell him it's NOT "LeeAnn"! I mean, come on!
Apparently, this guy is going to be ordained as a Baptist minister in his church. I would hate, hate, frickin' HATE to go to his church and listen to one of his sermons. It would take like two hours, and it would most likely be a rambling, pointless, mispronounced mess and a half.
I still totally do not get how he continues to make his way through the program. He turns all his crap in late, if he turns it in at all. I know for a fact that he has turned in papers over a month after the end of a class. How can he be passing any class we've taken when he never does the frickin' work???
I know I shouldn't let this get to me, but it does. I work my frickin' ass off in school. I study, highlight, take notes, write my papers and turn them in on time. He has no job, has no kids at home, has a buttload more free time than I do, yet he never does the work for any class we've taken but somehow manages to pass. What the hell does he do all day???
Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system I feel much better. In my defense, I do have a bit of PMS this week so I'm feeling extra bitchy. Hopefully it will be gone by the next time I have class. If not, The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up might end up getting his ass kicked.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Woooooooooohoooooooooo!!!!!
The kids are back in school!!!!!!!!
Horrible of me, right? I should be cherishing every single moment I have with my beautiful children, right? Shya, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.
Don't get me wrong... I love my kids so much it hurts, but I also love my free time. My little ones have to catch the bus even before my teenagers, because they go to a charter school that only has four bus routes for the entire Twin Cities area. Luckily their bus stop is right by our house, so I don't have to drive them to a centralized location. One morning I let them sleep in for an hour and drove them to school so they wouldn't have to sit on the bus for an hour, and get this: THEY WERE PISSED OFF. They actually want to ride the bus for a frickin' hour each way because they have friends on the bus. Fine by me, because that means that I can do whatever I want between 6:45 AM and 3:45 PM. Nine hours of me time, baby. Sa-weet. Plus, they started school almost a full week before the regular school district, so I was out shopping while the other moms on the block were still wrangling kids.
I've started going to the gym again in the mornings. I didn't go all summer, and I felt really guilty about it. As punishment for my slacker ways, I've been working really hard. I'm especially working on my butt, abs, chest and arms. I've been doing 20-30 minutes on the elliptical, 20-30 minutes on the stationary bike, then lifting weights on the nautilus machines, and then doing ab crunches until I want to die. I've been steadily increasing my times, programs, levels and weights. My hope is to be significantly toned by the first anniversary of my weight loss surgery. I have a nice, long playlist of workout music, so that makes it easier. Lots of Prince, Guns 'n' Roses, Led Zeppelin, Violent Femmes, Aerosmith, Def Leppard and David Bowie, plus a little Elton John, Black Sabbath, Billy Joel, Kiss, Sex Pistols, and a couple selections from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Yeah, yeah... I know I'm a big geek, but I don't give a crap.
Well, off to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee before I hit the shower (yes, I'm still sitting here in my sweaty workout clothes) and gear up for an afternoon of errands.
Horrible of me, right? I should be cherishing every single moment I have with my beautiful children, right? Shya, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.
Don't get me wrong... I love my kids so much it hurts, but I also love my free time. My little ones have to catch the bus even before my teenagers, because they go to a charter school that only has four bus routes for the entire Twin Cities area. Luckily their bus stop is right by our house, so I don't have to drive them to a centralized location. One morning I let them sleep in for an hour and drove them to school so they wouldn't have to sit on the bus for an hour, and get this: THEY WERE PISSED OFF. They actually want to ride the bus for a frickin' hour each way because they have friends on the bus. Fine by me, because that means that I can do whatever I want between 6:45 AM and 3:45 PM. Nine hours of me time, baby. Sa-weet. Plus, they started school almost a full week before the regular school district, so I was out shopping while the other moms on the block were still wrangling kids.
