Have I told you all about last year's New Years Eve celebration? I didn't think so. I can't imagine why I haven't because, I swear, this one is priceless!
Every year we walk downtown and watch the New Years Eve parade with the boys. It's a short parade with lots of noise and lots of fun. As the parade passes you join in and walk down to the town docks to watch the fireworks. It is always cold and busy and CRAZY down there but we love it.
Last year we were standing in about 5 feet of snow (now, now, I am not know for my exaggerations)...it was especially crowded and it was dark (or course). At the time, A had a bit of an obsession with Barack Obama (nothing like his mother). He also has a bit of a hard time keeping his attention on any one thing...
He turns to talk to the people behind us (we do NOT know these people). It's dark...there is a Hispanic man standing behind us...A screams:
"OH MY GOD.....MOMMY, IT'S BARACK OBAMA!!"
I want to melt. I want to fall to the ground and die. Right there. Of course, I don't because those times that you really wish death on yourself due to humiliation it never comes.
I turn and apologize to the man who is laughing hysterically behind us.
HU-MILL-EEE-ATION! Seriously.
So, we are hoping for a repeat this year :)
Happy New Year to you all! I am sorry I have been a bit MIA but I promise I will be back as soon as I have my house back (the boys and Kirby are all enjoying an extended Christmas break and won't go back until Monday - have I ever told you how much I LOVE Mondays).
Showing posts with label embrassing moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label embrassing moments. Show all posts
12/30/08
12/11/08
Kids think up the darndest things and try to manipulate you every step of the way
If you are here for the contest please click HERE. The contest will end on Thursday December 11th (today) and the prize will be mailed out Monday. I hope to post this winner this evening! You can earn multiple entries so go forth and spread the word.
The grocery store in town is collecting toys for the needy. While I was there last week with the boys A was enthralled by the large box filled with toys. Of course, he saw something that he wanted...
If you don't know my kid then you probably aren't aware that this incident is prime meltdown material.
I take his hand and say, "I know, honey, those are really cool toys."
He throws himself to the ground.
"A..., those toys aren't for us, we need to go now."
"BUT, I WAAAAAAANT IT", dragging his feet the whole time...
I get him out of the store, he is still screaming.
"I understand, A, but those toys are for children whose parents don't have a lot of money to buy them things."
His eyes widen, his face perks up....he is putting it together.
"Do YOU have A LOT of money, Mommy."
I smile, I know where he is going with this...
"Well, no, not A LOT of money, sweetie."
"Then those toys are for ME!"'
Ah, crap. How do you explain this to a kid who is so black and white? He's too smart for my good and just doesn't get that gray area enough for me to explain to him the difference...
What a monster.
The grocery store in town is collecting toys for the needy. While I was there last week with the boys A was enthralled by the large box filled with toys. Of course, he saw something that he wanted...
If you don't know my kid then you probably aren't aware that this incident is prime meltdown material.
I take his hand and say, "I know, honey, those are really cool toys."
He throws himself to the ground.
"A..., those toys aren't for us, we need to go now."
"BUT, I WAAAAAAANT IT", dragging his feet the whole time...
I get him out of the store, he is still screaming.
"I understand, A, but those toys are for children whose parents don't have a lot of money to buy them things."
His eyes widen, his face perks up....he is putting it together.
"Do YOU have A LOT of money, Mommy."
I smile, I know where he is going with this...
"Well, no, not A LOT of money, sweetie."
"Then those toys are for ME!"'
Ah, crap. How do you explain this to a kid who is so black and white? He's too smart for my good and just doesn't get that gray area enough for me to explain to him the difference...
What a monster.
12/10/08
I am either old or a total geek...
If you are here for the contest click HERE. The contest will end on Thursday December 11th and the prize will be mailed out on Monday. You can earn multiple entries so go forth and spread the word!
We take a break from our regularly scheduled cleaning to let you all know what a dork I am.
Can I tell you what got me motivated to do the housecleaning today (even though I am stuffy and cranky and just feel, overall, crappy)? Newsies. Don't know what Newsies is? Go here. (Christian Bale may die a little inside every time someone brings this up...after all he went from singing newsboy to Batman...a bit of a change - honestly this is when I first fell in love with him.)
Want a better idea? Watch these:
So I recently acquired an IPod (more on that in a later blog) and last night I uploaded a bunch of my old CDs including The Newsies Soundtrack and today I was a cleaning fool. Working up a sweat, singing at the top of my lungs...hope the neighbors couldn't hear me...crying at parts, dancing...I swear I could have been on stage (okay, maybe not, but my bathroom sure felt like a stage). And before I was singing from The Newsies I was singing from Les Miserables...it's my "Showtunes" playlist (although neither are REALLY showtunes...).
I feel a little cheesy and even a little more old (as if living through Sunday wasn't bad enough). Reminds me of my high school days - sitting on my boyfriend's couch, singing along (how did I not know he was gay???). We actually performed a Newsies song in chorus (yes, he was in chorus with me too...how did I not know....seriously!).
What gets you motivated? Is it something you might be embarrassed to admit to anyone? (I tell you, Kirby will NEVER see my doing that and my kids - ugh, I would never live it down.) I want to hear all about it!
We take a break from our regularly scheduled cleaning to let you all know what a dork I am.
Can I tell you what got me motivated to do the housecleaning today (even though I am stuffy and cranky and just feel, overall, crappy)? Newsies. Don't know what Newsies is? Go here. (Christian Bale may die a little inside every time someone brings this up...after all he went from singing newsboy to Batman...a bit of a change - honestly this is when I first fell in love with him.)
Want a better idea? Watch these:
So I recently acquired an IPod (more on that in a later blog) and last night I uploaded a bunch of my old CDs including The Newsies Soundtrack and today I was a cleaning fool. Working up a sweat, singing at the top of my lungs...hope the neighbors couldn't hear me...crying at parts, dancing...I swear I could have been on stage (okay, maybe not, but my bathroom sure felt like a stage). And before I was singing from The Newsies I was singing from Les Miserables...it's my "Showtunes" playlist (although neither are REALLY showtunes...).
I feel a little cheesy and even a little more old (as if living through Sunday wasn't bad enough). Reminds me of my high school days - sitting on my boyfriend's couch, singing along (how did I not know he was gay???). We actually performed a Newsies song in chorus (yes, he was in chorus with me too...how did I not know....seriously!).
What gets you motivated? Is it something you might be embarrassed to admit to anyone? (I tell you, Kirby will NEVER see my doing that and my kids - ugh, I would never live it down.) I want to hear all about it!
12/9/08
A night out with....zzzzzzz....I'm sorry - what were you saying?
If you are here for the contest click HERE. The contest will end on Thursday December 11th and the prize will be mailed out on Monday. You can earn multiple entries so go forth and spread the word!
I have discovered just how old I really am. Remember when I turned 30? Remember how I told you all that 30 was NOT old? Well, this weekend I discovered that it is.
We had a relative busy weekend. Really we only had a busy Saturday but it felt like it lasted all weekend. That is how old I really am.
My nephew's celebrated their birthdays on Saturday and had a joint/open house birthday party. I, of course, had not picked up their presents. So after working for a bit that morning we went off to buy their gifts. I wrapped in the car (or really just threw them into gift bags) and off we went to celebrate.
Z was staying with my sister for the night and A had his very first sleepover and Grampie and Nana Sue's. Kirby and I were headed out for a night with old friends.
We were all nervous about the sleepover and were grateful to hear that Nana Sue would be sleeping in the spare bedroom with A. He is an awful sleeper and often gets up a half dozen times a night. He was also very nervous about the sleepover. Being autistic he loves his routine and this was way off course for him.
After dropping the boys Kirby and I headed out for dinner before we met our friends. The plan was to meet at a bar around 8pm.
7:30pm: I was ready to get on with it. I wanted the night to be started already. And I wanted it to be over shortly after.
8pm: We meet at the bar that is EMPTY because nobody really starts going out until 10 or so. I have already had one drink (because we got there a little early) and am ready to start working on my second (or fall asleep on the comfy leather couches that we were sitting on).
Chris, Josiah (the Birthday Boy) and me
9: Josiah is in the middle of a very interesting story. We are sitting side by side on those comfy leather couches. He's talking away and I yawn. Right in his face. Horrifying. Embarrassing. He looked at me, rolled his eyes and turned away. One of my oldest, dearest friends. I haven't seen him in a few months. It is his birthday and I can't stop yawning.
In my defense, aside from Chris, Kirby and I are the only ones with kids. And Chris only has his kids part time. We are the only ones that go out once every 6 months. Still, it is only 9 and I am so exhausted I can't even suppress a yawn in someone's face?! O-L-D!
Me and Kirby laughing at something hysterical Will is sharing
Me, Will and Leah - the last bar
11: We decide that the first bar has gotten a bit to "yuppy" for the rest of us. It is time to find another bar. ANOTHER BAR? This bar, although less yuppy, is PACKED. Standing room only...I refuse to stand all night in a bar...I am too old for this. Eventually we get a table for the 5 of us, we sit, we drink a bit more, we visit...
Thankfully, I am not the only one that is exhausted:
Chris the DD...
Kirby and I made it home a bit after 1am. The house was quiet, there are no kids...nobody to wake us in the middle of the night. Nobody to interrupt our quiet time together.
I FELL ASLEEP.
Let's be honest here, I am sure you parents can relate, time without the children is so infrequent that we do our best to enjoy every moment of it. To take advantage of every second alone with our significant others. Not me...I sleep.
Seriously...can't even enjoy a night without the children. I fell asleep probably before my head even hit the pillow.
8am: Alarm rings for us to get up and go pick up the kids from their sleepovers. I scream at it to shut the hell up - I am trying to sleep.
9am: After hitting the snooze button 6 times I scream at the alarm again...but roll out of bed and hop in the shower...
And all day Sunday all I wanted to do was sleep.
It was a wonderful night. I love to see Josiah and Leah. We were the best of friends in high school - we were inseparable. We don't get together nearly enough. This time was to celebrate Josiah's birthday. In fact, the last time the three of us were together was to celebrate Josiah's birthday...we need to get together more often.
Maybe next time we can do a nice game night...maybe Bridge or Cribbage or Canasta...aren't those the games that old people play?
Oh, and for anyone interested, A had a great sleepover with Grampie and Nana Sue. Although, I am not sure how often his old parents will be enlisting them for help anymore...
10/31/08
Done
I finished. Late Wednesday night I read the last page of the last book of The Twilight Series. And then I cried. No, I am not joking.
The books were wonderful. Better than Gone With the Wind...I don't know. Honestly, I never read it. Just please remember that the author wrote these books for young adults.
The stories were entertaining, heart warming (and racing), full of love and passion and just plain enjoyable.
Honestly, these books are not my typical read. Honestly, I judged every last one of you that raved about them over the past 6 months. Honestly, I am a shmuck and now I am embarrassed that I, too, have hopped aboard the Cullen train!
So, if you haven't had a chance to start the series, do. The story of Edward, Bella and Jacob is every girl's fantasy....it may help you remember what you forgot that you wanted.
I won't pretend that they were the best books I EVER read (although they do come close). I don't want anyone to be disappointed and I find that when we build up expectations that is what will happen. I want every one of you to read these books and love them like I do.
