The Man, The Myth, The Laptop

Hey there....

Yes, you. The guy in the glasses. Yes, you...with the monobrow, and the flourescent pallor. The guy who probably lives in his momma's basement. The guy who is surfing the free internet at Starbucks, not typing, possibly playing WOW or browsing porn sites, and listening to every word we are saying?

You are staring. I am trying not to look back at you, which is hard because your eyes are glued. Hence the waving around of the wedding ring, in a fruitless attempt to discourage you. Your desperation is palpable from three tables away. Even when my friend and I start a conversation about how we loathe being stared at, you do not take the hint.

When I get up and go to the bathroom, you lean over and say, "Hi there", to my friend. She says "Hi" back, because she is polite. A creepy silence ensues until I get back. She does not introduce us.

We are finally so skeeved out that we leave. You follow right behind us. To be safe, we hang around outside the 'Bucks and wait for you to get into your car. You are watching us so intently, you back out in the wrong direction, and end up having to do a 32 point turn because you are facing a dead end instead of the parking lot exit.

EW! Ew ew ew ew ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

We then start quoting lines from Silence Of the Lambs at each other.

For example, "Are you about a size 14?" *heavy breathing*

"It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again!!"

Yeah, we are twisted like that.

Seriously, I am not sure if I looked hot today, or I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe. In addition to Leering Larry, I had two different groups of men abruptly stop talking when I waked past them today, which always makes me a little paranoid.

*sniffle*

The creeping crud? It is back.

Crap. I got cocky and eased up on my hand sanitizer and vitamin C cocktails. Since I work with children, bless their little germ laden hearts, this was like the kiss of death.

So I am freebasing Airborne, in order to (please, please, please!) nip this in the bud.

In other news, I managed to pry The Man's video-game addicted butt out of his chair yesterday, and we cleaned out the garage.

Yes, I am still amazed. I am celebrating by doing the 15 loads of laundry that have backed up since the garage got crammed with all the camping equipment that my Dad "loaned" us. And by loaned, I mean "sent home with The Man so he no longer had to store it himself."

Gah! Crankiness!

In more upbeat news, The Running? Starting again. This time, inside on my treadmill without dogs. No excuses.

Hell has frozen over

More good news re: The Man

He is (very unexpectedly!)getting weekends off. REAL weekends, not the Tuesday/Wednesday thing we have been doing.

The guy who had Saturday Sundays off on his flight quit yesterday, and the guy who was next in line didn't want them. So The Man and I are now relishing the idea of being able to go out of town and spend time together...without the planets having to be aligned.

Don't get me wrong, we've worked around it for the last seven years. It's just when anyone has any kind of family function- parties, weddings, barbecues, clambakes, what-have-you- it is always on a weekend. Even when he gets time off, it can be revoked at a moment's notice. For example, we had the nnightmare scenario where he had to leave my brother's out-of-town wedding, right after the ceremony, to fill in for someone who called in sick. He was a groomsman. It was awful.

I am just thrilled that I get to prove to people who haven't seen The Man since our wedding, 5 years ago, that I actually HAVE a husband. Woo!

woohoo!

I got my Fratellis CD.

Evidently, I am easliy pleased.

Let the head-banging commence!

Another thing to woohoo about:

The Man has decided to stop "phoning it in" at work. He is going to take his test to become an officer early next month. Because maybe...MAYBE...it's not the entire military that he's sick of. Maybe it's just the job that he's been doing for the last ten years?

So- potentially more money, which is nice, because I am still working part-time. Also, happier husband who likes his job, which I am hoping and praying will be a result. It's a win-win!

Speaking of no longer phoning it in...The Man also has finally, FINALLY cut up the dead Christmas tree that has been reclining in our backyard since...well, Christmas.

If that's not a reason to celebrate...I don't know what is!

Rapscallions, pull up your pants!

Maybe I just find this so incredibly hilarious because I can't sleep?

We now interrupt this commercial...

1. I just finished watching the finale of Top Chef. Yawn.

While Marcel is a pain in the ass and says "Like" for every other word and has ridiculous hair that makes him look like the illegitimate son of Wolverine, at least he was up front about being a competitive jerk. I sort of wanted him to win.

Also...Sam? Quite possibly the love child of Clive Owen and Jason Bateman. And there can be no higher praise from me. I love how Padma started to cry when she had to send him home, thus no longer being able to preen in his hot prescence.

2. I love the dog food commecial that has all the people with their 14-15 year old pooches on there. My fave is the individual who has the shitzus named....wait for it.....Judy and Liza. Now, that's fabulous.

3. The song in the new iPod commercial has been haunting me. It makes me alternately headbang and flip my hair around wildly, which is what I look for in most of my music. After trawling the Internets to figure out the elusive band, I found The Music Slut, who informs us all that the song is "Flathead", by the Fratellis.

The Man is already heartily sick of me playing it. Don't tell him I just ordered the whole damn thing from Amazon. Because I am adding it to my exercise mix.

4. If you want to be a snarky beeyotch, by all means, find some ballroom dancing on TV. Mystic Tans, sequins, marabou, fake eyelashes, body glitter, plastic wigs, delusions of grandeur, sequins, enough rhinestones to bedazzle Graceland, guys with scary perma-grins and grandiose hand-stylings who occasionally accidentally bitch-slap their partners in their enthusiasm...

Seriously. It's like MST3K on crack. It's almost too easy.

jsq: How old is that girl?!!

secret_sqrl: Dude, she is twelve. Do you think her mom knows?

jsq: No twelve year old should legally be able to shake her ass like that.

secret_sqrl: It just looks wrong. Is she wearing marabou? Where is Harvey Keitel?

jsq: Next, on America's Smooth Dance Ultra Sequined Latin Dance Finals! Five year olds dry-humping!

__________________

secret_sqrl: That man is wearing butt-enhancing briefs.

jsq: Really?

secret_sqrl: Look- I see the line.

jsq: No, I am pretty sure that all him.

secret_sqrl: How is that possible?!

jsq: I think it's the result of jumping up and down on his tiptoes for hours a day.

secret_sqrl: I don't think it ends there.

jsq: Well, he's Polish...and he's 20. Maybe one of those things is a factor.

secret_sqrl: We should look him up online. What's his name?

jsq: I dunno. We should Google "bootylicious." I'm sure he'd be in there somewhere.
______________________

OK, this is sad. I totally need to do something other than watch TV.

Oliver Stone Theory

My mom has always thought that there was something wrong with me.

I have to admit, having to fight with horrible acne and my weight has not been fun. But Mom always insisted that these things were CONNECTED, along with my general laissez-faire attitude towards things like...oh, I don't know, my cavalier attitude towards school, and my tendency to sleep for 12 hours at a stretch.

I always felt like it was sort of a cop-out to blame every problem that I had on some mystery disease. "Yes, I am screwed up, but if we find the magic connection, all I have to do is take a pill....BING! All better!"

I did humor her though. I've had tons of blood panels done over the years, testing my thyroid, hormones, you name it. Nothing abnormal ever showed up.

Then yesterday, I went to my new acupuncturist. He looked over my paperwork, and paused at my fertility charts.

"Where on earth did you get this chart?" he asked, scrunching up his face.

"Oh- I had to make my own spreadsheet. My temps were a lot lower than all the pre-fab ones I could find."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Didn't that strike you as a little odd?"

"Well, yeah, I asked my doctor about it, and he said my labs didn't show anything unusual."

"You're dipping down into temps of 95. This is a huge red flag that you're hypothyroid, which is a major factor in undiagnosed infertility. It would explain your acne, the weight, and the problems you've been having getting pregnant."

I sort of blinked at him. I actually read something to this effect in numerous places, showed those same charts to my doctor, and he pooh-poohed it.

Anyway, I was still sitting there stunned, when things got even weirder. Evidently, the new acupuncturist practices some kind of allergy abatement, called NAET. He asked if he could run some NAET tests on me. I didn't know what the hell those were, so I sort of nodded dazedly.

He explained that NAET involves me holding a vial in one hand, and then he would test my body's response by pulling down on my free arm to evaluate strength or weakness.

Aside from making me feel like a human slot machine, stuff like this makes me do that internal eyeroll. (aka, "What a load of crap!") But I acquiesced, and what the hell?

Evidently, my body is not processing iodine correctly, which would of course, affect my thyroid function. He also detected imbalances surrounding calcium, and my progesterone levels.

I was still skeptical, but polite. "Um....okay."

He laughed. And then he said, "Let's see....you should have a tender point...about HERE." And he poked me gently with a finger, and I yelled "OW!" and jumped about three feet into the air.

He continued, "You're probably prone to X, Y, and Z. You're going to need to cut out caffiene, which will help with X and Y. Regular treatment to restore your system's balance should help with Z."