I've started going to the gym again in the mornings. I didn't go all summer, and I felt really guilty about it. As punishment for my slacker ways, I've been working really hard. I'm especially working on my butt, abs, chest and arms. I've been doing 20-30 minutes on the elliptical, 20-30 minutes on the stationary bike, then lifting weights on the nautilus machines, and then doing ab crunches until I want to die. I've been steadily increasing my times, programs, levels and weights. My hope is to be significantly toned by the first anniversary of my weight loss surgery. I have a nice, long playlist of workout music, so that makes it easier. Lots of Prince, Guns 'n' Roses, Led Zeppelin, Violent Femmes, Aerosmith, Def Leppard and David Bowie, plus a little Elton John, Black Sabbath, Billy Joel, Kiss, Sex Pistols, and a couple selections from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Yeah, yeah... I know I'm a big geek, but I don't give a crap.
Well, off to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee before I hit the shower (yes, I'm still sitting here in my sweaty workout clothes) and gear up for an afternoon of errands.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Alright, I'm gonna come clean...
Some of you who read this blog and don't know me well have asked how I managed to lose 94 lbs in 9 months. I have skirted around the issue by saying that I am on a high-protein, low-carb diet, which is not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. For those who are struggling with being overweight and overeating, I feel that I am doing a disservice by not being totally honest. So here goes (taking a deep breath)...
I had gastric bypass surgery on November 17th, 2005. There, I said it.
Now, some people are under the misguided assumption that weight loss surgery is the easy way out, the magic cure, the silver bullet. My older sister actually said, "You cheated." I am here to tell you that it's not that easy.
When other women tell me they are jealous of me I laugh. Yes, I am at a normal weight. Yes, I can wear a size 6. Yes, I can exercise, enjoy physical activity, and have a lot more energy and stamina. Yes, I look like a totally different person. But it's not all sunshine and lollipops.
I had this surgery because I was diabetic, had heart problems, had acid reflux disease that was burning a hole in my esophagus, and have a neurological disease that was made worse by my excessive weight. I ate when I was bored, stressed, sad, happy, angry... food was my drug of choice. I finally came to the realization that my eating habits would kill me, and that, after 18 years of yo-yo dieting, schemes and scams, and exercise programs I couldn't commit to, I was powerless to change. I knew that I had to make it physically impossible to overeat or I would be dead within ten years.
I am one of the few people who has been blessed enough to not have any real complications, but there are plenty of people who end up with infections, strictures that close off the opening to their stomach, vomiting, paralysis of the stomach and intestinal muscles, and some even die as a result of the surgery.
I can't eat sweets. No candy, no desserts, no regular soda, no birthday cake, no pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. It is awkward to refuse dessert at a party or a dinner at someone's house, and more awkward to explain why.Too much sugar causes a condition called dumping, where the intestines dump loads of fluid into my bloodstream to counteract the sugar overload. My heart races, I feel like I'm burning up, I get light-headed, and generally feel like I want to die for about 30 minutes. Then I have to sleep for an hour or so to recover. It's bad enough when it happens at home, but it's happened a couple times in public, and it really blows. The same thing happens when I eat things that are greasy or fatty.
I have to avoid fresh-baked bread, because I don't produce enough stomach acid to break it down, so it becomes a big lump in my stomach and gets stuck. I have to avoid rice because it expands in my stomach, which is about the size of my thumb, and gets stuck. I have to chew each bite of food to the consistency of applesauce because if I swallow something that is bigger than my stomach opening (about the size of a pencil eraser), it will get stuck. When something gets stuck, the only thing I can do is try to puke it out. If that doesn't work, I will end up in the ER at Abbott-Northwestern, getting the stuck food removed by endoscopy. Not fun, and definitely not attractive. So far, my fear of such distress and my fear of making a spectacle of myself in public has kept me from breaking the eating rules of a bariatric post-op.
I have to exercise at least three times a week, just like anyone else. I do an hour of cardio and a lot of strength training three to five days a week. If I don't do this, I run the risk of gaining the weight back.
I eat three small meals a day, and I avoid snacking as much as possible. I drink anywhere from 42-64 oz of water every day. I work hard to get in 50-80 grams of protein a day. I avoid carbs. I average 500-700 calories a day. I take multivitamins and chewable calcium supplements every day, and I give myself a vitamin B12 injection once a month. Sometimes I snack way more than I should, and I have been known to make a meal out of a stack of barbecue flavored Pringles and then try to justify it.