Of course, now my house is trashed, Kirby is jealous (of Edward and Jacob, perhaps...but more likely over the fact that I have ignored him for the past week), the laundry needs to be folded, the floor needs to be mopped, the tub needs to be washed...all worth it.
Take a week, enjoy the books and let me know what you think!
I will be back to regular blogging soon enough...great pictures to come of our pumpkin fun and the kids great costumes!
The books were wonderful. Better than Gone With the Wind...I don't know. Honestly, I never read it. Just please remember that the author wrote these books for young adults.
The stories were entertaining, heart warming (and racing), full of love and passion and just plain enjoyable.
Honestly, these books are not my typical read. Honestly, I judged every last one of you that raved about them over the past 6 months. Honestly, I am a shmuck and now I am embarrassed that I, too, have hopped aboard the Cullen train!
So, if you haven't had a chance to start the series, do. The story of Edward, Bella and Jacob is every girl's fantasy....it may help you remember what you forgot that you wanted.
I won't pretend that they were the best books I EVER read (although they do come close). I don't want anyone to be disappointed and I find that when we build up expectations that is what will happen. I want every one of you to read these books and love them like I do.
Of course, now my house is trashed, Kirby is jealous (of Edward and Jacob, perhaps...but more likely over the fact that I have ignored him for the past week), the laundry needs to be folded, the floor needs to be mopped, the tub needs to be washed...all worth it.
Take a week, enjoy the books and let me know what you think!
I will be back to regular blogging soon enough...great pictures to come of our pumpkin fun and the kids great costumes!
10/7/08
This is when I bow down and kiss his shoes...yuck!
I have the funniest story EVER. But I can't tell it.
You see, the funniest story EVER causes a bit of embarrassment to Kirby (even more embarrassment then when I was messing around with him on the stairs last night and wouldn't let him get to the bathroom and he nearly peed himself...of course, Karma got her bitch on and threw me down the stairs afterwards...) and he has told me that, under no circumstances, am I allowed to share said story.
Seriously, when did I get to be all nice and thinking about his feelings and crap?
You see, the funniest story EVER causes a bit of embarrassment to Kirby (even more embarrassment then when I was messing around with him on the stairs last night and wouldn't let him get to the bathroom and he nearly peed himself...of course, Karma got her bitch on and threw me down the stairs afterwards...) and he has told me that, under no circumstances, am I allowed to share said story.
Seriously, when did I get to be all nice and thinking about his feelings and crap?
10/6/08
Seriously?!
Who falls down the stairs twice in less than two months? Apparently I do.
Karma is a bitch and my knee is killing me...
Karma is a bitch and my knee is killing me...
9/29/08
1988: Die Hard, Leap Year, Cold War....
But more importantly, what was I doing in 1988? Well, I was Hangin' Tough, of course. And, once again, on Friday night, I was Hangin' Tough, Step by Stepping and acting like a Cover Girl.
Honestly, I went to the NKOTB show for a good laugh. When Alex called and told me Andrea had an extra ticket I thought, "what the hell, it'll be funny to see these old men acting like kids all over again."
Honestly, it was the MOST fun I have EVER had at a concert. I screamed like a 12 year-old girl over and over again. I looked at Jessi and, literally, shook with unbelievable excitement. I screamed, I laughed, I danced, I sang, I got a little teary....it was awesome.
They sang for about 2 hours and for the first 5 or so songs they NEVER stopped moving. They went from one song right into the other. They danced like they were 17 again. They went through about a dozen wardrobe changes. They thanked the audience (a full to capacity Garden) over and over again. They brought Paul Pierce from the the Boston Celtics out on stage with the NBA World Championship Trophy from this past basketball season and they all Hung Tough together, dancing and singing and LOVING every second of it.
Did I mention that I screamed like a 12 year old girl? And that I danced? And sang? Oh, and I dripped with sweat...dripped. Being at the top of the Garden it was hot (and by top I MEAN TIPPITY TOP), dancing like a crazy 12 year old all night didn't help.
Of course it was cheesy. Of course I kept asking myself if it was really as ridiculous as I thought it was that I was screaming like a little girl at these men. Of course the songs have the same cheese they did when I was listening to them in 1988.
But it was THE BEST. I loved every single minute of it! And besides all that, it is the last time I get to see Andrea before she officially becomes my sister-in-law. LOVED IT!
Honestly, I went to the NKOTB show for a good laugh. When Alex called and told me Andrea had an extra ticket I thought, "what the hell, it'll be funny to see these old men acting like kids all over again."
Honestly, it was the MOST fun I have EVER had at a concert. I screamed like a 12 year-old girl over and over again. I looked at Jessi and, literally, shook with unbelievable excitement. I screamed, I laughed, I danced, I sang, I got a little teary....it was awesome.
They sang for about 2 hours and for the first 5 or so songs they NEVER stopped moving. They went from one song right into the other. They danced like they were 17 again. They went through about a dozen wardrobe changes. They thanked the audience (a full to capacity Garden) over and over again. They brought Paul Pierce from the the Boston Celtics out on stage with the NBA World Championship Trophy from this past basketball season and they all Hung Tough together, dancing and singing and LOVING every second of it.
Did I mention that I screamed like a 12 year old girl? And that I danced? And sang? Oh, and I dripped with sweat...dripped. Being at the top of the Garden it was hot (and by top I MEAN TIPPITY TOP), dancing like a crazy 12 year old all night didn't help.
Of course it was cheesy. Of course I kept asking myself if it was really as ridiculous as I thought it was that I was screaming like a little girl at these men. Of course the songs have the same cheese they did when I was listening to them in 1988.
But it was THE BEST. I loved every single minute of it! And besides all that, it is the last time I get to see Andrea before she officially becomes my sister-in-law. LOVED IT!
9/10/08
It's been too long.
I am still coming down from my SITS high. It was seriously overwhelming but SO wonderful. I finished up commenting everyone that came and visited my blog (aside from those of you that I couldn't comment due to privacy or whatever - there was actually a few that wouldn't let me comment for some unknown reason).
During my hiatus I totally forgot how much I enjoy blogging, giving comment love and receiving comment love. I missed this SO much!
So many things to update...
There were a number of questions from commenters in my blog and I want to be sure that I answer them as well as I can.
First off, YES, I washed my little man in the sink at camp :) It is a total tradition. At the camp there is only a shower and A, my autistic son, does NOT do showers. While at camp, well, they get ABSOLUTELY disgusting - matter of fact, one day I gave him a pot of water to play in so his fingernails would get clean (it worked very well by the way).
I swear to all that is holy, I used Comet on the sink BEFORE I put him in (it is a "boys" camp...they don't really "clean") and AFTER. The sink was VERY clean while he was in it and even more clean AFTER he was in it :) Angels, you can gag all you want :)
My profile picture is wonderful, thank you for all that commented on it. No, I did not take it. I found it online somewhere...photobucket maybe? It is called "Praying for a Cure". If you notice, the little boy in the picture is holding the autism awareness ribbon. Personally, I am not praying for a cure, I am praying for awareness. Many of you know about A and how I think he is perfect just the way he is. In my opinion, it is the rest of the world that needs to change, not him.
Yes, I do barter - quite a bit actually. I like to barter for things that I wouldn't normally spend money on (pedicures, foils, websites). If you are interested in a barter, approach someone that offers what you want. Make an offer. What's the worst that can happen? My hairdresser wouldn't get a weekly massage without bartering and my hair would be totally gray (never mind what my heels would look like) - oh and my boys would look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. I wouldn't have a business website either. It has been well worth my time!
YES, there are a few gents (or so I hear) that are affiliated with SITS. I have yet to see/read one...but I have been told...
We DID have an AWESOME vacation. No, we didn't get eaten by any wildlife and we did not get lost in the woods. We didn't figure out that we could have a good time as a family - just remembered. Having 3 boys and such a busy life, we tend to forget how much fun it is to just slow down. This vacation helped us remember that and so much more. I will be blogging more about the wonderfulness of our vacation in the very near future...stay tuned!
My Abstinence blog brought in a LOT of comment! I am so glad you guys got so involved! So many different opinions but when it all comes down to it we all feel strongly about one thing: we love our kids and want what is best for them. I appreciate all the opinions!
Yes, I am ALWAYS in a hornet's nest. Of course, I also believe you create drama...and I do. Granted, there is nothing I can do about ER trips due to ear infections (8 hours from home) or trips to the ER because someone sliced themselves with an umbrella (who does that you ask...Z does that...he is his father's son - also 8 hours from home). But I certainly tend to have a bit of drama queen in me :) Oh, and when I was little, we were climbing a mountain and I SAT in a red ant hill...awful!
I don't have a fear of hornets (or any other flying insect) - at least not an irrational fear. I was stung earlier this year. It hurts like hell, but I survived.
The boys burned themselves on peanut butter about 6 months ago...they like to melt peanut butter and dip popcorn in for a snack. I think Z overheated it...it was boiling when I got to it. They both burned themselves pretty badly and that also required a trip to the ER. Ugh! They are their father's sons (who I had to bring to the ER once for burning his corneas while welding WITHOUT A MASK...of course, that was just one of our MANY trips for him).
Peggy, you did not give birth to me...unless my parents lied to me all these years AND my siblings were right when they told me I was adopted....and maybe Traci is right then...and I DO have a long lost sister named Debbie...
I can't believe the mass amounts of you that have NOT received pedicures - ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I don't care how "embarrassing" your feet are...isn't that why you GET a pedicure?! I don't care if you "hate" feet...they never did anything to you but cart your butt around your whole life - TREAT THEM! Seriously, you will thank me for it!
And for those of you that suggested getting up earlier (like 5am) to get a shower in...you have GOT to be kidding me! No way, no how. I love my sleep more than I love peace and quiet in the shower. And besides all that, I have not had a full nights sleep in over 8 years. A, my youngest, doesn't sleep through the night...never has. I take every second I can get :)
Karen, I don't use 2 in 1 any more (and my hairdresser knows - actually she buys my hair products for me - she TOTALLY rules - and NO I will NOT give any of you her name...you think I want to potentially ruin this deal for myself?). Well, actually, if I am being honest...while we were at camp...well...Pert became my new friend. But I SWEAR I dumped her as soon as we got home!!
Sassy Stephanie, I tried the lock on the fridge...he figured it out. How that child doesn't weigh as much as I do is BEYOND me!
Okay, so that is it. All questions answered...and if not, comment me, I'll do my best to get to you.
Keep coming back! Lots of exciting news to come! More pictures (cause my boys are THE CUTEST)...and more fun!
During my hiatus I totally forgot how much I enjoy blogging, giving comment love and receiving comment love. I missed this SO much!
So many things to update...
There were a number of questions from commenters in my blog and I want to be sure that I answer them as well as I can.
First off, YES, I washed my little man in the sink at camp :) It is a total tradition. At the camp there is only a shower and A, my autistic son, does NOT do showers. While at camp, well, they get ABSOLUTELY disgusting - matter of fact, one day I gave him a pot of water to play in so his fingernails would get clean (it worked very well by the way).