That was the part that really freaked me out. These were symptoms that I hadn't bothered to mention to him, stuff I have dealt with for so long that I just considered it to be something that EVERYONE deals with, but evidently not.

So we chatted some more, and he gave me a bunch of options, and ended with, "Look, I could be wrong. But I advise you to also go to your regular doctor and have him run some heavy-duty thyroid tests, and see if you can get a medical prescription if you feel more comfortable with that. If your doctor won't listen, I advise you to find someone who will. I think this is something you should pursue, before spending thousands of dollars on IUI's and IVF, which have a very slim chance of working, especially if you are hypothyroid."

On top of that, he prescribes Chinese herbal medicines in pill form...so NO MORE ASS TEA. Hallelujah!

So I had a lot to think about. We chatted while he stimulated points on my spine with massage, then he placed the acupuncture needles, and I was knocked out, which never, ever happens to me. They came back in a few minutes to revive me, and the rest of the day is a blur.

So- I can try (again) to get my doctor to do more tests. or I have another option, to purchase natural thyroid online, which freaks me out a little bit. Hopefully, my doctor will listen to me!

Hello!

Hi to all the Grrl Geniuses!

I never realized that leaving an actual comment would make people wonder who I was. Hopefully, you are here because you find my comments to be well-thought out and insightful, and not because you're wondering who on earth this chick is who keeps spewing the dreck. So welcome!

Oh, and to that person who keeps finding me by Googling "1999 Chrysler Sebring + how to change battery".....it's behind the front bumper. Go ahead, ask me how I know.

The Fat

It is that time of the year. The year when we are all waging the war against The Fat. The magical time when Weight Watchers waives their membership fee. Most people have made the resolution to lose 10, 20, 100 lbs., whatever. Actually, statistically, most of those well-meaning New Year's resolutions have tanked by now.

By the way, I am embracing the word fat. It isn't a "four-letter word". I am reclaiming it, much like the words "gay" and "bitch" have been reclaimed over the years. Because, you know, fat isn't evil. It's been stigmatized over the years, and used as an insult, etc. But underneath it all, fat is just...well, fat. Some people might find it offensive, but there it is.

When I started this blog, it was supposed to be a "fascinating" portrayal of my weight loss, hence the name. I posted what I had for lunch every day, posted inches, posted weight loss and gain and possibly charted the phases of the moon, and then I realized that it was the most boring thing ever, and I just sort of abandoned it.

I went through a few more weight loss phases, one more just before Christmas, and then I had my infamous baby-related melt down, and I just stopped.

I am thinking about getting back on the horse again, but I am not sure how much I want to write about it here.

The thing is, all those goals for 2007 I was talking about? There's another that I hadn't shared, and it is this:

I am letting go of The Hate. The Hate of The Fat. The Hate for my body, and all the ways it isn't thin enough, or muscular enough, or smooth enough, or, let's face it, good enough, for me.

That's the thing. This is strictly MY problem. My husband has no quarrel with what I weigh or how my body looks. So that means that the problem lies with me and the media, and about 20 years of social programming.

I still intend to watch what I eat and exercise. But I also intend to buy clothes and do things that make me feel good about my body now. If I want a black satin shirt, I will buy it now, and not "when I lose 10 pounds." If I want a manicure, I will get one, not as a reward for a good weight loss week, but because I deserve it. Because I do deserve it, damn it!

I am going to be positive about The Fat. And I think that society is following suit, because in the last few weeks, there have been some bizarre corrolaries to my realization.

Last week, as I was driving to the store, I saw a teenaged couple, walking along together. The guy was a typical, cute, skinny, tall 15 year old- skater-ish fashion-wise. He reminded me a little of a puppy, when they are all head and tail and paws, right before they get that huge growth spurt.

The girl was around the same age, and was probably a size 16-18. She was wearing a really cute jacket and a scarf headband and she had on lipgloss and adorable boots and figure conscious jeans that hugged her and accentuated every curve.

As they went, they held hands, occasionally smacking at each other playfully, talking and laughing, and they only had eyes for each other.

Am I crazy? When I was that age, 15 to 20 years ago, that NEVER would have happened. EVER. First of all, the only clothes you could get as a plus-sized teen were the exact opposite of fashionable. You were lucky if you came home from the mall with a paisley caftan. Second, no boy your age would be caught dead in public with you.

Am I wrong? Am I remembering this incorrectly?

Maybe so, but every time I mention this to a friend, they treat it the same way- like I had been driving along, and just happened to spot a unicorn.

One of my best friends mentioned that she has put on weight, and her boyfriend seems to find her even more irresistable with her new curves. She sheepishly confessed that she's considering losing some weight, so maybe she can get some sleep!

And if anyone deserved it, it's her. I think her last boyfriend had a temper tantrum every time she would gain 5 pounds, and would say things like, "Why won't I bring you flowers? Let's see- if you lost weight, maybe I'd bring you flowers." Ouch.

Even more positive- The Golden Globes.

I was riveted. Not only were there the usual size zeros present...But usually, the only larger ladies that you'd see were Queen Latifah, and, well....that's it!
This year, there was America Ferrera. Jennifer Hudson. And Salma Hayek, who is not exactly plus sized, but is definitely curvier than the standard Hollywood frame, and she had the guts to wear white grecian-inspired drapery. They looked so lush and gorgeous standing up next to the stick thin starlets.

Anyway, it made me think. Maybe the rampant fat-hatred is dissipating? I certainly hope so. I think it's about time.

Do I look omnipotent to you?

Heading out to work yesterday, I pulled into the left hand turn lane behind a big white truck.

I sat, waiting for the light to change, and idly sipping my Diet Lipton Green tea (love. LOVE!) and enjoying the fact that it was Friday. I checked out the back tailgate of the white truck, and noted both the holy fish and the JesusFREAK bumper sticker. Well, that, and the fact that Mr. White Truck was in the turn lane, but he wasn't using his turn signal.

The light turned green. The truck didn't move. Okay...

I have a policy for horn usage. The thing is, my car horn isn't a peppy, delicate little beep! It seriously means business, and I have no control over the volume. Whether I tap it or punch it, it's loud no matter what.

So if someone is snoozing through a red light, I give them three seconds to respond before I use my horn. If you snooze for three seconds at a green light, and you aren't using your turn signal, I reserve the right to assume that you are too busy talking on your cell phone to notice what's up.

So, I honked. Heaven help me! Let the flailing begin!

The guy shot out into the intersection, and began making wild "WHAT?!!!" gestures in his rearview mirror, alternated with shaking his fist at me. He changed lanes (again without signaling) to get next to my car, and kept gesticulating angrily the entire time. Hello, road rage!

So I get into the turn lane to get on the freeway, and he screeched towards me and cut off another car, then swerved at my car like he was going to hit me on purpose.
He was going to make me fear for my life, because I had the audacity to HONK at him!

As he roared off, I held my bottle of green tea aloft in a jaunty motion. Which could be construed creatively as "Here's to you!" Although the expression on my face was probably closer to "Up yours!"

I didn't voice what I was thinking. But I totally wanted to scream out the window, "Hello, you hypocrite? JESUS can SEE YOU!!!"

Salon Selectives!

Okay, I have found my salon. I went in today at 3PM to see Michael.

I got a chance to peruse the scenery, because I was a little early. I immediately felt right at home, and settled in with their ridiculously large stash of trashy gossip mags.

I just knew it was gonna go well.

They had leopard-print haircutting drapes. That was my first clue.

The second clue? Michael's button-down shirt was the same color as my hot-pink sweater.

Third clue: The guy names his brushes, and refers to them each individually as "she", like most guys refer to their cars. How can I resist?

So, my hair is shinier and silkier post-cut than it has been for a long, long time. I honestly feel a little creepy about it, like someone else's hair got stapled onto my undeserving head. I told Michael he was a magician, and he shot back, "No, I'm a BEAUTICIAN!!"

I loff heeem.

And it was reasonably priced, too. And no, I am not sharing any more info with you beeyotches, or you will try to steal Michael away from me.

The Sweetest Thing

The Man just called me on his way home from work.

"I am going to sing to you," he announced.

Then he cranked up the stereo in the background, and sang along with "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling".

I love this guy, and while he technically can sing, most people would argue that he probably shouldn't. But I loved it. I giggled like a teenager through the whole thing.

Actually, don't tell anyone, but I got a little teary, too. Ah, the Cheese! It is back. And I have been feeling a little taken for granted lately, and this nipped that neatly in the bud.

After a couple of verses, he said he just wanted to let me know he was thinking about me.

Wow.

As much as certain aspects of life kinda suck right now, I am glad I am going through all this crap with this guy at my side. As many stupid decisions I have made over the years, made the right move when I decided to marry him. I can't imagine life without him....and I just have to conclude that I am a lucky, lucky woman.

You Can't Stop Progress

This has been a phone-call filled morning.