On the appearances front, I still have an extensive map of stretch marks from all the excess weight and several pregnancies. I have loose skin that can only be corrected by having several expensive plastic surgeries. It is hard to look at myself in the mirror without my clothes, because I look like the saggy-baggy elephant from that Little Golden Book story. I am a wreck. My hair started falling out about two months after my surgery as a result of the shock of major surgery on my system coupled with accelerated weight loss. Now that I'm through losing weight my hair is starting to get thicker again, but a lot of it is coming in white.
On the emotional side, I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore. I feel like I am capable of so much more than I gave myself credit for before surgery, and I feel I have more to offer now that I am healthy, but I am not at all sure how to go about reaching for the happiness and fulfillment I feel I want and deserve. Also, men look at me differently and treat me differently. At first I was thoroughly disgusted, but now I've come to terms with it and can see the humor in it. I am ashamed to say that I have occasionally used my appearance to get what I want, like getting the cook at McDonald's to make me an egg mcmuffin even though it was at least a half hour after breakfast ended, or letting a guy at the bar buy me a drink even though I told him he would get nothing in return. I am still trying to come to terms with my appearance. Let me tell you, I've learned that there is safety in obesity, because it can make you invisible to the world. All of a sudden people see me, and it's really kind of scary. I'm not always sure how to react. Suddenly I'm vulnerable in a way that I've never been before. I do miss the anonymity I had when I was overweight.
Now that I've stated the downside of weight loss surgery, let me say that I would do it all again in a split second if I had to. There is nothing like being able to play with my kids, going for long walks, fitting on the rides at Valleyfair, being able to stay awake all day, and sleeping well at night. I don't miss my pre-surgery regimen of eight different medications twice a day, or the finger sticks to check my blood sugar four times a day. Even with the drawbacks, even with the strict food rules, even though I'm having to redefine who I am, having this surgery was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.
(Another deep breath)... and that's the whole story. My apologies to those of you who feel I have misled you up until this point. I feel much better now that I've come clean.
I had gastric bypass surgery on November 17th, 2005. There, I said it.
Now, some people are under the misguided assumption that weight loss surgery is the easy way out, the magic cure, the silver bullet. My older sister actually said, "You cheated." I am here to tell you that it's not that easy.
When other women tell me they are jealous of me I laugh. Yes, I am at a normal weight. Yes, I can wear a size 6. Yes, I can exercise, enjoy physical activity, and have a lot more energy and stamina. Yes, I look like a totally different person. But it's not all sunshine and lollipops.
I had this surgery because I was diabetic, had heart problems, had acid reflux disease that was burning a hole in my esophagus, and have a neurological disease that was made worse by my excessive weight. I ate when I was bored, stressed, sad, happy, angry... food was my drug of choice. I finally came to the realization that my eating habits would kill me, and that, after 18 years of yo-yo dieting, schemes and scams, and exercise programs I couldn't commit to, I was powerless to change. I knew that I had to make it physically impossible to overeat or I would be dead within ten years.
I am one of the few people who has been blessed enough to not have any real complications, but there are plenty of people who end up with infections, strictures that close off the opening to their stomach, vomiting, paralysis of the stomach and intestinal muscles, and some even die as a result of the surgery.
I can't eat sweets. No candy, no desserts, no regular soda, no birthday cake, no pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. It is awkward to refuse dessert at a party or a dinner at someone's house, and more awkward to explain why.Too much sugar causes a condition called dumping, where the intestines dump loads of fluid into my bloodstream to counteract the sugar overload. My heart races, I feel like I'm burning up, I get light-headed, and generally feel like I want to die for about 30 minutes. Then I have to sleep for an hour or so to recover. It's bad enough when it happens at home, but it's happened a couple times in public, and it really blows. The same thing happens when I eat things that are greasy or fatty.