I swear to all that is holy, I used Comet on the sink BEFORE I put him in (it is a "boys" camp...they don't really "clean") and AFTER. The sink was VERY clean while he was in it and even more clean AFTER he was in it :) Angels, you can gag all you want :)
My profile picture is wonderful, thank you for all that commented on it. No, I did not take it. I found it online somewhere...photobucket maybe? It is called "Praying for a Cure". If you notice, the little boy in the picture is holding the autism awareness ribbon. Personally, I am not praying for a cure, I am praying for awareness. Many of you know about A and how I think he is perfect just the way he is. In my opinion, it is the rest of the world that needs to change, not him.
Yes, I do barter - quite a bit actually. I like to barter for things that I wouldn't normally spend money on (pedicures, foils, websites). If you are interested in a barter, approach someone that offers what you want. Make an offer. What's the worst that can happen? My hairdresser wouldn't get a weekly massage without bartering and my hair would be totally gray (never mind what my heels would look like) - oh and my boys would look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. I wouldn't have a business website either. It has been well worth my time!
YES, there are a few gents (or so I hear) that are affiliated with SITS. I have yet to see/read one...but I have been told...
We DID have an AWESOME vacation. No, we didn't get eaten by any wildlife and we did not get lost in the woods. We didn't figure out that we could have a good time as a family - just remembered. Having 3 boys and such a busy life, we tend to forget how much fun it is to just slow down. This vacation helped us remember that and so much more. I will be blogging more about the wonderfulness of our vacation in the very near future...stay tuned!
My Abstinence blog brought in a LOT of comment! I am so glad you guys got so involved! So many different opinions but when it all comes down to it we all feel strongly about one thing: we love our kids and want what is best for them. I appreciate all the opinions!
Yes, I am ALWAYS in a hornet's nest. Of course, I also believe you create drama...and I do. Granted, there is nothing I can do about ER trips due to ear infections (8 hours from home) or trips to the ER because someone sliced themselves with an umbrella (who does that you ask...Z does that...he is his father's son - also 8 hours from home). But I certainly tend to have a bit of drama queen in me :) Oh, and when I was little, we were climbing a mountain and I SAT in a red ant hill...awful!
I don't have a fear of hornets (or any other flying insect) - at least not an irrational fear. I was stung earlier this year. It hurts like hell, but I survived.
The boys burned themselves on peanut butter about 6 months ago...they like to melt peanut butter and dip popcorn in for a snack. I think Z overheated it...it was boiling when I got to it. They both burned themselves pretty badly and that also required a trip to the ER. Ugh! They are their father's sons (who I had to bring to the ER once for burning his corneas while welding WITHOUT A MASK...of course, that was just one of our MANY trips for him).
Peggy, you did not give birth to me...unless my parents lied to me all these years AND my siblings were right when they told me I was adopted....and maybe Traci is right then...and I DO have a long lost sister named Debbie...
I can't believe the mass amounts of you that have NOT received pedicures - ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I don't care how "embarrassing" your feet are...isn't that why you GET a pedicure?! I don't care if you "hate" feet...they never did anything to you but cart your butt around your whole life - TREAT THEM! Seriously, you will thank me for it!
And for those of you that suggested getting up earlier (like 5am) to get a shower in...you have GOT to be kidding me! No way, no how. I love my sleep more than I love peace and quiet in the shower. And besides all that, I have not had a full nights sleep in over 8 years. A, my youngest, doesn't sleep through the night...never has. I take every second I can get :)
Karen, I don't use 2 in 1 any more (and my hairdresser knows - actually she buys my hair products for me - she TOTALLY rules - and NO I will NOT give any of you her name...you think I want to potentially ruin this deal for myself?). Well, actually, if I am being honest...while we were at camp...well...Pert became my new friend. But I SWEAR I dumped her as soon as we got home!!
Sassy Stephanie, I tried the lock on the fridge...he figured it out. How that child doesn't weigh as much as I do is BEYOND me!
Okay, so that is it. All questions answered...and if not, comment me, I'll do my best to get to you.
Keep coming back! Lots of exciting news to come! More pictures (cause my boys are THE CUTEST)...and more fun!
8/18/08
Pictures - one of the only ways to remember the night.
Heads up, there may be a photo or two that some people may find offensive.
I finally got the pictures from my first weekend away from the kids. You know, the one that I was terrified of...
I had a great night and, thankfully, have been supplied the photos so I can offer you a play by play. Honestly, I didn't forget much about the night, but some things are a little fuzzy.
The night started with a round of these:
Can you say YUMMY??
This is my DD (aka Josiah). How good of a DD could he be when he is using the camera upside down???
This is the man whose one goal was to get me trashed. Mission accomplished.
We saw a few interesting sights on our way through Portsmouth:
The brothers:
The group:
The beads (Willie got them for me, I wasn't brave enough to show my boobies...this was before Vicky and I became friends):
The stairs (I tell you, they got scarier and scarier as the night went on):
The drunks:
My bestest male friend in the whole wide world:
The walk to the car (I doon't think he was holding me up but it is more than possible):
The DD who is, possibly, getting a little tired of the complete drunkards:
The drive home (I SWEAR he was sober)...he just doesn't drive much...really!
It was exactly what I needed for my first weekend away. It is not something I do often (honestly, in the past 10 years I have gotten intoxicated twice...this is a picture of the NEXT weekend I was out without the kids).
I don't remember this picture being taken....until I was looking through my phone.
I think I am over my drunken weekend state. Next time: spa weekend by myself?
I finally got the pictures from my first weekend away from the kids. You know, the one that I was terrified of...
I had a great night and, thankfully, have been supplied the photos so I can offer you a play by play. Honestly, I didn't forget much about the night, but some things are a little fuzzy.
The night started with a round of these:
Can you say YUMMY??
This is my DD (aka Josiah). How good of a DD could he be when he is using the camera upside down???
This is the man whose one goal was to get me trashed. Mission accomplished.
We saw a few interesting sights on our way through Portsmouth:
The brothers:
The group:
The beads (Willie got them for me, I wasn't brave enough to show my boobies...this was before Vicky and I became friends):
The stairs (I tell you, they got scarier and scarier as the night went on):
The drunks:
My bestest male friend in the whole wide world:
The walk to the car (I doon't think he was holding me up but it is more than possible):
The DD who is, possibly, getting a little tired of the complete drunkards:
The drive home (I SWEAR he was sober)...he just doesn't drive much...really!
It was exactly what I needed for my first weekend away. It is not something I do often (honestly, in the past 10 years I have gotten intoxicated twice...this is a picture of the NEXT weekend I was out without the kids).
I don't remember this picture being taken....until I was looking through my phone.
I think I am over my drunken weekend state. Next time: spa weekend by myself?
8/15/08
Please don't let the bears eat me...
As I mentioned in yesterday's post, last time we were up at camp we had a bit of an adventure in the woods.......
At the camp there is a journal. Before you leave you can write down your memories of your visit. I love it. It is a great way to see what everyone else is doing up there. It is a great way to share memories and remember things that you had once forgotten. It is also a great way to remember the neighbor's names (cause I am SO bad with names). And last year, it was a great way to discover new adventures.
In the journal someone made mention to the fact that Uncle Bruce had built a bridge somewhere on the land for Mad Max (Mad Max was one of my Uncle's creations...a cross between a bulldozer and a tractor with a plow on the front). They also mentioned that you could get to the bridge by foot following the logging path. Tom said he had been there and that he could lead us through.
So off we went on the trek to the bridge the Bruce built...
I had forgotten my sneakers so I was hiking in flip flops which wasn't a big deal until the "path" became a jungle. At first the path was nice and clear. Every few feet more brush would appear. Soon we were hiking in thick brush up to my waist. A had to be carried on Kirby's shoulders because it was taller than he was.
I was getting eaten alive. The bugs were horrendous and the brush kept ripping at my skin. After about 45 minutes I was done. Irritated, tired, hungry and hurting. I wanted to turn around. Kirby wanted to keep going. We argued (shocking, I know), I won.
There was a problem, however. We turned around and, somehow, lost the path. It could have been that the brush was taller than my children so the "path" didn't really look like a path. It could have been that in my bloodless, starving, delirious state I got confused. Whatever it was, we were lost. Badly.
I must say here that Kirby has NO sense of direction. He believes he does and for the sake of the next 10 months I would never tell him otherwise. But he doesn't. North, South, East, West do not make sense to him.
So Kirby kept telling me that the path I was choosing was wrong. "We couldn't have come from that direction" he kept telling me. "It must have been this path"...
I didn't freaking care which path we came down to begin with I just wanted OUT! We were walking by piles of bear and moose crap...the bugs were eating me...the kids were whiny...it was starting to get dark...I WAS SCARED.
Z was scared and kept blaming Tom for getting us lost...I was scared and kept blaming Kirby for not letting me turn around sooner...and I think a small part of Kirby was scared that he may not be able to get us out. And poor Tom was scared because he was the one that lead us out there to begin with...and did I mention that we kept walking by PILES OF BEAR CRAP?
This was about the time that Momma went PSYCHO. Between the lack of food, low blood levels due to mosquito bites, the dwindling sunlight...the whiny children and pissy Kirby....and the fact that I was TERRIFIED that we were going to be lost in the woods forever and get eaten by one of the bears (that I am sure were rather large judging on the size of their crap)....well, I lost it.
I don't remember what was said. It is too humiliating to look back on. I am sure that my complete meltdown did not help matters. I am sure that I only succeeded in terrifying my children more....but I couldn't help it. I lost it. Completely lost it. I am ashamed of the way I reacted in an emergency.
Then, in a moment of sanity, I regained my ability to function like the sane, rational, smart, independent woman that I am.
I stood in the forest, caught a glimpse of the sun and realized where I was. I remembered that sitting in the camp I faced the sun in that direction. I realized the way that we needed to go. And I started walking.
"This isn't the path we took to get in" Kirby kept saying.
I told him that I didn't freaking care what path we took to get in, this was the path that was going to take us out...
And it did. Because I am amazing!
This year we will be much better prepared for a hike...IF there is any hiking. I'm talking bug spray, water, sneakers, loaded pistol...whatever...
At the camp there is a journal. Before you leave you can write down your memories of your visit. I love it. It is a great way to see what everyone else is doing up there. It is a great way to share memories and remember things that you had once forgotten. It is also a great way to remember the neighbor's names (cause I am SO bad with names). And last year, it was a great way to discover new adventures.
In the journal someone made mention to the fact that Uncle Bruce had built a bridge somewhere on the land for Mad Max (Mad Max was one of my Uncle's creations...a cross between a bulldozer and a tractor with a plow on the front). They also mentioned that you could get to the bridge by foot following the logging path. Tom said he had been there and that he could lead us through.
So off we went on the trek to the bridge the Bruce built...
I had forgotten my sneakers so I was hiking in flip flops which wasn't a big deal until the "path" became a jungle. At first the path was nice and clear. Every few feet more brush would appear. Soon we were hiking in thick brush up to my waist. A had to be carried on Kirby's shoulders because it was taller than he was.
I was getting eaten alive. The bugs were horrendous and the brush kept ripping at my skin. After about 45 minutes I was done. Irritated, tired, hungry and hurting. I wanted to turn around. Kirby wanted to keep going. We argued (shocking, I know), I won.
There was a problem, however. We turned around and, somehow, lost the path. It could have been that the brush was taller than my children so the "path" didn't really look like a path. It could have been that in my bloodless, starving, delirious state I got confused. Whatever it was, we were lost. Badly.