However, I have made progress on a few fronts, which is a Good Thing.

I now have an appointment with a local acupuncturist. My thinking is, if I get started on the medical procedures in tandem with Eastern medicine, I need to have someone local. I can't be jetting off to SF and rushing back. Plus, the last nightmare with Greyhound (which I still have not written down, because I don't want to re-live it)made me realize that it was more stress than I needed to get up there and back.

I feel bad, because I loved my acupuncture place in SF. But this will save a ton of time, not to mention, they are much less expensive than the place I was going to, PLUS I won't be paying for gas/bus tickets/food and shopping in SF twice a month. And I will be able to teach on Fridays and go to meetings, which will mean bigger paychecks for ME.

I estimate, after adding it all up, I'll save about $3-400 per month doing this, not to mention avoiding the craziness of so much travelling back and forth.

I talked to Mom. I have been worried about the whole situation, because these treatments are expensive, and she and Dad just bought a brand new house in Carmel. I felt uncomfortable cashing in my chips and asking for the help that has been offered. She basically told me not to be a dork. I explained that if we exhausted the early possibilites, IVF was like buying a Honda Civic every few months. She was undeterred, so at least that is something we don't have to worry about.

So I called my doctor, in order to get the ball rolling on a few procedures that I still can't think about without getting all squirmy. Hopefully, he will actually call me back so I can line things up. So that's done. And while it makes me squirmy, it's all in a day's work to these guys.

In less ovary-related news, I think I have found a new salon. I suspect it will be pricier than what I have been doing, but I don't go in a lot, so I am not to worried. If The Man complains about cost, I will just point to the acupuncture savings above and tell him, in a kind and caring way, that he can go suck it.

Oh those crazy kids!

Naturally, the weekend that everyone selected for "cold weather" camping seems to have broken a few cold weather records. I am still trying to get warm!

Otherwise, I had a pretty good time,but the good stuff is too boring, so let's get to the whiny stuff!

I didn't feel _too_ old, which is saying something, as I suspect I was the only one there over the age of 30. The Man hits the big three-oh next month, and it's all downhill from there, including two brothers who came with another young-ish couple. The oldest brother was 22, and his little bro was a sweet, blond and babyfaced 17. I just wanted to feed him spaghetti and tuck him into bed like a little baby. I suspect that this is proof that my hormones are in overdrive.

The dogs were, surprisingly, fine. Everyone seemed to love them. They were tethered to the truck in the daytime, and then got to come near the campfire with us at night.

There were a few potential bombs that I just defused or ignored. We played Apples to Apples, which is the bomb diggity- I love that game. However there was a lot of this: "Ok...I don't know who this is." And then they show me a card, because I am the resident old woman of the hills, so I should know. And the name on that card? Cary Grant. CARY GRANT. AIIIIIIIGH!

Also, my husband's brother's wife (not to be confused with my brother's wife) kept saying freakish things, but with perfect candor. Example A: "Your hair is so beautiful. It makes me want to kill you in your sleep." Uncomfortable Pause "Just kidding!!!" Or Example B: "You are so cute all the time. It's really annoying! But you're nice, so I can't hate you. Uncomfortable PauseJust kidding!!!" And then she would laugh.

And I would try to chalk it up as verbal diarrhea instead of outright bitchery. She's kind of like Luna Lovegood, in a way, but every occasion where we hang out is rife with comments like this, and she just sort of blurts this stuff out

Another thing, the guys on this trip are techie guys. There was a lot of "My router is bigger than your router" or whatever. And the subject of feminism came up, and the group consencus was pretty much, "bitter man-hating lesbians with armpit hair, blah blah blah". Until I spoke up and said that I was a feminist. Since I was the only woman there wearing makeup, and since I am neither visibly hairy, man-hating, nor bitter, they backed off a little after that.

In fact....well, what can I say. MAMA HAS STILL GOT IT! Mostly because I am stupid and oblivious, but hey.

Yeah. I forgot that if you baby and feed a 17 year old boy, they inevitably try to follow you home. I didn't really think about it, but we played a lot of games on the camping trip- Apples to Apples and Association, and since he was usually sitting next to The Man and I, I tried to use cues that were within his realm of experience. Partially because I am nice and I could see that he was feeling awkward, and partly because I died a little inside every time he asked "What's Devo? Is that like TiVo?"

Add to that the fact that everyone (Including the 17-year old, I am guessing) was drinking.

We were playing Association, and my brother-in-law said something like, "Dork", so I said The Man's name, (because that's one of our pet names for each other), and he grinned and said, "My wife is a bitch!" and we both laughed. And then it was my pet 17-year-old's turn, and he said, "Can I have her then?"

Of course, everyone found this hilarious, mainly because A. Everyone is DRUNK, B. I am a little less than exactly twice his age, and C. The Man is twice his size and is known to be extremely posessive and could snap him like a toothpick.

And OK, I was secretly delighted. (So much for feminism- Flattery will evidently get you quite a bit of slack!)

Delight turned into slightly drunken trepidation when I was staying up late with the girls and the little guy attached himself to me like a barnacle. The Man was visibly wary, yet amused by this, and lurked within our tent with the flap open so he had a clear view of the proceedings. As soon as I finished the last gulp of my drink, I made the most graceful exit possible, and he went off to his tent by himself.

The Man: I hope you are proud of yourself. Poor little guy.

Me: heehee! He's my BABY.

The Man: How wasted are you?

Me: heeheeheebwahahahaaa!

The Man: Yeah. This is hilarious.

Me: That little boy thinks I am HOT. HOTT!

The Man: Sweetheart, he's 17. He thinks farm animals are hot. He's probably gone off to hump a tree or something.

Me: heeheehee!

The Man: (relenting) I think you're hot too, you know. Not that you care.

Me: Hey, obviously, I do care. I am in the tent with YOU, so you have nothing to complain about.

The Man: OK, watching him try to hit on you was kind of cute.

Me: I actually found a semi-gallant 17-year-old. Too bad that the 17-year-old girls don't appreciate gallantry.

The Man: I hate to tell you, but the predatory women will have him jaded and bitter by the time he turns 21.

Me: Well, that sucks.

The Man: I always thought so.

We got up this morning and packed up the caravan, because The Man had to work today. My little 17-year-old ran over to me and gave me a huge hug.

"I hope I see you again soon! You were so cool. I am going to miss you!"

And all I could think of was, "Awwww.....They're so cute when they're that age!"

The Pact (we're not high-maintenance or anything)

jennasaisquoi: Well...are we going?

SecretSqwrl: I look like crap. I want to go, but I don't want to change out of my sweats. Dilemma!

jennasaisquoi: Dude. I am wearing a fleece top and trackpants. I'm not changing.

SecretSqwrl: So we can look like crap together!

jennasaisquoi: In the interest of full disclosure, I will probably put on some lipstick.

SecretSqwrl: I will see your lipstick, and raise you some waterproof mascara.

jennasaisquoi: Done.

jennasaisquoi: Let's go forth to look like crap in Target!

Because Civilization is overrated.

The Man and I are going camping this weekend.

(I just called and cancelled the acupuncture appointment. Who knew? I was double-booked!)

This will be our first camping trip together. That rumble you hear may be the approaching hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Anyway. Camping is something that The Man's brother and his wife and their friends are into. They have repeatedly invited us to come, and we have always dithered about it and turned them down. Usually what it came down to was that my husband didn't want to go, because he is a total homebody.

It wasn't until there were repeated comments about my propensity for girlieness, AKA high heels and makeup and their incompatibility with camping, that made me realize- they thought it was ME! They thought I was the one who was putting the kibosh on the whole thing. (I do not want to speculate that my husband may have used me as an excuse to deflect blame...but he's done it before.)

So...we discussed it, and decided that maybe camping would be a good way to get out of the house a little more and spend positive time with The Man's brother and his friends. Hence another goal that we both made as a unit this year- we are going to entertain more often (more than the yearly event at Christmas Eve, anyway)and also to make an more of an effort socially (this one is mostly him.)

So The Man asked for, and received, a tent for Christmas. We made a list of stuff to bring, including dogs (why? WHY? He just wants to bring them.) The Man checked the campsite info, and realized not only that dogs are allowed, but the place has Wi-Fi. The irony of this is killing me, but he of course is delighted by it.

I went through my stash of cold weather clothing, because we will be in Big Sur and it will be freaking COOOOOLD. This is when I realized that I am inadequate, clothingwise, for camping. I have one plain black V-neck wool sweater. And about 30 more that are made of cashmere, lacy, and/or sparkly.

I do not own any sweats. I do have some tracksuits from a bygone era, but every time I wear them my sister-in-law has a tendency to make innocent comments about "looking like J-Lo", and I really want to avoid an international incident.