I have to avoid fresh-baked bread, because I don't produce enough stomach acid to break it down, so it becomes a big lump in my stomach and gets stuck. I have to avoid rice because it expands in my stomach, which is about the size of my thumb, and gets stuck. I have to chew each bite of food to the consistency of applesauce because if I swallow something that is bigger than my stomach opening (about the size of a pencil eraser), it will get stuck. When something gets stuck, the only thing I can do is try to puke it out. If that doesn't work, I will end up in the ER at Abbott-Northwestern, getting the stuck food removed by endoscopy. Not fun, and definitely not attractive. So far, my fear of such distress and my fear of making a spectacle of myself in public has kept me from breaking the eating rules of a bariatric post-op.
I have to exercise at least three times a week, just like anyone else. I do an hour of cardio and a lot of strength training three to five days a week. If I don't do this, I run the risk of gaining the weight back.
I eat three small meals a day, and I avoid snacking as much as possible. I drink anywhere from 42-64 oz of water every day. I work hard to get in 50-80 grams of protein a day. I avoid carbs. I average 500-700 calories a day. I take multivitamins and chewable calcium supplements every day, and I give myself a vitamin B12 injection once a month. Sometimes I snack way more than I should, and I have been known to make a meal out of a stack of barbecue flavored Pringles and then try to justify it.
On the appearances front, I still have an extensive map of stretch marks from all the excess weight and several pregnancies. I have loose skin that can only be corrected by having several expensive plastic surgeries. It is hard to look at myself in the mirror without my clothes, because I look like the saggy-baggy elephant from that Little Golden Book story. I am a wreck. My hair started falling out about two months after my surgery as a result of the shock of major surgery on my system coupled with accelerated weight loss. Now that I'm through losing weight my hair is starting to get thicker again, but a lot of it is coming in white.
On the emotional side, I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore. I feel like I am capable of so much more than I gave myself credit for before surgery, and I feel I have more to offer now that I am healthy, but I am not at all sure how to go about reaching for the happiness and fulfillment I feel I want and deserve. Also, men look at me differently and treat me differently. At first I was thoroughly disgusted, but now I've come to terms with it and can see the humor in it. I am ashamed to say that I have occasionally used my appearance to get what I want, like getting the cook at McDonald's to make me an egg mcmuffin even though it was at least a half hour after breakfast ended, or letting a guy at the bar buy me a drink even though I told him he would get nothing in return. I am still trying to come to terms with my appearance. Let me tell you, I've learned that there is safety in obesity, because it can make you invisible to the world. All of a sudden people see me, and it's really kind of scary. I'm not always sure how to react. Suddenly I'm vulnerable in a way that I've never been before. I do miss the anonymity I had when I was overweight.
Now that I've stated the downside of weight loss surgery, let me say that I would do it all again in a split second if I had to. There is nothing like being able to play with my kids, going for long walks, fitting on the rides at Valleyfair, being able to stay awake all day, and sleeping well at night. I don't miss my pre-surgery regimen of eight different medications twice a day, or the finger sticks to check my blood sugar four times a day. Even with the drawbacks, even with the strict food rules, even though I'm having to redefine who I am, having this surgery was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.
(Another deep breath)... and that's the whole story. My apologies to those of you who feel I have misled you up until this point. I feel much better now that I've come clean.
The Fair is a veritable smorgasbord-orgasbord-orgasbord...
We went to the "Great Minnesota Get-Together" on Friday night... every year I get more disenchanted with the frickin' fair.
The prices are outrageous... I mean, two bucks for a cup of Crystal Light lemonade??? Come on! And you know the midway rides are getting lame when the operator apologizes to you as you exit the ride.
The thing that gets me every year are the frickin' crowds. Why is it that the state fair removes everyone's ability to navigate and to avoid trampling people? If you know me well you know that I hate, hate, hate being touched by strangers. I get the "fight-or-flight" feeling going, and I get anxious and pissed off. One year, when I was really pregnant and couldn't control my emotions, I got so pissed off about people bumping into me constantly that I started pushing back. My parents were appalled. This year I was able to control my inner bitch, but I left wanting to beat down the next stranger who bumped into me, came to a dead stop in front of me, or came walking straight at me with no intention of stepping to one side or the other. Do not engage me in a standoff, people, because I can guarantee that you will not win.