I must say here that Kirby has NO sense of direction. He believes he does and for the sake of the next 10 months I would never tell him otherwise. But he doesn't. North, South, East, West do not make sense to him.
So Kirby kept telling me that the path I was choosing was wrong. "We couldn't have come from that direction" he kept telling me. "It must have been this path"...
I didn't freaking care which path we came down to begin with I just wanted OUT! We were walking by piles of bear and moose crap...the bugs were eating me...the kids were whiny...it was starting to get dark...I WAS SCARED.
Z was scared and kept blaming Tom for getting us lost...I was scared and kept blaming Kirby for not letting me turn around sooner...and I think a small part of Kirby was scared that he may not be able to get us out. And poor Tom was scared because he was the one that lead us out there to begin with...and did I mention that we kept walking by PILES OF BEAR CRAP?
This was about the time that Momma went PSYCHO. Between the lack of food, low blood levels due to mosquito bites, the dwindling sunlight...the whiny children and pissy Kirby....and the fact that I was TERRIFIED that we were going to be lost in the woods forever and get eaten by one of the bears (that I am sure were rather large judging on the size of their crap)....well, I lost it.
I don't remember what was said. It is too humiliating to look back on. I am sure that my complete meltdown did not help matters. I am sure that I only succeeded in terrifying my children more....but I couldn't help it. I lost it. Completely lost it. I am ashamed of the way I reacted in an emergency.
Then, in a moment of sanity, I regained my ability to function like the sane, rational, smart, independent woman that I am.
I stood in the forest, caught a glimpse of the sun and realized where I was. I remembered that sitting in the camp I faced the sun in that direction. I realized the way that we needed to go. And I started walking.
"This isn't the path we took to get in" Kirby kept saying.
I told him that I didn't freaking care what path we took to get in, this was the path that was going to take us out...
And it did. Because I am amazing!
This year we will be much better prepared for a hike...IF there is any hiking. I'm talking bug spray, water, sneakers, loaded pistol...whatever...
8/11/08
Vicky, you scare me!
Alex, if you are even thinking about reading this I encourage you to walk away right now. If you decide to read further just remember that you ventured at your own risk.
I have rather large breasts. When I got pregnant they decided that their (very barely) B cup was not enough. They turned into two full D cups...and depending on my weight they may even balloon up to DD.
Not only are they large but they have forgotten where they are suppose to be. Instead of covering my chest like they once did, they fall....to my knees. I am sure that the constant up and down of my weight doesn't help matters but they are not large and beautiful. I have realized that I could never be a stripper (crap, there goes my next career move).
With large breasts that need to be uplifted, you need a large bra that offers constant support. With my job I need something that is comfortable - I am constantly moving and can't be pulling it down and adjusting all day.
My Walmart bras were not offering that anymore. Not only were they not offering my breasts the support or flexibility but they were falling apart. Out of the two bras I bought a month ago the under wire had already fallen out of one and the elastic was near disaster on the other. I needed new bras. Period.
And since I am sick and tired of spending good money on bras that don't offer my boobies what they need and that fall apart within a month, I decided to head to Victoria's Secret.
So off I drove on Saturday morning, an hour away to the mall. I get to the mall, find a parking spot and head into the dreaded Victoria's Secret.
First off, they have THREE store fronts. Secondly, they no longer are just bras, panties and lingerie now they have lotions and clothes and perfumes and makeup. Lastly, I was SO terrified and SO overwhelmed that I didn't know where to go, what to choose or how to choose it.
I left. I just walked in and walked out.
WTF was wrong with me? I was so overwhelmed by every single decision that I had to make. My head was swimming with clothes and bras and smells and sounds and pretty girls that I would have to talk to in order to buy anything. I have been a bit of an emotional wreck lately...
So I did what any smart, independent, rational woman would do, I went back out to the car and cried. Then I called Nicki (who has seriously filled her quota of best friend related emotional meltdowns over the past month) who thankfully got me to call Kitty to come and save me (you see, Nicki lives in East ButtF%#k, ME and could never get to me).
My conversation with Kitty went something like this:
A near hysterical Me: "Where are you"
Kitty: "At lunch with my mom, why, what's up?"
Me: "I have an emergency"
Kitty with concern:"what's going on"
Me: "I need a bra and I can't get it."
Kitty now laughing: "What do you mean?"
Me: "Seriously, I am at Victoria's Secret and I can't do it. I don't know what to do. I am so overwhelmed. Can you come help me, PLEASE?"
Kitty now laughing hysterically (and her mom in the background also laughing hysterically): "Let me finish my lunch and I will call you when I am on my way."
Me: "Thank you so much...are you sure...okay, thank you, I LOVE YOU".
Seriously, I have the best friends EVER! Who else would have saved me in a bra emergency? Who else would have taken me completely seriously in a bra emergency (alright, she didn't take me completely seriously, but she did show up).
About an hour later (I sat in the car the entire time, terrified to move) Kitty shows up, laughing still, and walks me into Victoria's Secret. She marches me up to the lady and I explain that I need to be fitted (I figure I'm not getting any lately, may as well get my kicks from the fitting girl). Kitty even got fitted with me for moral support.
The lovely fitting girl shows me what will work best for me, picks them out, walks me to my dressing room and THEY FIT. They are perfect. They feel nice. My boobies are on my CHEST not my belly or near my knees. The look GOOOOOOD. I have fallen in love with my big, saggy boobies again.
$105 later (HOLY CRAP, I have never spent that much money on things that nobody will ever see), we head to Macy's where Kitty picks out clothes for me all afternoon and makes me try things on that I hate. I was even able to pick out a couple shirts and a pair of capris.
Thank god for Kitty and Nicki. I would never have made it through this day without them. Be forewarned ladies, I will call you next time I have to go, I'll give you a little more notice, though.
I have rather large breasts. When I got pregnant they decided that their (very barely) B cup was not enough. They turned into two full D cups...and depending on my weight they may even balloon up to DD.
Not only are they large but they have forgotten where they are suppose to be. Instead of covering my chest like they once did, they fall....to my knees. I am sure that the constant up and down of my weight doesn't help matters but they are not large and beautiful. I have realized that I could never be a stripper (crap, there goes my next career move).
With large breasts that need to be uplifted, you need a large bra that offers constant support. With my job I need something that is comfortable - I am constantly moving and can't be pulling it down and adjusting all day.
My Walmart bras were not offering that anymore. Not only were they not offering my breasts the support or flexibility but they were falling apart. Out of the two bras I bought a month ago the under wire had already fallen out of one and the elastic was near disaster on the other. I needed new bras. Period.
And since I am sick and tired of spending good money on bras that don't offer my boobies what they need and that fall apart within a month, I decided to head to Victoria's Secret.
So off I drove on Saturday morning, an hour away to the mall. I get to the mall, find a parking spot and head into the dreaded Victoria's Secret.
First off, they have THREE store fronts. Secondly, they no longer are just bras, panties and lingerie now they have lotions and clothes and perfumes and makeup. Lastly, I was SO terrified and SO overwhelmed that I didn't know where to go, what to choose or how to choose it.
I left. I just walked in and walked out.
WTF was wrong with me? I was so overwhelmed by every single decision that I had to make. My head was swimming with clothes and bras and smells and sounds and pretty girls that I would have to talk to in order to buy anything. I have been a bit of an emotional wreck lately...
So I did what any smart, independent, rational woman would do, I went back out to the car and cried. Then I called Nicki (who has seriously filled her quota of best friend related emotional meltdowns over the past month) who thankfully got me to call Kitty to come and save me (you see, Nicki lives in East ButtF%#k, ME and could never get to me).
My conversation with Kitty went something like this:
A near hysterical Me: "Where are you"
Kitty: "At lunch with my mom, why, what's up?"
Me: "I have an emergency"
Kitty with concern:"what's going on"
Me: "I need a bra and I can't get it."
Kitty now laughing: "What do you mean?"
Me: "Seriously, I am at Victoria's Secret and I can't do it. I don't know what to do. I am so overwhelmed. Can you come help me, PLEASE?"
Kitty now laughing hysterically (and her mom in the background also laughing hysterically): "Let me finish my lunch and I will call you when I am on my way."
Me: "Thank you so much...are you sure...okay, thank you, I LOVE YOU".
Seriously, I have the best friends EVER! Who else would have saved me in a bra emergency? Who else would have taken me completely seriously in a bra emergency (alright, she didn't take me completely seriously, but she did show up).
About an hour later (I sat in the car the entire time, terrified to move) Kitty shows up, laughing still, and walks me into Victoria's Secret. She marches me up to the lady and I explain that I need to be fitted (I figure I'm not getting any lately, may as well get my kicks from the fitting girl). Kitty even got fitted with me for moral support.
The lovely fitting girl shows me what will work best for me, picks them out, walks me to my dressing room and THEY FIT. They are perfect. They feel nice. My boobies are on my CHEST not my belly or near my knees. The look GOOOOOOD. I have fallen in love with my big, saggy boobies again.
$105 later (HOLY CRAP, I have never spent that much money on things that nobody will ever see), we head to Macy's where Kitty picks out clothes for me all afternoon and makes me try things on that I hate. I was even able to pick out a couple shirts and a pair of capris.
Thank god for Kitty and Nicki. I would never have made it through this day without them. Be forewarned ladies, I will call you next time I have to go, I'll give you a little more notice, though.
7/23/08
Not yet 30...
Don't forget to vote in my poll - it ends today!
I'm not even 30. I have a few months left. You don't all have to comment what a baby I am, I know and I love it!
30 doesn't scare me. Honestly, I have lived a life that most 50 year old women couldn't dream of. I have helped raise 2 (now adult) step children, I gave birth two young men (6 and 8), one child that is on the autism spectrum, I own my own business...my life is full. I feel that I have accomplished a lot for "not yet 30".
But can someone explain to me why I already have so many things that a 90 year old would have? My hair is already going gray and has to be colored every 7 weeks, my breasts sag to my knees (leaving the house without a bra is NOT an option), my heels need to be constantly exfoliated or they crack...and the worst? You can't even imagine...
I HAVE A HAIR THAT GROWS OUT OF THE MOLE ON MY CHIN!
I have had this issue for a few years now. It has progressively gotten worse. I swear it grows faster and faster every time I pluck it.
Every time I see it I am instantly reminded of my great grandmother. She died at 92, one of the most amazing women I ever knew, she raised 12 children, had more grandchildren and great grandchildren that I can count (in fact, at family reunions with just the immediate family we all have to wear name tags that often say "Erica, daughter of Richard" or something of the like).
So this AMAZING woman had hairs growing out of her chin. Not just one (like I am blessed to have) but a pre-puberty beard. Of course, at 92, who is it that you are trying to impress? So there they sat, on her chin, a good inch+ long...
For me, one is bad enough. Sometimes I don't catch it before it has gotten longer than I would like. Sometimes I realize it has grown back in after someone has pointed out to me (typically Kirby or my wonderful children). And then I wonder...how many people have seen this mole hair and not pointed it out to me?
So once again I will go pluck this most annoying hair. I would consider electrolysis but is it really worth it for one hair? Maybe when I get a chin full like Great Grammie I will think about it. Then again, maybe by the time I have a chin full I won't care anymore...