I do have jeans and sneaks and hiking boots. (Oh, and one black thermal top with a skull and crossbones on it. I don't know where it came from, which is a little freaky-deaky.) I suspect that the reason I can't find my silk long underwear is because I inadvertantly donated it to DAV. (Oops.) So I am not completely screwed.

My hair will be a big old snarly curly creature of the night, because we'll be close to the ocean, so I won't have to worry about styling it, because running a brush through it will be impossible. Makeup will be minimal. No biggie. I can do this.

Hehe....plus, If all goes completely awry, we totally have a backup plan. I will have access to a house in Carmel for the weekend. (Shhh...don't tell on me.)

Ahaaaaaa

So, I made some goals for 2007. A lot of them can be inferred by other stuff I have posted here, but one of the big ones is to write more, especially here. Woot!

Plus I just want to bump that depressing mess that was the last post further on down the page. I do feel better after putting it out there, though, so maybe it was worth it?

So yeah.

Another goal? To not put up with sub-par service. And to reward excellent service.

Which means that I will talk to the management if someone is exceptional and deserves accolades (because this is rare!) And also, if you suck- for example, forgetting one order, getting the other order wrong, bringing the forgotten order out to the table cold, never refilling our drinks, and giving me the hairy eyeball when I have the temerity to ask for a dessert menu or a fork that doesn't look like someone spooged all over it- you're probably going to have a problem with me.

(For the record, this actually did happen, and not in a $7.25 all-inclusive place either. We're talking $25-30 entrees, not to mention cocktails and dinner salads! And I said nothing, AND tipped the guy fair market value- because the waiter was new. And because I am a sucker.) But I maintain that I will be a sucker NO MORE! All bets are off!!!

My first assignment? Is a biggie.

I have to fire my salon.

I love the guy who does my hair. That's the upside, he's fun, he does The Man's hair too (so, convenient!) he knows how to treat curly hair and he does a decent job most of the time* and he's reasonably priced.

However, there are a few big down sides- He occasionally completely ignores my request for the 1-inch trim, and goes for the 3 inch chop. I never know when this will be, and it kind of freaks me out (although, I don't freak out in front of him, I wait until I get home.) Sometimes he styles my hair for me, (sometimes he styles it the way I want, and sometimes he doesn't) but if he's really busy, he has been known to toss me a blowdryer and playfully tell me to do it myself- which I do without complaint. But I am still paying the same price. This seems abnormal to me.

Now the biggie. I called once in November, once in December, and left messages that I needed to schedule appointments. He has not called me back. I have cut him some slack, because he has new staff in the salon- maybe they are deleting his messages?
But this is a continuing problem, and I have asked him about it before. He blames the answering machine. Which smacks of the "Oh! I dropped my cell phone in the toilet and lost all your contact info!!!" crap that single girlfriends have reported to me. With the addition that I PAY the guy a not-inconsiderable amont of money every couple of months, and he still can't be bothered to call me back.

Reasonably, if I was dating this guy, he would have been kicked to the curb long ago. I questioned whether I may have inadvertantly pissed him off: "Is it because I never got those highlights we talked about? IS IT???" Then I realized that I was being silly about the whole thing.

I know I am not a difficult client, so I am going to assume that he is just a flake, and that I need to find a new hairstylist, based on the criteria above. So I have been asking around for someone who does long layers, knows how to handle curly hair, and isn't a flake. (Anyone?) I haven't gotten one solid lead so far. And my split ends are getting really heinous.

A bunch of stuff I don't want to say, but probably should.

I am fully back into the throes of work- today was my first day back, and it was nice, although I dreaded it until I was there. Huh.

I have a light work week, and then I go back to the San Francisco Acupuncturist, and tell them that I have been horrible at my ass tea consumption. Yes, again.

This is something that needs to be changing, as several monumental decisions have been made over the holiday season. Most of which were made after I had a meltdown of monumental proportions on Christmas Day. It was one of those days where right off the bat, I knew it wasn't going to go well, but I seriously underestimated just HOW not well it was going to go. If that makes sense.

This is hard for me to write. I like to put a brave face on things, and a lot of this just seems weak and foolish to me. I feel like a selfish, horrible person for feeling some of the things I am about to write down. The whole damn shebang just embarrasses me.

When you're part of a couple who has been having trouble with the whole baby thing for awhile, I have come to the conclusion that Christmas is torture if you're infertile. TORTURE. We get a lot of those Christmas cards with the happy families on them, and TV is inundated by children's toys and accompanying gleeful little kids. It's just a contant reminder.

I should explain that Santa still visits my parent's house with stockings for my husband and I (I fill those) and my sister, and my brother and his wife. The youngest of this group is my brother's wife, who is about 25. And you know, Christmas is a holiday for children, etc...and suddenly, everything just seemed pointless, with nobody left to believe in Santa and wake everyone up at 3AM by running around excitedly in the footie pajamas. We have transformed into cranky puffy-eyed adults who are wearing ratty sweats, who just desperately want to sleep in until 10, but we can't, because the relatives are coming and we have to roast the goddamn turkey.

But I was fine. I helped fill the stockings, came home to our house, and set out the Christmas treats for the pets. Which just seemed even more pathetic, but I was really OK. I didn't share my feelings with my husband, because I have been a little depressed about the whole "no kids" shebang, and I don't want him to worry about me. (That sound you hear? That is Fate, laughing at me.)

The next morning, The Man and I were planning a leisurely awakening at 7, so we could privately open our gifts to each other and be put together to drive over to my family's place.

So of course, everything goes....not wrong, exactly, but definitely askew. What follows is basically The Most Depressing Christmas Movie Ever. Well, you know....nobody died. That's about all I can say for it.

1. We overslept. Not by a lot, but enough to make things a little tense. We get showered, and I begin to put on my makeup.

2. As The Man lovingly watches me apply my mascara, I ask him how work was the night before. As it turns out, this was a mistake. Usually, he says, "Fine", and sharing time is over.

Today however, he tells me that he is irritated with a high-ranking officer because of something that he said. This is unusual, because The Man is fairly even-keeled, so I ask what happened. The Man says, "He asked me what we got our kids for Christmas. I thought about punching him, but I figured that would be a bad idea."

3. I put on a brave face, for oh, about 5 seconds, and then the tears just burst out of me. And when I say burst, I mean, I literally exploded, scaring the hell out of both of us. There was no welling, there were not even tears, this was floods and uncontrollable hysteria. I said a whole lot of horrible things about The Man's superior officer, and did not forget to throw a few stones at God and The Universe, which really freaks my husband out.

I also did not neglect my perfect sister-in-law, she of the heinous bridesmaids dresses (which will return to haunt me later on this glorious day, by the way)who looks like Mandy Moore and has requested a new car- she wants to trade her sleek little luxury sedan in for an SUV. That alone has the alarm bells ringing in my head- this ridiculous fear that she and my brother will get pregnant any second, coupled with a horrible suspicion that it's kind of gold-diggery to demand an EXPENSIVE new car when you have one that works perfectly well and you've been married for less than 6 months.

4. While I am in puddles on the floor, and my husband is just trying to hold me and talk me down, and is gently suggesting that I might want to take back some of the things I said about God, if nobody else, the phone rings. It's my family. They need us to come ahead of schedule- my brother wants to surprise Miss Perfect with her brand new Hummer H3, it's parked in the driveway, and they are afraid that if they wait any longer, she will go outside and see it. I put on a brittle voice and tell them we'll get there as soon as we can, and maybe they should start without us.

5. Now any private time The Man and I have is shot, and I am a wreck, my makeup is shot to hell. He's not much better off, he has wet patches all over his shirt. I realize that any gifts we give each other are going to be overshadowed by the H3. I also realize that the tears have now taken over, and I am officially an emotional wreck- I am going to be crying intermittently at really stupid things all day. If I see a Hallmark commercial, or a baby penguin, I will just dissolve. This does not bode well.

6. We have to go- I am bringing the first course for Christmas Dinner. I try to un-snivel as best I can, put on the biggest, blackest sunglasses I own, and we load the soup, presents, and ourselves into the car. My cel rings- my dad. I don't answer. The Man's cel rings- again, my dad. Rinse and repeat TWO more times. It takes less than ten minutes to get to their house. The Man is upset, and I have descended from hysteria into a sort of sullen acceptance.

7. So we get there, and Dad meets us at the door. "We waited for you!" he says, hugging both of us. I thaw a little, and we bring the presents inside. Then I realize that when he said they waited, he meant "for the surprise car", and not, "to open the stockings." So we open our stockings by ourselves, with everyone watching, and urging us to hurry up, because they want to open presents.

8. Miss Perfect's gift to my parents is a framed 8x12 of our family at the wedding. From across the room, I can see myself in the picture, and if it looks that bad from across the room, I don't even want to see it close up. It is passed around for all to admire. My husband gives me a sympathetic look before he hands it to me. I pass it to my sister without looking at it, and she winces. Oh boy.