The funniest thing I saw were these two old ladies who were riding giant tricycles. I kid you not. Adult sized trikes. With baskets on the front. Holy crap. I turned away to get my phone so I could snap a picture, but when I turned back they had gotten off the trikes to buy some cheese curds. Dang it. I gotta learn to move faster, because my prey always manages to escape before I can snap a pic.
I was sort of proud of myself as far as my food choices. I went for the high protein just like I'm supposed to do. I did cheat a little by drinking with my food so I could eat more, but all in all I was good. I had sauteed gator, shrimp cocktail, frozen grapes, and two sugar-free lemonades.
The kids were well-behaved, which made things a great deal easier. By around 9 PM they started whining about wanting to go home, but that was cool. We were about ready to go anyway.
I'm kinda glad we went for the kids' sakes, but I can't say I would mind skipping it next year.
The prices are outrageous... I mean, two bucks for a cup of Crystal Light lemonade??? Come on! And you know the midway rides are getting lame when the operator apologizes to you as you exit the ride.
The thing that gets me every year are the frickin' crowds. Why is it that the state fair removes everyone's ability to navigate and to avoid trampling people? If you know me well you know that I hate, hate, hate being touched by strangers. I get the "fight-or-flight" feeling going, and I get anxious and pissed off. One year, when I was really pregnant and couldn't control my emotions, I got so pissed off about people bumping into me constantly that I started pushing back. My parents were appalled. This year I was able to control my inner bitch, but I left wanting to beat down the next stranger who bumped into me, came to a dead stop in front of me, or came walking straight at me with no intention of stepping to one side or the other. Do not engage me in a standoff, people, because I can guarantee that you will not win.
The funniest thing I saw were these two old ladies who were riding giant tricycles. I kid you not. Adult sized trikes. With baskets on the front. Holy crap. I turned away to get my phone so I could snap a picture, but when I turned back they had gotten off the trikes to buy some cheese curds. Dang it. I gotta learn to move faster, because my prey always manages to escape before I can snap a pic.
I was sort of proud of myself as far as my food choices. I went for the high protein just like I'm supposed to do. I did cheat a little by drinking with my food so I could eat more, but all in all I was good. I had sauteed gator, shrimp cocktail, frozen grapes, and two sugar-free lemonades.
The kids were well-behaved, which made things a great deal easier. By around 9 PM they started whining about wanting to go home, but that was cool. We were about ready to go anyway.
I'm kinda glad we went for the kids' sakes, but I can't say I would mind skipping it next year.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Poop coffee
After yesterday's post, my teenaged son tried to convince me that there are actually people who eat animal poop as a delicacy, but I totally didn't believe him. Just out of curiosity I asked my best friend, who is scary smart... I can ask him just about anything, and he usually knows the answer or knows where to find it. He told me about this rare coffee where the beans are pooped out of a little animal. I googled it, and it's totally true. Check this out: http://coffeetea.about.com/cs/kindsofcoffee/a/aakopiluwak.htm
http://animalcoffee.com/
Wow. I really don't think I would pay $160/lb for coffee beans that went through the digestive system of a little cat. But if someone offered me a cup I'd probably take a sip just for the hell of it.
http://animalcoffee.com/
Wow. I really don't think I would pay $160/lb for coffee beans that went through the digestive system of a little cat. But if someone offered me a cup I'd probably take a sip just for the hell of it.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
King Friday XIII, Detrol Spokesperson/ Disturbing things about PBS Kids
I was watching Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood today with one of my kids, and I suddenly remembered an episode that was totally weird.
It was in the Neighborhood of Makebelieve, and King Friday XIII was supposed to be looking at some royal paintings or something. All of a sudden he goes, "I'll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom," and he leaves. So the other characters stand around and make small talk for a minute until he comes back to finish looking at the paintings. It was really random, and it totally caught me off guard. And remember how Mr. Rogers used to go to factories and see how things were made? Well, I kid you not, in this same episode he went to a factory that made toilets.
This was not a faded memory from my childhood, either... this was less than a decade ago. I totally remember it because it made me laugh my ass off.