7/22/08
Critters Hide When They Hear My Name
Fellow blogger Heather from Mindless Junque recently posted about a "Big A$$ Rat" and it reminded me of a couple funny stories in the critter department.
I am a girl (do you doubt me cause I CAN prove it). While I can be "tough" in many ways, rodents and critters in my home do not help me show my toughness...Outside of the home I am fine. Field mice are cute, bats eat "bad bugs", raccoons are funny...IN my house?! Not okay!
Living in the boonies we have had our fair share of critter encounters. Those that think I am soooo strong will realize quickly how wrong they were:
When Z was a baby a bat got into our house late one night. Not only was it in the house but it was in the bedroom - my bedroom, the one I shared with Z and Kirby.
Kirby couldn't catch the stinking thing and it kept swooping down towards me and towards the baby...I was FREAKING out! At one point in time it got UNDER the bed and climbed up into the headboard. Kirby yanked the mattress off to try and find him but those little suckers are sneaky!
After about 10 minutes of freaking out, trying to protect my baby and trying to help Kirby I finally gave up. I grabbed Z and ran into the bathroom closing the door tightly behind me.
Kirby found me on the floor, clutching Z, rocking back and forth, crying "I want my Daddy"...I have never lived it down.
A few years later Kirby was away on a business trip in New Jersey. I was home alone with the kids. In the middle of the night (or VERY early morning, try 2am) I woke up to use the bathroom. What I find was one of the most horrifying things EVER: a mouse.
I didn't know what to do so I grabbed the cat, threw him in the bathroom and closed the door. Then I called Kirby....in New Jersey...to rescue me...
A VERY groggy K (AVGK): "humph...hello"
A VERY scared me (AVSM): "THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE"
AVGK: "Where?"
AVSM: "IN THE BATHROOM"
AVGK: "well, what do you want me to do about it? there is nothing I can do from here"
AVSM: "WELL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, I TRAPPED IT IN THERE WITH THE CAT HOPING THE CAT WILL EAT HIM"
AVGK: "I'm in New Jersey, it is 2 in the morning...I can't help you...I'm sorry"
AVSM: "FINE, FINE, WHATEVER....I GUESS I WILL JUST WAIT IT OUT AND GO CLEAN UP THE BLOODY MESS LATER"
I'm pretty sure I hung up on him...At the time it all seemed incredibly rational.
A few hours later, after the noise of the cat scurrying around the bathroom stopped, I grabbed the dustpan, some paper towels and some cleaner and made my way in the clean up the bloody mess. However, there was no mess to be found. Either that cat ate the entire mouse or....well...I didn't even want to think about what else could have happened...
But a couple years ago I found that mouse (or his cousin, brother, sister, whatever) in the bathroom again. Again, I called Kirby who was at work and he was all "jesus, there is nothing I can do, I'm an hour away"...so I was, again, left to my own devices (and hang up on him...see how rational I am when I am scared?).
I trapped him in a cup...but then I didn't know what to do and when I tried to move it he got loose. I screamed - I am lucky the neighbors didn't call the cops...I screamed bloody freaking murder!
I knew I couldn't leave him for the cat - that stupid cat had proven to me what a big defender he was last time there was a mouse in the bathroom.
He climbed up behind my linen "closet" and hung on for dear life between the rack and the wall...I had no other choice, lives were at stake (lives that I consider MUCH more important than this little rodents)...I grabbed a cat dish, opened up the doors to the linen "closet" and slammed the dish against the spot where the mouse was...and I screamed, the whole time.
Then there was bloody freaking murder. I held the murder weapon in my hand..an empty cat dish. And I was left to clean up the remains. The autopsy revealed blunt force trauma...what a way to go...I bet he didn't even know what hit him...
Now you all know the truth. There is blood on my hands...I feel so relieved that I have finally admitted it to the world.
I am a girl (do you doubt me cause I CAN prove it). While I can be "tough" in many ways, rodents and critters in my home do not help me show my toughness...Outside of the home I am fine. Field mice are cute, bats eat "bad bugs", raccoons are funny...IN my house?! Not okay!
Living in the boonies we have had our fair share of critter encounters. Those that think I am soooo strong will realize quickly how wrong they were:
When Z was a baby a bat got into our house late one night. Not only was it in the house but it was in the bedroom - my bedroom, the one I shared with Z and Kirby.
Kirby couldn't catch the stinking thing and it kept swooping down towards me and towards the baby...I was FREAKING out! At one point in time it got UNDER the bed and climbed up into the headboard. Kirby yanked the mattress off to try and find him but those little suckers are sneaky!
After about 10 minutes of freaking out, trying to protect my baby and trying to help Kirby I finally gave up. I grabbed Z and ran into the bathroom closing the door tightly behind me.
Kirby found me on the floor, clutching Z, rocking back and forth, crying "I want my Daddy"...I have never lived it down.
A few years later Kirby was away on a business trip in New Jersey. I was home alone with the kids. In the middle of the night (or VERY early morning, try 2am) I woke up to use the bathroom. What I find was one of the most horrifying things EVER: a mouse.
I didn't know what to do so I grabbed the cat, threw him in the bathroom and closed the door. Then I called Kirby....in New Jersey...to rescue me...
A VERY groggy K (AVGK): "humph...hello"
A VERY scared me (AVSM): "THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE"
AVGK: "Where?"
AVSM: "IN THE BATHROOM"
AVGK: "well, what do you want me to do about it? there is nothing I can do from here"
AVSM: "WELL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, I TRAPPED IT IN THERE WITH THE CAT HOPING THE CAT WILL EAT HIM"
AVGK: "I'm in New Jersey, it is 2 in the morning...I can't help you...I'm sorry"
AVSM: "FINE, FINE, WHATEVER....I GUESS I WILL JUST WAIT IT OUT AND GO CLEAN UP THE BLOODY MESS LATER"
I'm pretty sure I hung up on him...At the time it all seemed incredibly rational.
A few hours later, after the noise of the cat scurrying around the bathroom stopped, I grabbed the dustpan, some paper towels and some cleaner and made my way in the clean up the bloody mess. However, there was no mess to be found. Either that cat ate the entire mouse or....well...I didn't even want to think about what else could have happened...
But a couple years ago I found that mouse (or his cousin, brother, sister, whatever) in the bathroom again. Again, I called Kirby who was at work and he was all "jesus, there is nothing I can do, I'm an hour away"...so I was, again, left to my own devices (and hang up on him...see how rational I am when I am scared?).
I trapped him in a cup...but then I didn't know what to do and when I tried to move it he got loose. I screamed - I am lucky the neighbors didn't call the cops...I screamed bloody freaking murder!
I knew I couldn't leave him for the cat - that stupid cat had proven to me what a big defender he was last time there was a mouse in the bathroom.
He climbed up behind my linen "closet" and hung on for dear life between the rack and the wall...I had no other choice, lives were at stake (lives that I consider MUCH more important than this little rodents)...I grabbed a cat dish, opened up the doors to the linen "closet" and slammed the dish against the spot where the mouse was...and I screamed, the whole time.
Then there was bloody freaking murder. I held the murder weapon in my hand..an empty cat dish. And I was left to clean up the remains. The autopsy revealed blunt force trauma...what a way to go...I bet he didn't even know what hit him...
Now you all know the truth. There is blood on my hands...I feel so relieved that I have finally admitted it to the world.
7/18/08
When I learned that alcohol and wet t-shirts do not mix...
I need you all to understand that yesterday's post does not mean that I will never mention Kirby again. He has been a part of my life for 10 years and will continue to be a part of my life. There are still funny stories that I will share, angry times that I will vent and moments where I may need a bit of therapy...
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING BLOG MAY CONTAIN MATERIAL NOT FIT FOR ANY FAMILY MEMBER TO READ - EVER! PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK (ALEX, LOREN, MONICA: THIS MEANS YOU - IF YOU READ THIS I WILL NEVER DISCUSS IT WITH YOU EVER, PERIOD)!
When I was old enough to start getting into nightclubs I went through a bit of a party stage. Okay, who am I kidding, I went through a MAJOR party stage. There were times that I woke up in the morning still drunk and needed my employees to drive me to work...way to gain the respect!
I was young and irresponsible (though a retail chain deemed me responsible enough to manage their local stores and a handful of employees). I enjoyed heading to the clubs and getting some attention. I was young (and much skinnier). Aside from the responsibilities at my job I had none. So why not?!
Kirby and I met at the club that my girlfriend and I frequented. He was a bouncer...I was naive and enamoured and thought dating a bouncer would be the coolest thing.
Soon after he and I started dating my girlfriend and I decided to enter the wet t-shirt contest that the nightclub put on every week. The cash prize was pretty substantial, what could be the big deal, right?
I have never been more wrong in my life...
Before we went to the club I started to drink. Legally, I was not old enough so I couldn't drink in the bar and I knew that if I was going to do this I was going to need me some alcohol. So we drank, shitty wine coolers, nothing that even began to give me the buzz that I needed.
Finally we got into the club, we signed up for the contest and they took us to the back room with the other girls that had signed up. We were each given white Fruit of the Loom t-shirts and a pair of scissors. We could create our own shirt, or, in my case, your bouncer boyfriend could create your shirt.
When I walked out into the club it looked like I was barely wearing anything. The t-shirt had been cut into tube top with slits up the sides...my nipples were barely covered (and until I had kids there wasn't a whole lot to cover).
I was terrified.
The put us all on stage in a line and one at a time we stepped into the kiddie pool while the male staff members poured water over us while the enormous audience screamed and hollered for whomever they wanted to win. I don't ever remember the club being that packed on a weeknight...
(As I write this I realize all over again how absolutely degrading this is and I wonder how I ever allowed myself to get talked into this).
I looked out into the audience and saw men that I once worked with...I saw the man from the pool hall (Stew) that I absolutely adored...I started to shake. I was seriously shaking...I thought I might pass out.
My girlfriend stepped in the pool. She was never one to be shy. She made it look good. I could do that, right?
It was my turn. I stepped into the pool, made eye contact with the guys I use to work with and allowed these men to dump FREEZING cold water on me. As if I wasn't shaking enough already, the water was FREEZING! I lost my breath it was So. Freaking. Cold. I looked like a moron. I stood there shaking, gasping for air...mortified. The crowd went dead silent aside for a few pity claps and one crazy guy yelling...
In the end neither my girlfriend or I won (shocking, I know!). One of the other contestants (who happened to be a professional stripper complete with fake boobies - can you say CHEATER?) won and took home all the money. I do believe that my girlfriend placed second...but once that cold water hit me the blood rushed from my brain trying to warm my poor boobies so I don't remember a whole lot...
I quickly ran out back to change into my regular clothes and melt away...but I couldn't. My public was awaiting my return.
As I went back in the club Stew's girlfriend approached me. "He was screaming like a maniac for you." How sweet. He was the crazy guy yelling at the terrified girl standing in the kiddie pool gasping for air and shaking like she was having a seizure...I knew there was a reason I adored him - he was too nice for his own good!
WTF was I thinking? And, seriously, why in the world would Kirby have "allowed" me to do that?