9. Because The Man and I have more presents than everyone else, once again, we are urged to hurry up, ostentestibly so we can get dinner started, but actually so my brother can present The Car. The Car is presented. We go outside to look at it. It is black with a red bow on it. WOO! It's colder than a witch's tit outside, so my husband, mom, sister and I go back inside almost immediately.

10. I am starting to feel more normal at this point. OK, we've gotten this far...and then my aunt calls long distance. She talks to dad and wishes him a happy birthday, talks to mom, and asks to talk to me.
"Hi Auntie!"

"Hey sweetie. Merry Christmas! Oh, please tell your dad- I forgot to say, your cousin Sondra is pregnant AGAIN. Can you believe it?!"

Just breathe. You're happy for her. Aren't you?

"Oh, give Sondra my congratulations."

"I know- Number FOUR! We're hoping for a girl, and we want red hair, because, you know..."

I realize that I am repeating, "That's great- I'm so happy for her!" over and over again. Like a robot. I feel the tears in my throat, and I know that I am going to lose it in front of my whole family, including Miss Perfect, who has of course just reappeared after a test drive in her new car. I start desperately trying to pass the phone off to someone, ANYONE, when my aunt says, I swear to God, "Can you believe it! I'm younger than your Dad, and I'm on my fourth grandchild already! How old is he today? 59, or the big six-oh?"

11. I practically throw the phone at my sister, who looks a little stunned. "It's Auntie! Sondra's pregnant again! Isn't that great?!!!" I trill. Then I charge for the bathroom. There's someone in there, so I manage the adjacent door- the laundry room. I don't bother to turn the lights on.

A note slips under the door.

"Are you OK?"

I manage a tearful "no". I am beginning to feel like a complete dork, which is not unbelievable, since I am hiding in the laundry room with the lights off. My sister comes in, followed closely by my husband. They take turns holding me while I alternately cry and try to explain what happened.

I'm so sick of being like this, and I feel like I am ruining Christmas, which makes everything worse on some level. I wonder how long my poor husband and family will have to deal with a semi-psychotic madwoman who cries at the drop of a hat.

12. Eventually, I start to calm down, and head across the hall to the mercifully deserted bathroom to repair as much damage as I can. My sister and husband arm me with some Kleenex, and I decide to just make the best of it, play some Scrabble, and just get over it. But the looks of pity and worry on the faces of my family are totally my undoing. I make it through dinner, but afterwards I head to the kitchen and tell my dad that when The Man leaves for work (yes, on Christmas Day!) I am going to head home with him.

13. Dad wants to know why, and when I say I don't want to talk about it, just that I am having a bad day and want to be by myself and just get through it, keeps at me to stay, arguing with me that if I am depressed, I should be with family. Considering that my family seems to be about 50% of the depression equation, this seems a little like flawed reasoning. I finally just tear up again, because the more you've been crying, the easier it is to start again, and he finally relents and says he understands, and pats me awkwardly on the head.

14. In the car, I turn to The Man and say, "We're not doing this again. Christmas morning is just the two of us, or whatever, from now on." Luckily, he agrees with this. And we get home, and he goes to work, and I watch crap TV and eat junk food and put away our Christmas gifts, and I feel, amazingly, fine. Back to sanity. Which makes me evaluate my emotions a little bit.

I am growing to recognize that a big part of this whole problem is that The Man and I are both the oldest kids in our families, the first to get married, and the pressure is on to come up with the first grandchildren, and I think that those expectations, on top of my own, are just crippling me. I am not wanting to have kids just because my parents want me to, but it does factor in, and I just got overloaded.

15. When The Man got home that night, we had the talk to end all talks. So...we've tried it my way, and it hasn't worked. Now we're going to try it his way, which I am pretty unenthusiastic about, as it is going to mean invasive testing and more hormones (and therefore, more psychosis) and more doctor's appointments, and basically more crap for me to deal with. But, at least we're doing something. We mapped out the next year, give or take. I'll know more when I have spoken to my doctor about timelines. But there you go. It is definitely more reassurring to have a plan in place.

So this week, I need to find a local acupuncturist. My last SF appointment in awhile will be this weekend, and I feel good about that decision, particularly after my last adventure on the Greyhound Bus (another long depressing story, which I think I will just let go, considering what I just dragged everyone through!

So...I'm not thrilled with my life, but I am doing something about it.

And I sure hope that everyone's holiday was better than mine! (Although the crap tv and junk food part was pretty awesome- Did I mention that we had leftover cream puffs in the freezer?)

Happy 2007!

It is 4:38 AM. I am wiiiiiide awake.

The Man and I had a nice quiet evening at home. We went to bed around 1:30.

At 2:13 AM, I was juuuuust dropping off to sleep, when his cell phone rang.

We both turned over and grumbled, but didn't move- we are officially prisoners of our new down comforter and pillows.

Then my cell phone rang. And rang again. Much profanity ensued on our end.

The Man picked up my phone and read the caller ID. "It's my sister."

This sister is the baby of his family. To be polite about it, she doesn't always make the best life choices. We both are groggily realizing that she could be stranded on the side of the road somewhere, or has had a few too many, or....well, the scenarios are endless. The Man is still staring blankly at my phone when it rings again.

"Hello? Um, yeah. Uh-huh. Noooooo....I don't think so. Did you file a police report? Okay...okay...talk to you later."

At this point, I am wide awake. He hangs up.

"Someone stole her purse, and the Best Buy gift card we gave her for Christmas was in it."

"She called us at 2:13 in the morning to tell us that?!"

"Well...she seemed to think that we could cancel it or something." He pulled the covers over his head.

"Those things are just like cash. We can't do anything about it!!"

"I KNOW that. I don't want to talk about it anymore, just please let me get back to sleep!!"

"I can't believe anyone would call someone past two AM, unless they were dead or bleeding."

No response. He started snoring almost immediately.

So I am still awake, and spending my store credit at Macy's online. Hey, we got THREE down comforters and pillow sets this year. Be careful what you wish for. So I hopped online and got 2 sets of 600 count sheets, extra pillowcases, two additional bath sheets to match the ones we already have, and a couple of cute tops and a kimono-style dress. Yeeeha!

So...was Santa good to you all this year?

Since I am awake, I am setting goals for the new year. I am hesitating to call them resolutions, because well...resolutions are cheesy.

Hey, it's either that, or cleaning the kitchen.

What fresh hell is this?!

First of all, mad props to the person in the city of Fresno who decided that it was NOT OK to be able to see your garbage cans from the street.

We keep the garbage cans on the side of our house, like all out neighbors do. They are in the spot where they have been since we moved here, three years ago.

The exact phrase in the notice we got was: "No container shall be stored in the front yard, side yard or on a street, unless the container is screened from view of the street." It is signed, "D.HOLM Code Enforcement Specialist." Because nobody wants to be called, "D.HOLM- Trash Can Photographer". Or "D.HOLM- Garbage Snitch N'Bitch."

The first offense is a warning. The second offense is $50. Repeated offenses? Up to $1500. Yikes.

We got our first Notice of Violation this week, along with (as far as I can tell) 99.9% of our neighbors, because they were all standing around and complaining after the mail came.

For your enjoyment, here is a photo of the enclosed photo of our unlawful garbage can placement:



Hard to see what the problem is? Let's go hi tech!



Ok. Granted, there are people who have Christmas decorations which are arguably more irritating to view than our garbage cans. But we complied, for the time being.



Look! You can see our fence! And our extremely ugly water and power meters!!!

In the meantime, we are trying to come up with a solution that thwarts the need to put the garbage cans in the backyard. So far, I have come up with this attractive option:



Who doesn't need a festive garbage can cozy? We could change them seasonally to share our holiday spirit with the whole neighborhood.

In other news, PG&E just gave us a credit on our bill. A $480 credit. Whoa.

While I am thrilled to not have to pay the people for the next few months....how the heck did they make a mistake of this magnitude? Almost 500 bucks? The hell?!!

I sort of want to demand that they pay us back. IN cash. WITH interest. Which is what they would demand from us, if our bill was in arrears. There's also no explanation of how this happened, or any kind of apology. Just a credit on our bill.

Did they think that we wouldn't notice?

Anyway. Ho ho ho! I am off to SF again, but I leave at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow, and return at 8PM, so it's not much a a trip. I am so totally bringing my knitting. :)

hee!

Stumped for a thoughful gift idea for "the man who has everything?"

Ok- THIS is hilarious.

Take that, jogging bitches!

I used to ride my bike while my dad ran in the evenings, when I was a kid. When we passed people, they'd acknowledge us- you'd always wave or say hi. That's still the case in a lot of places.

I have been running/walking alternately with the dogs in the mornings, at least 4 days a week. It's working out well for me and the dogs, so that's good.

Anyway. There are at least two men who run in the early mornings- they both always wave to me and say good morning.