Another disturbing PBS fact: I totally remember that, when I was a kid watching Sesame Street, Big Bird had a butthole. He'd bend over to straighten his nest or pick something up, and there it was under his tail. It always kinda grossed me out. I mean, he was a frickin' puppet... why did he need a butthole??? Then one day in the 80's when I was home sick from school and watching Sesame Street, I realized that he didn't have it anymore. Maybe parents complained or something, I don't know.
Something else about PBS Kids that I don't get: why they indulge the Kratt brothers on Zoboomafoo. These guys are creepy. They have this fascination with poop. This one time they were talking about different ways animals in the rainforest help plants grow. They're putting seeds into these holes in the ground, and suddenly, in close-up of course, a huge crap drops into one of the holes. They look up, and this puppet monkey goes, "Oh, sorry, that was me." Then they go into this whole explanation of how animal crap helps spread seeds and fertilize them. It was hilarious and disturbing all at once. That's not all, though: these two freaks have stepped in poop, fallen in it face first, sniffed it, and just about everything but eaten it... but I wouldn't be surprised if that happens in tomorrow's episode. I hate those frickin' Kratt Brothers so much.
I'm glad my youngest kid has almost totally outgrown PBS Kids... I'm not sure how much more my sensibilities can take.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Weekend Getaway
Yesterday I got back from my own little three-night retreat.
I was originally going to go to a hermitage in St Francis for a few days of silence and solitude, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that this city girl could not conceivably spend three nights without electricity or running water. I went there for 24 hours last year, and I was afraid to go to the biffy all night because it was really, really dark outside and I saw a garter snake hangin' out by the steps. Go ahead and laugh.
Anyhow, I found out that, for the same price, I could go to a hotel with electricity, running water, a pool, cable, and free continental breakfast. So I booked it, and off I went with my hubby's blessing. Lemme tell ya, mentally I was already looooooong gone.
So the weekend was good and bad. Good because the only person I had to worry about for three days was ME. No schedules, no responsibilities, no distractions. I laid around in my jammies all day reading a couple good novels, surfed the Net without my teenagers hanging over my shoulder, slept as late as I wanted, took long, hot bubble baths without people walking in to pee, got to control the remote, and could hear myself think for a change. I only left my room to eat or to soak in the hot tub. It was so nice.
The bad part is that I realized that I am my own worst enemy. There's nothing like spending several days immersed in your own thought processes with no distractions to make you realize some disconcerting and difficult truths about who you really are. Saturday in particular was emotionally grueling as I forced myself to be honest about some things I would rather gloss over. Luckily, I have a dear friend who was willing to give me a reality check and keep me from totally punishing myself.
So now it's back to real life with some new perspective and at least a vague idea of the direction I need to go in order to be happy. Things are about to get interesting.
I was originally going to go to a hermitage in St Francis for a few days of silence and solitude, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that this city girl could not conceivably spend three nights without electricity or running water. I went there for 24 hours last year, and I was afraid to go to the biffy all night because it was really, really dark outside and I saw a garter snake hangin' out by the steps. Go ahead and laugh.
Anyhow, I found out that, for the same price, I could go to a hotel with electricity, running water, a pool, cable, and free continental breakfast. So I booked it, and off I went with my hubby's blessing. Lemme tell ya, mentally I was already looooooong gone.
So the weekend was good and bad. Good because the only person I had to worry about for three days was ME. No schedules, no responsibilities, no distractions. I laid around in my jammies all day reading a couple good novels, surfed the Net without my teenagers hanging over my shoulder, slept as late as I wanted, took long, hot bubble baths without people walking in to pee, got to control the remote, and could hear myself think for a change. I only left my room to eat or to soak in the hot tub. It was so nice.
The bad part is that I realized that I am my own worst enemy. There's nothing like spending several days immersed in your own thought processes with no distractions to make you realize some disconcerting and difficult truths about who you really are. Saturday in particular was emotionally grueling as I forced myself to be honest about some things I would rather gloss over. Luckily, I have a dear friend who was willing to give me a reality check and keep me from totally punishing myself.
So now it's back to real life with some new perspective and at least a vague idea of the direction I need to go in order to be happy. Things are about to get interesting.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
No more toads
Well, I convinced my little boy to let the toads go last Friday.