Ladies, if you are reading this and thinking that a wet t-shirt contest may be a good way to earn some extra money, I assure you IT IS NOT! That water is COLD! You don't have even a second to gather your bearings and look pretty...I think pimping yourself might be easier - I am sure there are better ways to earn a few extra bucks.
I have never, since that moment, shown my breasts in public (aside from a little innocent nursing of the youngins). It truly was one of the most mortifying moments of my life, I am not sure how I lived through it...to this day when I think about it I get a pit in my stomach...
It was soon after that they closed the club and opened a much larger one next door. The stopped having those wet t-shirt contests...I like to believe I played a small part in that - they realized that not all women look "hot" in a white, wet t-shirt...
So, tell me, what was your most mortifying moment in public? How have you made a complete ass out of yourself while the entire world was watching?
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING BLOG MAY CONTAIN MATERIAL NOT FIT FOR ANY FAMILY MEMBER TO READ - EVER! PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK (ALEX, LOREN, MONICA: THIS MEANS YOU - IF YOU READ THIS I WILL NEVER DISCUSS IT WITH YOU EVER, PERIOD)!
When I was old enough to start getting into nightclubs I went through a bit of a party stage. Okay, who am I kidding, I went through a MAJOR party stage. There were times that I woke up in the morning still drunk and needed my employees to drive me to work...way to gain the respect!
I was young and irresponsible (though a retail chain deemed me responsible enough to manage their local stores and a handful of employees). I enjoyed heading to the clubs and getting some attention. I was young (and much skinnier). Aside from the responsibilities at my job I had none. So why not?!
Kirby and I met at the club that my girlfriend and I frequented. He was a bouncer...I was naive and enamoured and thought dating a bouncer would be the coolest thing.
Soon after he and I started dating my girlfriend and I decided to enter the wet t-shirt contest that the nightclub put on every week. The cash prize was pretty substantial, what could be the big deal, right?
I have never been more wrong in my life...
Before we went to the club I started to drink. Legally, I was not old enough so I couldn't drink in the bar and I knew that if I was going to do this I was going to need me some alcohol. So we drank, shitty wine coolers, nothing that even began to give me the buzz that I needed.
Finally we got into the club, we signed up for the contest and they took us to the back room with the other girls that had signed up. We were each given white Fruit of the Loom t-shirts and a pair of scissors. We could create our own shirt, or, in my case, your bouncer boyfriend could create your shirt.
When I walked out into the club it looked like I was barely wearing anything. The t-shirt had been cut into tube top with slits up the sides...my nipples were barely covered (and until I had kids there wasn't a whole lot to cover).
I was terrified.
The put us all on stage in a line and one at a time we stepped into the kiddie pool while the male staff members poured water over us while the enormous audience screamed and hollered for whomever they wanted to win. I don't ever remember the club being that packed on a weeknight...
(As I write this I realize all over again how absolutely degrading this is and I wonder how I ever allowed myself to get talked into this).
I looked out into the audience and saw men that I once worked with...I saw the man from the pool hall (Stew) that I absolutely adored...I started to shake. I was seriously shaking...I thought I might pass out.
My girlfriend stepped in the pool. She was never one to be shy. She made it look good. I could do that, right?
It was my turn. I stepped into the pool, made eye contact with the guys I use to work with and allowed these men to dump FREEZING cold water on me. As if I wasn't shaking enough already, the water was FREEZING! I lost my breath it was So. Freaking. Cold. I looked like a moron. I stood there shaking, gasping for air...mortified. The crowd went dead silent aside for a few pity claps and one crazy guy yelling...
In the end neither my girlfriend or I won (shocking, I know!). One of the other contestants (who happened to be a professional stripper complete with fake boobies - can you say CHEATER?) won and took home all the money. I do believe that my girlfriend placed second...but once that cold water hit me the blood rushed from my brain trying to warm my poor boobies so I don't remember a whole lot...
I quickly ran out back to change into my regular clothes and melt away...but I couldn't. My public was awaiting my return.
As I went back in the club Stew's girlfriend approached me. "He was screaming like a maniac for you." How sweet. He was the crazy guy yelling at the terrified girl standing in the kiddie pool gasping for air and shaking like she was having a seizure...I knew there was a reason I adored him - he was too nice for his own good!
WTF was I thinking? And, seriously, why in the world would Kirby have "allowed" me to do that?
Ladies, if you are reading this and thinking that a wet t-shirt contest may be a good way to earn some extra money, I assure you IT IS NOT! That water is COLD! You don't have even a second to gather your bearings and look pretty...I think pimping yourself might be easier - I am sure there are better ways to earn a few extra bucks.
I have never, since that moment, shown my breasts in public (aside from a little innocent nursing of the youngins). It truly was one of the most mortifying moments of my life, I am not sure how I lived through it...to this day when I think about it I get a pit in my stomach...
It was soon after that they closed the club and opened a much larger one next door. The stopped having those wet t-shirt contests...I like to believe I played a small part in that - they realized that not all women look "hot" in a white, wet t-shirt...
So, tell me, what was your most mortifying moment in public? How have you made a complete ass out of yourself while the entire world was watching?
7/15/08
Beware of the car killer.
Don't forget to tell me your "10 can't live without 'em" songs! Help me make my next ITunes purchase!
Have I told you all before that I have the ability to run ANY vehicle into the ground? I do. Honestly. Every vehicle I have owned (and I have owned MANY) has dropped dead...usually while I am driving it.
My "Bovine" (my very first car...LOTS of good memories from that car) died on the way home from work one night. I blew a head gasket. My Colt died on the way TO work one day...the engine seize. A CV joint broke on one of the mini vans we have owned while I was driving home. I drove our Escort into 3 other cars...oh, the list goes on and on and on.
Most recently this was our van...yes...our NEW van. Of course, it was only new to us and had plenty of miles on it but, honestly, we bought it in May and I have already killed it.
Driving along, taking a break from my life, all of a sudden I hear a loud bang and the van lurches. I seriously thought I had hit something. I pulled over, nothing in the road, cars moved along past me oblivious to whatever had happened to me. I look under the hood and something is POURING out. Who knows what it was...I suspect transmission fluid.
I was not too far from home and figured I would just turn around and try to get back there. Nope. Not going to happen. The entire van starts to shake and rumble...the engine is rattling so loudly I can't even hear myself. What to do? Well, I parked it and walked home. In my white t-shirt in the pouring rain (Mommy boobies, wet t-shirt...the two don't mix...matter of fact, my boobies in a wet t-shirt have NEVER mixed...but that is for another blog).
So now I am driving the "old" van (yes, the one that we ripped a hole in the oil pan that Kirby patched with some fake metal filler stuff). Except for today.
Today I drove the Civic...but that's another story.
Have I told you all before that I have the ability to run ANY vehicle into the ground? I do. Honestly. Every vehicle I have owned (and I have owned MANY) has dropped dead...usually while I am driving it.
My "Bovine" (my very first car...LOTS of good memories from that car) died on the way home from work one night. I blew a head gasket. My Colt died on the way TO work one day...the engine seize. A CV joint broke on one of the mini vans we have owned while I was driving home. I drove our Escort into 3 other cars...oh, the list goes on and on and on.
Most recently this was our van...yes...our NEW van. Of course, it was only new to us and had plenty of miles on it but, honestly, we bought it in May and I have already killed it.
Driving along, taking a break from my life, all of a sudden I hear a loud bang and the van lurches. I seriously thought I had hit something. I pulled over, nothing in the road, cars moved along past me oblivious to whatever had happened to me. I look under the hood and something is POURING out. Who knows what it was...I suspect transmission fluid.
I was not too far from home and figured I would just turn around and try to get back there. Nope. Not going to happen. The entire van starts to shake and rumble...the engine is rattling so loudly I can't even hear myself. What to do? Well, I parked it and walked home. In my white t-shirt in the pouring rain (Mommy boobies, wet t-shirt...the two don't mix...matter of fact, my boobies in a wet t-shirt have NEVER mixed...but that is for another blog).
So now I am driving the "old" van (yes, the one that we ripped a hole in the oil pan that Kirby patched with some fake metal filler stuff). Except for today.
Today I drove the Civic...but that's another story.
7/3/08
Bathing Suit For Sale
One beautiful yellow bathing suit for sale. Size 16. Only been worn once. Offers lots of coverage and helps slim those areas that need slimming.
It does have one minor flaw: It's see through when wet.
Yup, you read that correctly. Just what every fat girl wants: A see through bathing suit for the beach full of families to see.
Every year when my "brother" from NYC comes home for a visit we do a night at the lake. The entire family gathers.
We eat:
We laugh:
My kids get some "manly" advice:
We build sandcastles:
We do our best not to scare the wildlife:
We swim:
However, we DO NOT offer free shows to anyone on the beach. At least, not intentionally.
This year I didn't have a bathing suit. The morning of the "Annual Night at the Lake" I flew to the closest store that sold bathing suits (the discount store 15 miles away). It took me FOREVER to find one my size. I asked where the changing rooms were and was informed that they don't have any and if it didn't fit I had 30 days to return it with tags in "saleable" condition.
Excuse you? Who buys a bathing suit without trying it on? Apparently anyone that buys a swimsuit from Ocean State Job Lots does...including me.
They were inexpensive so I grabbed two that I thought may fit. One yellow, one black. They did, indeed, fit. Andrew decided that I should wear the yellow to the lake that night, and since it was my favorite as well, I did.
After swimming with the little ones out at the buoys for a while I decided it was time to come in. Kirby took one look at me, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he, quietly, informed me that he could see "EVERYTHING"...I QUICKLY covered up and stayed that way until I was dry.
WHY, OH WHY, would anyone EVER sell a bathing suit meant for larger ladies that was SEE THROUGH?! When I questioned Kirby on this he replied, "well, now you know why it was at Job Lots". Yes, yes I do.
Later, after swimming a bit more I came out, covered by two kick boards. Zach didn't understand why I needed two kick boards when I wasn't even swimming...until I turned around and he announced, LOUDLY, "I CAN SEE YOUR TATTOO"!
You see, I have a very small, very respectable tattoo on my upper derriere. Now everyone knows that the swimsuit is see through (only the "dark spots", though).
So, I am sure you can understand why I will not be wearing this suit again and feel the need to rid my house of it immediately...
If you are the kind of girl that doesn't mind showing her goods on the beach (no judgement) please let me know. It's inexpensive, I won't even charge you what I paid for it which was, honestly, too much considering the results.
It does have one minor flaw: It's see through when wet.
Yup, you read that correctly. Just what every fat girl wants: A see through bathing suit for the beach full of families to see.
Every year when my "brother" from NYC comes home for a visit we do a night at the lake. The entire family gathers.
We eat:
We laugh:
My kids get some "manly" advice:
We build sandcastles:
We do our best not to scare the wildlife:
We swim:
However, we DO NOT offer free shows to anyone on the beach. At least, not intentionally.
This year I didn't have a bathing suit. The morning of the "Annual Night at the Lake" I flew to the closest store that sold bathing suits (the discount store 15 miles away). It took me FOREVER to find one my size. I asked where the changing rooms were and was informed that they don't have any and if it didn't fit I had 30 days to return it with tags in "saleable" condition.
Excuse you? Who buys a bathing suit without trying it on? Apparently anyone that buys a swimsuit from Ocean State Job Lots does...including me.