The jogging bitches, however, are a different story.

First of all, they both wear matching jackets with the reflective stripe, and they both are talking effortlessly as they jog past me.

Secondly, they have never once acknowledged my prescence in any way.

The first time I saw them, I waved- and nothing. Did they not see me?

This is not likely. I have two panting 90 lb. dogs, and I am gasping for air, so I am not exactly inconspicuous. The second time I saw them, I said, "HI!"

Nothing. And I know they heard and saw me, because they stopped talking when they rounded the corner of the street I was on.

Ooooookay. Am I polluting their air with my fatness? Are they anti-dog? What the hell?

I don't know why this bothers me so much. but it does: I want to find out where they live and let my dogs defile their begonias.

O Christmas Tree

Date night tonight was great. I skipped the gym, but I did manage to go out this morning and walk the dogs.

The Man and I hit CPK, and I ordered a salad with the dressing on the side like a sycophant good girl. I decided to do a small splurge and have a few bites of the dessert we ordered- apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup. What can I say- I am a sucker for caramel! Three bites later, The Man coaxed me into a fourth bite, and then I ceremoniously put down the spoon.

Then we headed to Target, and picked out our Christmas tree. It's a nice 7 foot Noble Fir, there is just enough room for our star to fit on top without touching the ceiling. I will post pics when we get all the lights and decorations on.

It took a lot of maneuvering to got the thing set up- we had to move a big table, and then a bunch of chairs and my spinning wheel and a cabinet sewing machine got to visit a few different rooms before we achieved a workable layout. But it's worth it- I do love the smell of a real tree!

I did go to the gym last night, which was surreal, because the place has been REMODELED completely since the last time I have been in there. Whoops. It's nice though, they have more machines, and I actually got to hop directly onto an elliptical without sticking my name on a list or anything. I had a great workout, although I noticed discrepancies between my Polar monitor and the figured produced by the machine. Hmmmmmm......

I also bit the bullet and took my measurements today. There's a wakeup call I really didn't want to answer. I suppose it could be worse- I could have kept ignoring the weight gain until I was back where I was in March! Ironically, the only thing that has actually gotten bigger than my initial measurements is my bustline- by an inch. Everything else is smaller or the same. I guess I should be thankful!

In other news, the Grinch seems to have paid my brother a visit. When my bro and his wife came home from work today, they realized that someone had stolen a bunch of their Christmas decorations. How awful is that? Gotta love Sacramento...although, I know this happens in Fresno too. There are some really messed-up people out there.

I Ran...(so far away)

The End.

No, seriously, I did.

Mostly because I could feel the jeans getting a mite snug. But also because I looked at my two mutts outside, and realized that they needed exercise as much as I do.

Plus, I was up at 6AM for no discernable reason, and it was either exercise, or clean the catbox. (Aha! I have found my source of negative motivation!)

So we went out into the freezing cold, and I ran, and walked, and ran, and walked...and also tested out my new Polar Heart Rate Monitor.


I was a little intimidated at first, but I can actually see how this would be a really great motivational tool. First of all, when you are a Big Girl, it's difficult to get a fair picture of calories burned. It was something I didn't even think about, until I realized how many more calories I burned when I used the elliptical machine than when I used the treadmill, or looked up the data on an aerobics class.

Then I finally had that epiphany- HELLO, the only thing that you actually plug your weight into is the elliptical machine. What are those other weight formulae based on? The assumption that since you are a woman, you weigh somewhere in the neighborhood of 120-150 lbs. Which in my case, is laughable. If one of those women put 100 lbs in a back pack and set off up the hill in her Nikes, she might come close.

So I set up my Polar Monitor, and lo and behond! It states that my walk/run combo this morning burned almost 400 calories in a half hour, and also reminded me to bump my heart rate up into the ideal "target area". (Whatever the hell that is. I haven't dome it yet, because it requires some mad mathematical skillz which I totally do not have.)So it will, I am sure, warn me if my ventricles are going to explode, or something. It also stores your highest heart rate achieved, the median heart rate of your workout, calories burned, and exercise time.

I plugged it all into Fit Day, and set some new goals- my final goal is my birthday next year. It spat out my caloric limits and ideal weight loss per week, so it's totally do-able and healthy.

I have been slacking, and making excuses. A big one has been the pregancy thing. Ideally, if you want to get pregnant, you're supposed to take it easy on the exercise and not be dieting. Yes, that policy's been working great for me so far!

The other side of the double-edged sword is that it's supposed to be easier to get PG if you are at your ideal weight. So I have decided to play with the other side of the odds, and not make excuses anymore. If I get pregnant(by some miracle) my body won't be under a lot of stress; I prevented myself from lowering my allowable amount of calories. I want to be happy and have some wiggle room, since this is going to be...

*gulp*

Well, let's face it. It's the rest of my life, this ongoing battle with weight. I want to be healthy and active, to stay around for The Man, and to eventually be one of those moms out there on the playground, playing as hard as their kids do. And while I can exercise without dieting and lose pounds and inches, dieting without exercising does not have the same effect. Skinny is not the goal here- healthy is.

What kind of lunatic starts a diet two weeks before Christmas?!

I guess you're looking at her.

Oh HELL no.

I went to Walgreens with The Man the other night- he needed to pick up some decongestants, and I needed to pick up some shampoo.

It was around 7 PM, and I guess while I was looking at the shampoo, a stockboy was shoving large boxes of Christmas yard decor onto the top shelf in the next aisle.

The Man called me, and I went to the end of the aisle at the same point when I guess the stockboy shoved too hard, and 15 boxes of wrought iron holiday lawn art slammed down off the top shelves, exactly where I had been standing about a second before.

Dumbass. Then when I asked the stockboy "What happened?" he denied all knowledge of the incident.

Having narrowly escaped death-by-falling-wrought-iron-reindeer, I remembered that I needed ribbon to wrap my Christmas presents. The Man grudgingly followed me over to the aisle- there was a sweet little old lady (we're talking grey curly Grandma bob, wire rimmed glasses, the whole shebang) looking at gift wrap.

While I rummaged for some silver ribbon, The Man promptly found a gold mylar pre-made bow the size of a dinner plate. I deflected him when he acted like he was going to stick it to my head.

TM: "Didn't you have a dress with one of these on it in 1980?"

Me: "Dude. In 1980, I was FIVE."

The little old lady chimes in, "You'd better behave yourself there- she just might tie you up if you don't!"

Uhhhh....OK. Since I am holding about 300 yards of silver ribbon...and it IS a little old lady. So it's probably not a kinky reference, right? Right.

I give the Man the hairy eyeball. "Yeah. Behave yourself." I kind of shrug and laugh.

Little old lady: "If you're naughty, she might not just tie you up...she could handcuff you! And they don't always have those nice fleece liners!"

At this point, she winked lecherously. And that's when I grabbed The Man and the ribbon and we hightailed it out of there.

WTF is up with Walgreens, people? Is it Christmas that is making everyone crazy? The hell?

My week in video

I have decided that this is what it's like to be me right now.

The part where the hamster gets hurled out of the wheel and wanders around in a daze? That's my weekend.

The Man just came out of hibernation, and we had the following exchange:

Me: "Getting ready for work, sweetie?"

The Man: "Work?"

Me: "Um, how is that surprising? Yes, work."

The Man: (patiently) "This is my night off, hon. Remember?"

D'Oh! I am seriously losing it.

Can I get a "do over?"

So this last week?

Thank heaven, the work week is over.

I mean, I am not expecting anything miraculous this weekend. The way this week has gone, as long as there is no plague of locusts, or rain of blood and frogs, it's all good.

I am going out on a limb saying that, because I am taking Greyhound to SF again this weekend, which may be considered another sign of the apocalypse.

I am usually incredibly responsible when it comes to work. However, being sick messed me up in more ways than I ever could have imagined. (Note to self: you are human. Suck it up, let someone else take care of it!) Besides the chills the other night, I had a temp over 102, which for good old sub-normal temp me, is more like 104. Evidently, it boiled my brain. I missed several appointments, and generally was in a fog for two days, during which I made at least 4 major work-related mistakes that I am still kicking myself over.

I am feeling better today, and I am hoping that I will be good to go for another week at work. I got the news today that I am basically booked through the end of the year, which is just insane. I am going to be training people to pick up some of the slack next week, because the demand is huge. It's thrilling for me, because I love this company, and I am doing my best to get them as many bookings as I can finagle.

It pleases me to no end, however, to find out that I have a waiting list. Teachers are calling in, requesting me to come to their classes again, and when they find out I am booked, are actually requesting to wait until I have an open day...even when they find out it will most likely be sometime in February.

Just....wow. That is about as cool, and as flattering, as it gets. I am blown away.

It does make things harder on some level. I am thrilled that the kids like me, and incredibly happy in my job.