He only had them for a day, but he and his little sister kept fighting over who got to look at them, who got to sit closest to the cage, etc. And lately when they fight they start beating the crap out of each other. Not cool. Plus, a friend of mine told me that the toads would die if I let my kid keep them for much longer, and that made me feel like crap. I totally do not want any animal deaths on my conscience.
So my son said a tearful goodbye to the toads, which made me feel even crappier. So crappy that I told him I'd buy him a frickin' tadpole and let him grow it into a frog that he could keep. Of course, tadpoles are out of season... he won't be able to get one until the end of September.
That means I have a couple months to overcome my hatred of everything creepy crawly, because apparently I've committed to the whole tadpole/frog thing for the long haul. What the hell have I done???
He only had them for a day, but he and his little sister kept fighting over who got to look at them, who got to sit closest to the cage, etc. And lately when they fight they start beating the crap out of each other. Not cool. Plus, a friend of mine told me that the toads would die if I let my kid keep them for much longer, and that made me feel like crap. I totally do not want any animal deaths on my conscience.
So my son said a tearful goodbye to the toads, which made me feel even crappier. So crappy that I told him I'd buy him a frickin' tadpole and let him grow it into a frog that he could keep. Of course, tadpoles are out of season... he won't be able to get one until the end of September.
That means I have a couple months to overcome my hatred of everything creepy crawly, because apparently I've committed to the whole tadpole/frog thing for the long haul. What the hell have I done???
Thursday, August 03, 2006
HOLY CRAP.
So, for some reason I am watching Maury on tv, and there's this mom crying over her 68 lb, 2 year old kid. Holy frickin' crap. The poor baby wears a girls' size 9, and her boobs are bigger than mine. She can hardly walk. She's stopped breathing in her sleep three times because she's so overweight. SHE IS STILL A FRICKIN' BABY.
This mom is tearfully explaining her kid's diet: three eggs, waffles and sausages for breakfast, a few hotdogs and a pizza for lunch, and like half a fried chicken, a box of mac and cheese, and a bunch of veggies for dinner. Yeah... kudos on getting the veggies in there, mom.
Who the hell is in charge here??? The kid is frickin' TWO. If you want your kid to be healthy, stop feeding her like she's a trucker. "But, if I don't give her what she wants, she throws a tantrum..." WHATEVER. At least she's getting a little exercise then. Quit your damn whining and take charge, idiot.
The kicker is that this poor excuse for a parent parades her kid out on stage in a two-piece outfit with her gut hanging over the waistband, and makes her do a little Truffle Shuffle to the Maury theme music. Can we say EXPLOITATION???
Maury Povich... what a frickin' pig. Way to have a show that encourages people like this stupid woman to bring their poor kids on there like sideshow freaks in the first place.
Of course I suppose that, instead of letting this crap get my undies in a bunch, I could just shut it off. Besides, I think there are two toothless bisexual hillbilly cousins fighting over who gets to shack up with their grandpa on Jerry Springer... where's my frickin' remote?
This mom is tearfully explaining her kid's diet: three eggs, waffles and sausages for breakfast, a few hotdogs and a pizza for lunch, and like half a fried chicken, a box of mac and cheese, and a bunch of veggies for dinner. Yeah... kudos on getting the veggies in there, mom.
Who the hell is in charge here??? The kid is frickin' TWO. If you want your kid to be healthy, stop feeding her like she's a trucker. "But, if I don't give her what she wants, she throws a tantrum..." WHATEVER. At least she's getting a little exercise then. Quit your damn whining and take charge, idiot.
The kicker is that this poor excuse for a parent parades her kid out on stage in a two-piece outfit with her gut hanging over the waistband, and makes her do a little Truffle Shuffle to the Maury theme music. Can we say EXPLOITATION???
Maury Povich... what a frickin' pig. Way to have a show that encourages people like this stupid woman to bring their poor kids on there like sideshow freaks in the first place.
Of course I suppose that, instead of letting this crap get my undies in a bunch, I could just shut it off. Besides, I think there are two toothless bisexual hillbilly cousins fighting over who gets to shack up with their grandpa on Jerry Springer... where's my frickin' remote?
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