They were inexpensive so I grabbed two that I thought may fit. One yellow, one black. They did, indeed, fit. Andrew decided that I should wear the yellow to the lake that night, and since it was my favorite as well, I did.
After swimming with the little ones out at the buoys for a while I decided it was time to come in. Kirby took one look at me, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he, quietly, informed me that he could see "EVERYTHING"...I QUICKLY covered up and stayed that way until I was dry.
WHY, OH WHY, would anyone EVER sell a bathing suit meant for larger ladies that was SEE THROUGH?! When I questioned Kirby on this he replied, "well, now you know why it was at Job Lots". Yes, yes I do.
Later, after swimming a bit more I came out, covered by two kick boards. Zach didn't understand why I needed two kick boards when I wasn't even swimming...until I turned around and he announced, LOUDLY, "I CAN SEE YOUR TATTOO"!
You see, I have a very small, very respectable tattoo on my upper derriere. Now everyone knows that the swimsuit is see through (only the "dark spots", though).
So, I am sure you can understand why I will not be wearing this suit again and feel the need to rid my house of it immediately...
If you are the kind of girl that doesn't mind showing her goods on the beach (no judgement) please let me know. It's inexpensive, I won't even charge you what I paid for it which was, honestly, too much considering the results.
6/27/08
An oldie..."Working it out"
I can't remember if I posted this before. I tried to look through my old posts and couldn't find it...
I want to forewarn you that there is some downright foul language...but I do love this old blog from my myspace page:
I hate the gym. I don't understand why it seems that only beautiful people go to the gym. Isn't the gym for getting in shape? Why is it that I feel like the largest person there who is breathing the hardest and struggling the most?
Step two in doing good things for me was joining the local gym. Here in the boondocks we have a few to choose from. One that is for women only (similar to curves with a higher price and just as many gossiping women), one for body builders complete with grunting men, old equipment and freeweights up the wazoo, one for rehabilitation (it is part of the hospitals physical therapy place but it does have a pool)...They are all over priced ($37+/month) and none of them have great hours (the latest stays open until 8pm during the week and only 4pm on weekends).
Then there is "Gordo's" the gym that I chose. It is a new place with brand new equipment including freeweights, machines and cardio. There is no place for stretching, it is small and the owner is always there. He is also the personal trainer...you get 3 free sessions when you sign up.
So last week I broke down and bought a membership. I recently hit my highest weight since losing over 100lbs a few years ago and it has been affecting every aspect of my being. Did I mention how much I hate the gym?
I show up the first night and the owner/trainer seems surprised...who can blame him? I was surprised I had made it as well...
I did 30 minutes on the bike (I like to be lazy when I work out), I struggle, I listen to my music and try to drown out the pain, the heavy breathing, the burning in my legs and the note on the bike that says "if you are not feeling well, stop immediately" - are you fucking kidding me?! I finish, ready to go home and veg on the couch when he (the owner/trainer) makes a decision that I really should learn all about the weight machines and set up a plan. I'm not very impressed...I really wanted to ease my way into this.
He walks me through the machines, sets up my weights asking after every one "how does that feel". What I want to tell him is that it feels like shit, it hurts, my body is rejecting the thought that I am making it work harder then it has in years - but instead I paste on a fake smile and say "it feels good..." He makes me get on the elliptical, I last a good minute...I hate the gym.
The next night is my cardio night. The girl at the desk (who fills in on the rare occasion that "Gordo" takes off) also seems surprised that I have showed...WTF?! She suggests I try the elliptical, it isn't as boring as everything else, she tells me. 3 minutes later I am ready to die. I mean heart pounding, burning, struggling for breath DEATH! I figure that was enough and, again, I jump on the bike for 30 minutes. I see another beautiful female member do 45+ on the elliptical, feeling like an ass the whole time I sit on my ass on the bike...I HATE the gym!
Night three, I am feeling okay. Every muscle aches, but I am getting into a routine. I have committed to 3 times/week and I will do it. So, I go...much to my dismay. Nobody seems so surprised this time...finally, hopefully, they have realized that the fat girl is actually going to make it. Tonight is a full body work out. I am suppose to do my 30 minutes of cardio and my weights. Gordo is there...there is no getting out of it.
He suggests that I start with a 15 minute warm up on the treadmill or the elliptical...I tell him the treadmill is just fine, thank you. He walks me through my weights again, counting every rep, there is no cheating here. I say "12" he says "no, 9, keep going". Again, he wants to know how I feel after everything. Jesus, its like all these crazy people want me to be happy about being there. Crazy...insanity! Who likes this? I make it through, finish up with 15 more minutes on the cardio and prepare for my weekend off! I LOVE my last day at the gym...
Monday was my first day back. She is there again...sweet and willing to stay late so I can finish my routine (ah, shit, I thought I was sneaking out early). I do my warm up, move on to the weights, realize that I am counting out loud...feel like an ass. Jump on the ab machine. I know this is tough for me. I can't remember where to put my legs...don't use your legs...is that what he said...why is this so tough...I could do 12 a few days ago...two...three...shit...I need to stop. Sweet Maria walks over, you might want to take the weights off that, maybe that is why it is so tough on you...STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! I finish my weights and head out, hanging my head in shame...I am a moron....and I HATE the gym again.
Yesterday I am back to cardio. Gordo wants me to try the elliptical again. He suggests I warm up on the treadmill then move onto the elliptical. Whatever. I guess the worst that can happen is that I die of a heart attack..right? I am the only one there, it is a quiet day. Good thing, I have nobody to feel less then...bad thing, Gordo wants to be sure that I am doing everything right and can hear me every time I turn the machine on or off...
I do my 15 minutes on the treadmill, I like the treadmill but don't understand why I can't do the stinking bike. Why can't I be lazy while I am working out...why must I exert as much energy as possible...realizing that is the point. I warm up then move on to the dreaded elliptical. At 1 minute I am saying only 4 more, 2.5, halfway there....3, I am NOT going to make it....4, push, push, push, 5...thank the fucking lord above I did not die. I am breathing so heavy that I am sure that he can hear me across the room even over the loud music..."how was that"...MOTHER FUCKER! How the fuck did he think it was? Does he not see me gasping for breath, sweat pouring out of every orifice of my body...snot coming out of my nose because I can't get the air in fast enough...smile..."fine" I gasp, "just fine"...I don't think I need to say it again, but just in case I HATE THE GYM....I finish my 15 minutes on the treadmill, ask him to spot me on my abs and fly out of there as fast as I can - he says as I am leaving "you are really committed to this aren't you" in a voice that is both surprised and respectful...nice.
I smell, every time I leave there I smell like an ass that has not been washed in weeks. I hurt. Every muscle aches, it is hard to walk up the stairs to get into the house, walk the dog down to his lead...pick up the kids...ugh!
I know this is good. Again, doing good things for me can be painful. I know that and, today, I am willing to work through it. I think I need to get my own personal massage therapist to work on me before I go to the gym everyday. Today I am not sure how I am going to make it through full body...thank God Joy can get me in before I head in!
My trips to DD's have become less frequent. Not only do I need to save that money to pay my membership, but a DD's donut has more calories in it then I am burning every day...seems a little worthless. I miss my Boston Creams...there is always my black iced coffee....working on cutting out the sugar again, adding my multies back into my diet ("thank you for calling GNC, your multi-vitamin headquarters", I learned my lessons well) and drinking my protien shake...drinking less coffee and more water. Peeing has become second nature. It is not uncommon to pee every 30-45 minutes...what a pain in the ass that is!
I am thinking about posting before and after pictures...maybe I'll make that decision after I hit the after :)
*** Update: Gordo did not say "committed" as I previously posted...he said "determined". And the mother fucker said it again today. He comes to check on me while I am on the treadmill "cooling down"...he looks and sees that I am almost at 20 minutes and says "WOW, you REALLY ARE DETERMINED!" - like it's some fucking shock. I can't decide whether to love him or hate him...maybe I'll decide when I hit my after :)***
The time at the gym was short lived. In fact, to this day, I avoid Gordo at all costs (which is not easy in our small town). There is no reason for me to not work out except that I hate it and it is hard work - that's it, I am just lazy :)
I want to forewarn you that there is some downright foul language...but I do love this old blog from my myspace page:
I hate the gym. I don't understand why it seems that only beautiful people go to the gym. Isn't the gym for getting in shape? Why is it that I feel like the largest person there who is breathing the hardest and struggling the most?
Step two in doing good things for me was joining the local gym. Here in the boondocks we have a few to choose from. One that is for women only (similar to curves with a higher price and just as many gossiping women), one for body builders complete with grunting men, old equipment and freeweights up the wazoo, one for rehabilitation (it is part of the hospitals physical therapy place but it does have a pool)...They are all over priced ($37+/month) and none of them have great hours (the latest stays open until 8pm during the week and only 4pm on weekends).
Then there is "Gordo's" the gym that I chose. It is a new place with brand new equipment including freeweights, machines and cardio. There is no place for stretching, it is small and the owner is always there. He is also the personal trainer...you get 3 free sessions when you sign up.
So last week I broke down and bought a membership. I recently hit my highest weight since losing over 100lbs a few years ago and it has been affecting every aspect of my being. Did I mention how much I hate the gym?
I show up the first night and the owner/trainer seems surprised...who can blame him? I was surprised I had made it as well...
I did 30 minutes on the bike (I like to be lazy when I work out), I struggle, I listen to my music and try to drown out the pain, the heavy breathing, the burning in my legs and the note on the bike that says "if you are not feeling well, stop immediately" - are you fucking kidding me?! I finish, ready to go home and veg on the couch when he (the owner/trainer) makes a decision that I really should learn all about the weight machines and set up a plan. I'm not very impressed...I really wanted to ease my way into this.
He walks me through the machines, sets up my weights asking after every one "how does that feel". What I want to tell him is that it feels like shit, it hurts, my body is rejecting the thought that I am making it work harder then it has in years - but instead I paste on a fake smile and say "it feels good..." He makes me get on the elliptical, I last a good minute...I hate the gym.
The next night is my cardio night. The girl at the desk (who fills in on the rare occasion that "Gordo" takes off) also seems surprised that I have showed...WTF?! She suggests I try the elliptical, it isn't as boring as everything else, she tells me. 3 minutes later I am ready to die. I mean heart pounding, burning, struggling for breath DEATH! I figure that was enough and, again, I jump on the bike for 30 minutes. I see another beautiful female member do 45+ on the elliptical, feeling like an ass the whole time I sit on my ass on the bike...I HATE the gym!
Night three, I am feeling okay. Every muscle aches, but I am getting into a routine. I have committed to 3 times/week and I will do it. So, I go...much to my dismay. Nobody seems so surprised this time...finally, hopefully, they have realized that the fat girl is actually going to make it. Tonight is a full body work out. I am suppose to do my 30 minutes of cardio and my weights. Gordo is there...there is no getting out of it.
He suggests that I start with a 15 minute warm up on the treadmill or the elliptical...I tell him the treadmill is just fine, thank you. He walks me through my weights again, counting every rep, there is no cheating here. I say "12" he says "no, 9, keep going". Again, he wants to know how I feel after everything. Jesus, its like all these crazy people want me to be happy about being there. Crazy...insanity! Who likes this? I make it through, finish up with 15 more minutes on the cardio and prepare for my weekend off! I LOVE my last day at the gym...