Here's the problem. I take questions at the beginning and end of my classes. Being kids, the first questions usually have nothing to do with why I am there, but I answer them anyway. Questions two and three are usually things like, "What's your favorite color?" and "What's your favorite animal?" Question number one: "Do you have a family? Do you have kids? Or just "How many kids do you have?"

When I say no kids, I have a big huge husband and a lot of pets, they get...well, indignant is the best word.

"But why not!!! Your kids would have so much fun!!! You could do science with them at home, and they would be so lucky!!!"

Ouch. Just....ouch. Luckily, I am out of the teary stage, because as it is, it damn near does me in. EVERY time.

Anyway. Today I managed the Big Three Questions from a class full of fourth graders and then another little boy raised his hand.

"When's the guy getting here? Isn't there a guy?"

I was puzzled for about a second, and then I pointed to my lab coat and said, "I'M the guy!!!" And I made a silly face at him.

The class all busted up laughing. The teacher explained that she had talked to a guy on the phone, which was why they had been expecting a male scientist- but wasn't it great that I was a woman? Because girls can grow up to be scientists too!

I guess the little girls felt empowered, which is great. They all swarmed my table after the presentation- asking where to get dry ice, and telling silly knock knock jokes. I hit them with the vintage interrupting cow joke and they went bananas. It was hilarious- they were all squealing and slapping their teensy knees, and then they followed me out into the parking lot, offering to carry stuff for me. The teacher from the class saw them and called after me, "I'm jealous! You already have groupies!!"

The good outweighs the bad- definitely. And I have to remember, my knock knock jokes from 1982 will always be a hit with the fourth graders of the world. I have found my audience! If I had my own kids, they'd eventually hit puberty and find my mere prescence to be totally humiliating.

Thrills and chills

First of all, I just realized that this is my 200th post. Holy crap!

Second of all (reference the "chills" above) I am sick. With my usual creeping crud, on top of what is evidently the flu. I have a fever, with chills, and while I am not barfing yet...

"By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes."

I did go to work today, and I was just in a daze. It's been a hard week, I accidentally released some of the kids in my class yesterday 15 minutes early, and the pissed-off parents called my workplace. I evidently had mis-set my watch. So I explained, did the whole mea culpa thing, and hopefully now we've moved on. My usual tendancy is to beat myself up about it, but hey, it was an honest mistake, and nothing (thanks to Baby Jesus) bad happened to any of the kids I released.

Halloween was hilarious. The animatronic bat has been in use for three years, and now the neighborhood kids look forward to it. It amuses me that my home is known in the neighborhood lexicon as "the bat house!!!!"

I guess it's better than "That house with the unmowed lawn."

Spring forward, fall off.

Ok, I have no excuse. I don't even really have a specific reason for being so erratic about teh blog. I guess I just like to keep peeps on their toes!

Disjointed ramblings:

Top 5 places to hide Halloween candy from your husband-

1. Behind the trash bags

2. In the cabinet containing the cleaning products

3. Trunk of unwashed car

4. Laundry basket

5. Crisper drawer of fridge, beneath bags of pre-pack salad

All of these would totally work in my house- however, I opted for:

6. Behind boxes of diet soda on the lowest shelf of the pantry.

It seems to be working. I just wish someone would hide it from me- I have already fallen victim to the siren song of the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
_______

Behold, a conversation chez moi:

The Man: You bought new yarn.

Me: Yes. Are you monitoring my stash?

The Man: Which one?

(This is the part where, if you are a knitter, your blood runs cold.)

Me: What do you mean, which one?

The Man: Well- there are the boxes of yarn in the spare room closet...and the yarn in the two big baskets in the entertainment center....and the yarn filling the entire cedar chest in the living room. Am I missing any?

Me: Uh....

The Man: Would you even tell me if I found it all?

Me: I plead the fifth.
_______

Between stashing yarn, working my butt off, and prepping for my favorite holiday, I have been archiving our CD collection. More than 500 done so far, and I am not even halfway done. When the hell are we going to listen to it all?

In other news, I have been corresponding with my ex-boyfriend from college. The Man has no cause for worry, that train has sailed. Still, it's been interesting catching up on the last ten years, and I have even managed to keep myself from saying "I TOLD you she was a bitch!!!"on several different occasions. Let's just say that as girlfriends of my ex go, I was probably the sanest of the lot. Which is saying something.
________

So, I am trying to decide if I should dress up for the trick-or-treaters tomorrow night. The Man and I did go to a halloween party, and this year was much better than last year. The best part is that we went as Perseus and Medusa. Yes, pictures will be forthcoming.
________

I finally watched Red Eye on cable. Cillian Murphy never fails to give me the creeps. EUGH! I can't even look at him without skeeving. That being said, it was a decent thriller. But still! *skeeve*

What happened to my weekend?

Every two weeks, I go to San Francisco for acupuncture.

Yes, it has something to do with the whole baby issue. And evidently, it is working....to the point that people who hardly know me are saying things like, "You're so much calmer!"

The people who DO know me well have hatched a conspiracy theory which involves my unknowingly having taken some kind of Chinese lithium. (For the record, that one was Secret Squirrel, who watches way too much CSI.) But The Man has noticed. My family have noticed. And while it's great that it's working, there's some part of me that is resentful. (Ack! Was I so horrible before?!!!!)

I know they won't answer this honestly, for fear that I will suffer a relapse and attack them with a Salad Shooter. But still...! I am fully awarethat some things which would have rendered me apoplectic with rage at one time now are just sort of irritating, but nothing to get worked up over. Recognizing this while it's happening is sort of surreal.

Anyway. My regimen involves the needles, and an everchanging formulation of Chinese herbs that has come to be known simply as "Ass Tea." (Rhymes with NASS-TY!) The nearest way I can describe the taste? Murky. If you need more detail? It's like top ramen flavor packets with the salt removed. Yep. Taste sensation! I usually throw in some Crystal Lite, which is probably not condoned by ancient Chinese medicine, but does manage to camouflage the ass to some degree.



So, San Francisco. Secret Squirrel tagged along, and we had many strange and hilarious conversations. One that came up was the sad, strange take of Lorena Bobbit. Yes, guys, women talk about this all the time...and we laugh.

Me: "Whatever happened to Lorena, anyway?"

SS: "Well, she went to jail. I mean, she chopped it off."

Me: "I never understood that. Wouldn't he be pretty wiggly? He must have woken up.
Did she use anaesthetic? A machete? How is that logistically possible?"

SS: "Um, I think he was pretty drunk, but he woke up in the middle of it."

Me: "Welll...ouch."

SS: "I was always surprised there were no copycat crimes afterwards."

Me: "Well...I think men were probably much more zealous in guarding the junk after that. They were pretty traumatized, as I recall. Didn't they find it and sew it back on, and then he did porn or something?"

SS: Welll- I mean, she chopped it off, then ran off and threw it in a field. THEN they sewed it back on."

Me: "Thanks for the timeline."

SS: "Well, it couldn't have been out there too long. He's lucky. I mean, it could have been eaten by wild dogs."

(pause)
Me: A dingo ate my penis!!!!!!BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA......

Yeah, that's pretty much how the whole weekend went. We talked and laughed a lot, bought some yarn (aka crack) from Artfibers, met up with my sister for drinks, and ate some meals that were completely insane, but totally worth it.

On the way home, we hit the Bridge School Benefit, which was fantastic. It was worth it for the Foo Fighter's acoustic set alone.

Always Read The Label.

So, I went to SF this weekend (more on this tomorrow). First, I have something to get off my chest.

We went to Sephora. I spent way more than I intended to, which is what happens every time I go in there. Three bottles of nailpolish, Bare Escentuals foundation and concealer, a really cool eyeshadow palette- and then I remembered OH! yeah...I am out of eye/lip makeup remover. So I bought the store brand, which was a pretty good deal, I thought. I have had great experiences with the Sephora brand, and for eight bucks...well, how could I go wrong?



It wasn't until I got back to the hotel and tried out my new purchase that I realized I'd been had. At first I was thrilled, because it did indeed work like a charm on my waterproof eye makeup and all day lipstick. But...there was something really familiar about the smell and consistency, so I checked the label. One ingredient- petrolatum.

In case you don't know what petrolatum is?



Surprise!!!

I paid $8 for an OUNCE of Vaseline (but Vaseline made in France!) cleverly repackaged in a cute little tube. Considering that you can buy a 13 oz. tub of the stuff for $4.49 at CVS online...that's what? Like over 1000% markup? Great.

There are way too many dirty jokes possible here, so I am just going to let it go.

Project Runway

Well, crap.

I hate it when I'm right.

The biggest one-horse town in California.

So, I am in Fresno.

This post is going to be pretty vague, due to the non-disclosure agreement that I signed when I started my job.