Monday was my first day back. She is there again...sweet and willing to stay late so I can finish my routine (ah, shit, I thought I was sneaking out early). I do my warm up, move on to the weights, realize that I am counting out loud...feel like an ass. Jump on the ab machine. I know this is tough for me. I can't remember where to put my legs...don't use your legs...is that what he said...why is this so tough...I could do 12 a few days ago...two...three...shit...I need to stop. Sweet Maria walks over, you might want to take the weights off that, maybe that is why it is so tough on you...STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! I finish my weights and head out, hanging my head in shame...I am a moron....and I HATE the gym again.
Yesterday I am back to cardio. Gordo wants me to try the elliptical again. He suggests I warm up on the treadmill then move onto the elliptical. Whatever. I guess the worst that can happen is that I die of a heart attack..right? I am the only one there, it is a quiet day. Good thing, I have nobody to feel less then...bad thing, Gordo wants to be sure that I am doing everything right and can hear me every time I turn the machine on or off...
I do my 15 minutes on the treadmill, I like the treadmill but don't understand why I can't do the stinking bike. Why can't I be lazy while I am working out...why must I exert as much energy as possible...realizing that is the point. I warm up then move on to the dreaded elliptical. At 1 minute I am saying only 4 more, 2.5, halfway there....3, I am NOT going to make it....4, push, push, push, 5...thank the fucking lord above I did not die. I am breathing so heavy that I am sure that he can hear me across the room even over the loud music..."how was that"...MOTHER FUCKER! How the fuck did he think it was? Does he not see me gasping for breath, sweat pouring out of every orifice of my body...snot coming out of my nose because I can't get the air in fast enough...smile..."fine" I gasp, "just fine"...I don't think I need to say it again, but just in case I HATE THE GYM....I finish my 15 minutes on the treadmill, ask him to spot me on my abs and fly out of there as fast as I can - he says as I am leaving "you are really committed to this aren't you" in a voice that is both surprised and respectful...nice.
I smell, every time I leave there I smell like an ass that has not been washed in weeks. I hurt. Every muscle aches, it is hard to walk up the stairs to get into the house, walk the dog down to his lead...pick up the kids...ugh!
I know this is good. Again, doing good things for me can be painful. I know that and, today, I am willing to work through it. I think I need to get my own personal massage therapist to work on me before I go to the gym everyday. Today I am not sure how I am going to make it through full body...thank God Joy can get me in before I head in!
My trips to DD's have become less frequent. Not only do I need to save that money to pay my membership, but a DD's donut has more calories in it then I am burning every day...seems a little worthless. I miss my Boston Creams...there is always my black iced coffee....working on cutting out the sugar again, adding my multies back into my diet ("thank you for calling GNC, your multi-vitamin headquarters", I learned my lessons well) and drinking my protien shake...drinking less coffee and more water. Peeing has become second nature. It is not uncommon to pee every 30-45 minutes...what a pain in the ass that is!
I am thinking about posting before and after pictures...maybe I'll make that decision after I hit the after :)
*** Update: Gordo did not say "committed" as I previously posted...he said "determined". And the mother fucker said it again today. He comes to check on me while I am on the treadmill "cooling down"...he looks and sees that I am almost at 20 minutes and says "WOW, you REALLY ARE DETERMINED!" - like it's some fucking shock. I can't decide whether to love him or hate him...maybe I'll decide when I hit my after :)***
The time at the gym was short lived. In fact, to this day, I avoid Gordo at all costs (which is not easy in our small town). There is no reason for me to not work out except that I hate it and it is hard work - that's it, I am just lazy :)
6/23/08
Never got out of that hornet's nest
When I was 8 (or so) a neighbor girl came over to play. This was a relatively rare occurrence because we didn't really live in a neighborhood. We lived in the boonies and to get to our house you had to either cross through an incredibly large field or go through the woods.
When it was time for her to go home I asked my father if I could walk her. He was fine but told me not to go past the woods...I did. There was a small path that went through the woods to the field that was behind her home. Of course, on my way back I couldn't find the path and had to cross through the woods.
I started crossing through the woods and all of a sudden I was getting stung OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. My parents had always told me that if you don't bother bees they won't bother you so I stood VERY, VERY, VERY still (I remember thinking about the Statue of Liberty). I could hear Dana looking for me (she was probably 4 at the time) and I kept yelling at her to go back to the house...she was crying and wanted me to come out.
Next thing I know I am being grabbed under both arms by my father and Roger (the guy who worked for him) who started running with me back to the house as fast as they could - they had seen a SWARM of hornet's over the bushes and heard me screaming.
I had stepped on a hornet's nest. I had no idea. All I knew was that I was getting stung and I had to stand still so I didn't bother them. Of course, standing on top of their home, crushing the life out of their family...I was bothering them.
A dozen or more stings, one trip to the ER, a shot to help stop an allergic reaction, lots of vomiting, a teddy bear and a grocery store trip later and I was fine (although my mother made salmon pie that night for dinner with canned salmon - the Bumble Bee kind - I thought that was rather ironic and harsh - I will NEVER eat canned salmon again).
My father got his revenge that evening by setting the nest on fire. I guess the bushes went up in flames as well...he claims that he is lucky the neighbors didn't have to call the fire department.
Monica jokes that I stepped in a hornet's nest at age 8 and never really got out...such is my life.
I am the one in my family that will lose a child at a graduation (because he WANTED the mugs in the school store that cost $16 and I told him no). I am the one whose car will break down in Baltimore, MD on a 4 lane highway (in the middle lane) during a spur of the moment trip to DC. It is me that will make 13 trips to the ER each year with a child that burned his fingers on peanut butter or a husband that burned his corneas because he didn't wear a mask while welding... THIS IS MY LIFE.
So it shouldn't be surprising that while pet sitting two parrots the screen door somehow locks behind me, my keys hanging from the door knob, the emergency phone numbers sitting on the counter, needing to be in Rochester in 30 minutes (being over an hour away), with two kids in tow and Kirby over 90 minutes away. I shouldn't have been surprised at all...but I was.
What to do? Well, I call Kirby (not for a fix, really, but for an ear for me to scream "WTF AM I SUPPOSE TO DO HERE" type thing) - he wants to tell me all the reasons why he can't help, "It'll take me over an hour and half to get there...I don't know what to tell you..." - I hung up on him.
I have to be in Rochester for Tom's graduation party... Andrew stinks to high heaven... Zachary keeps saying, "I am SO furryous". I say, "you mean FURIOUS".."yeah, furryous"... I have checked EVERY window, EVERY door, I tried prying the screen open, screaming, kicking - nothing worked.
WTF?!
So I cut the screen. What else was I going to do? I didn't have a choice. I cut the freaking screen.
Now, the $16/visit that she is paying me is going to go right back to her...to fix that stinking screen.
I never did get out of that hornet's nest...
When it was time for her to go home I asked my father if I could walk her. He was fine but told me not to go past the woods...I did. There was a small path that went through the woods to the field that was behind her home. Of course, on my way back I couldn't find the path and had to cross through the woods.
I started crossing through the woods and all of a sudden I was getting stung OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. My parents had always told me that if you don't bother bees they won't bother you so I stood VERY, VERY, VERY still (I remember thinking about the Statue of Liberty). I could hear Dana looking for me (she was probably 4 at the time) and I kept yelling at her to go back to the house...she was crying and wanted me to come out.
Next thing I know I am being grabbed under both arms by my father and Roger (the guy who worked for him) who started running with me back to the house as fast as they could - they had seen a SWARM of hornet's over the bushes and heard me screaming.
I had stepped on a hornet's nest. I had no idea. All I knew was that I was getting stung and I had to stand still so I didn't bother them. Of course, standing on top of their home, crushing the life out of their family...I was bothering them.
A dozen or more stings, one trip to the ER, a shot to help stop an allergic reaction, lots of vomiting, a teddy bear and a grocery store trip later and I was fine (although my mother made salmon pie that night for dinner with canned salmon - the Bumble Bee kind - I thought that was rather ironic and harsh - I will NEVER eat canned salmon again).
My father got his revenge that evening by setting the nest on fire. I guess the bushes went up in flames as well...he claims that he is lucky the neighbors didn't have to call the fire department.
Monica jokes that I stepped in a hornet's nest at age 8 and never really got out...such is my life.
I am the one in my family that will lose a child at a graduation (because he WANTED the mugs in the school store that cost $16 and I told him no). I am the one whose car will break down in Baltimore, MD on a 4 lane highway (in the middle lane) during a spur of the moment trip to DC. It is me that will make 13 trips to the ER each year with a child that burned his fingers on peanut butter or a husband that burned his corneas because he didn't wear a mask while welding... THIS IS MY LIFE.
So it shouldn't be surprising that while pet sitting two parrots the screen door somehow locks behind me, my keys hanging from the door knob, the emergency phone numbers sitting on the counter, needing to be in Rochester in 30 minutes (being over an hour away), with two kids in tow and Kirby over 90 minutes away. I shouldn't have been surprised at all...but I was.
What to do? Well, I call Kirby (not for a fix, really, but for an ear for me to scream "WTF AM I SUPPOSE TO DO HERE" type thing) - he wants to tell me all the reasons why he can't help, "It'll take me over an hour and half to get there...I don't know what to tell you..." - I hung up on him.
I have to be in Rochester for Tom's graduation party... Andrew stinks to high heaven... Zachary keeps saying, "I am SO furryous". I say, "you mean FURIOUS".."yeah, furryous"... I have checked EVERY window, EVERY door, I tried prying the screen open, screaming, kicking - nothing worked.
WTF?!
So I cut the screen. What else was I going to do? I didn't have a choice. I cut the freaking screen.
Now, the $16/visit that she is paying me is going to go right back to her...to fix that stinking screen.
I never did get out of that hornet's nest...
6/2/08
The finger.
Zachary told me that a kid at the park gave him the finger the other day. I told him to forget about it. It reminded me, however, of something from my childhood.
I have mentioned before that my father believes that his main goal in raising children is to embarrass them at any opportunity - and he had plenty of them.
One day, when I was about 12 or 13, my father and I were in the car. We came to an intersection and saw my uncle sitting diagonal to us. My father says (real sly like) "Hey, on the way by let's give Uncle Gary the finger". I just thought that was the greatest idea - so I did. I didn't even hesitate. I trusted my father completely. I was so proud that he had given me permission to flip the bird to another adult.
Little did I know that my father never gave my uncle the finger. He sat back, waved and had a good laugh at his daughter making an ass out of herself...jerk.
My uncle still tells that story...at nearly every family event...priceless.
I have mentioned before that my father believes that his main goal in raising children is to embarrass them at any opportunity - and he had plenty of them.
One day, when I was about 12 or 13, my father and I were in the car. We came to an intersection and saw my uncle sitting diagonal to us. My father says (real sly like) "Hey, on the way by let's give Uncle Gary the finger". I just thought that was the greatest idea - so I did. I didn't even hesitate. I trusted my father completely. I was so proud that he had given me permission to flip the bird to another adult.
Little did I know that my father never gave my uncle the finger. He sat back, waved and had a good laugh at his daughter making an ass out of herself...jerk.
My uncle still tells that story...at nearly every family event...priceless.
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