I grew up here in Fresno. I know a lot of people because of that. Due to the nature of my job, the huge social circle of my parents, and my husband's ties to the military, I need to be careful when I run into people. Note to self- it's "Nice to SEE you", not "Nice to meet you!" Invariably, I screw that one up, mainly because my ability to match faces with names is god-awful.

Anyway. I was given a dossier on a little girl to tutor. It had an addendum that part of the reason that she was having problems in school was because of a family tragedy- her father had died violently a few months before and since she was shy anyway, they wanted someone with a "bubbly" personality.

I showed up on the front doorstep on Monday, and when her mother answered the door, she shrieked, "Jenna! I didn't know you were tutoring!"

They're friends of friends. People we knew by first names only, and so I had no idea that this was someone I had spent time with at birthday parties and barbecues.

I was literally gobsmacked. In the meantime, the friends who are the link between us, called, and gave me all the gory details.

Every time I look at this sweet little girl, who is just caught in the middle of all this crap- it just breaks my heart. And all I can do is correct her spelling and teach her how to multiply, and try not to get too involved.

Sorry. This has been bugging me since Monday.

Here we go...

Project Runway finale is tonight.

I am such a PR dork. I am beyond excited.

I really don't care what the outcome is, as long as Jeffrey doesn't win...although I have a sinking feeling that The Angry Little Peanut is going to take it. At this point, I love love love Laura's stuff, even though it's not exactly young or "boob-friendly". Michael's stuff looks like it came straight out of Captain Save-A-Ho's trophy collection. I have always liked Uli, and I actually think she's a contender for the win (Of course, I may be in denial- see above re: Jeffrey.)

Anyway.

Catwarming!

Remember that kitten I was talking about?




This picture is of Lucky on her second day with us. She's staked out the bed as her own personal property, and she communicates in sweet little squeaks and trills, which I hope she never grows out of. And her favorite thing ever? Is playing fetch with the fun-fur mice I bought for her.



There were originally two mice. The first guy lost his felt tail and exploded early on, but this guy has been hanging in there. I decided that he probably needed to be retired. Before we went back to the pet store, I decided to see if I could possibly build a better mouse.

So I busted out the knitting needles, along with Stitch N' Bitch Nation and gave it a go. The pattern is called the CatWarming Set. I was about halfway through with my mouse before I realized there had to be a mistake in the pattern somewhere, but I didn't feel like looking it up. (And yes, today, I found the correction on the Stitch N' Bitch website. D'Oh!

Still, I think the little guy turned out really cute, if a bit skinnier than anticipated due to the error in the pattern. I added whiskers and stuff- i think next time, I will modify the pattern and knit him in the round, because I really freaking hate mattress stitch.



No matter what he looks like, Lucky has been carrying him around since last night, so I guess he is a hit!

In the meantime, Big Fatty (aka Tiramisu) has not been happy as part of a two-cat household. He's adjustting, but slowly. In the meantime, I tried to placate him with more knitting, this time, the felted Kitty Pi Bed from Wendy Knits.

Here it is, pre-felting:



"Dammit! She ruins EVERYTHING!!!"



"Well...maybe it will be OK."


Oh Hell no! My new bed, it has been DEFILED by her MERE PRESENCE!!!

Benny's from heaven.

I am a sucker for a good pun. The title of this post is also the title of a Rhumba Bums song- their re-working of "Pennies From Heaven".

The giggles are all in the intro, about how a soldier comes home after a three year tour of duty, and his wife has a three-month old baby. So he kinda does the math and says, OK, honey, where'd the kid come from? So after this long build-up, they start in with "Benny's...Benny's from heaven...!"

Maybe I am just a swing dork, but The Man and I thought it was hilarious. Even more hilarious because the lead chanteuse, Carmen, is probably about 7 months preggers.

So we had a great time, and even got some dancing in. Then we rushed to the car so The Man could get to work on time, and I managed to catch part one of the Project Runway finale. I can't even express what I think about it at this point- besides, these guys sum it up better than I ever could.

Today has been pretty darn good. Work is going great- I am teaching four classes a week, and have about 20 science workshops scheduled over the next two months. My employers are wonderful people, and I definitely feel appreciated, which is something I will never again take for granted. Most of the kids are great (as usual, there are one or two exceptions) and I am having a fantastic time. Who knew that enjoying your job was even a possibility?

Um. I am enjoying this so much, that I am thinking about heading back to school and getting my teaching credential. Maybe it's temporary insanity? Whatever happens, it will have to wait until The Man is out of college, sometime next year.

This is so bizarre- I feel so grown up!

Get Lucky.

So I was cruising around online Monday night, and I thought I would check in to see how some of my fave modern swing bands are doing.

Just for kicks, I took a gander at the Steve Lucky and the Rhumba Bums tour schedule. They usually play SF, but I have been there a lot recently, and The Man has expressed a desire to see them.

So imagine what a pleasant surprise it was when I saw the listing for 10/11/06- The Big Fresno Fair. I love love love their music, they are fantastic live, and they're actually playing Fresno. Who doesn't love a band who has a double-entendre-packed song about gravy?



Here they are on Amazon, if you're curious.

OK, the drawback is that *cough* it's THE BIG FRESNO FAIR. But for Steve Lucky et al, I will brave the wilds of the Thug Life crowd and all eight bajillion babymammas. Well, plus the big musical act is The Black Crowes, so I am guessing that might have some affect on the usual suspects in attendance. Hopefully, I can convince The Man to make an evening of it.

So- great music, a night out with the hubby, and maybe an old fashioned cinnamon roll.

And then tonight is the first part of the finale of Project Runway.

My cup runneth over!

I melted my Visa card.

So, we all know, I am a knitter, and a reader. And you put those together, and you get... an unhealthy obsession with knitting books.

I seem to have had some kind of blackout over the last couple of weeks. Combined with the credit card and Amazon.com (Damn you Amazon! Damn you!) ... well, let's just say it's not a pretty picture.

I somehow have 10 new knitting books. Count 'em, 10. On top of the 30 or so that I already have. This is not counting the knitting magazines, which I really don't want to talk about, aside from that old saw- "Admitting that there is a problem is the first step to recovery." Or something like that.

And did I mention, I also placed pre-orders on two more books that are coming out later this year?

Oh, and there's one more that should be showing up tomorrow:



Knitting needles. Yarn. Martini glass. Yea, Behold...it is The Promised Land!
Yeah, if there's any combo that would make me click "Add To Cart" juuuuuust one more time, that's it up there.

I wonder if Blue Shield covers this.

Tag! You're it.

Yes, I have been pretending that I didn't have all these blogs for awhile. Then I logged in, and I realized...Blogger now has TAGS. Bless you, Blogger!

So- I am probably not going to be maintaining three blogs, just one. Good old TMWA will likely be the one to stay put. The knitting and weight loss stuff will just be posted here under different tags, and then we can all live together in peaceful harmony. Or something.

Anyway, to quote the fabulous Tim Gunn: "Carry on! Make it work!"

Le Freak, C'est Chic.

FREAK OUT. (Guys, you may want to avert your eyes.)

I went to the doctor today. For THAT check up. Since I haven't had THAT checkup since 2003 (whoops) I figured I better go in before my fallopian tubes fell off or something.

I really like my OB-GYN (which I suppose is a good thing, under the circumstances.) He's cool, and he's gotten used to my sense of humor, and he always remembers my last knitting project and asks how it turned out. And usually, I lie and tell him that I finished it, because my state of yarn-ho-ness is just out of control right now.

Anyway, a couple of enlightening tidbits for the ladies:

If you're in a monogamous relationship, you only need to come in for THAT checkup every two to three years. And here I was thinking I was being severely negligent! Evidently not. I love accidentally turning out to be responsible.

The best thing EVAR:

Okay, so it has always been my opinion that any individual who could come up with a non-humiliating scenario for the standard Pap test would be an overnight bazillionaire. I am informed that this is now on the horizon, and is already in practice in Denmark and some other countries.

Since cervical cancer is caused by PID, women can actually test at home for the virus. If it comes up positive, they'll come in to the doctor for a Pap test. If not, well, hallelujah! No stirrups for you, lucky ladies of Denmark!

Now for that "freak out" portion.

During the breast exam, my wonderful doc discovered some abnormal feeling scar tissue in one of the girls. He reassures me that he's not worried, and I shouldn't be either, but he wants to get it checked out just to be safe. So I go in for an ultrasound next week.

Yes, I am worried, but the odds are that it is nothing. I haven't told my parents yet, and I was debating about telling The Man, because I knew what the reaction would be. (I did tell him though, and for the record, I was right.) Anyway, I go in next Thursday.

Okay...

Why do I think this is so funny?

Hello!

My "h" key is here. Wooooohoooooooo!

Happy
Hufflepuff
Harmonious
Hallelujah

Ok, I'll stop.

The weekend was great- I did a ton of knitting, and am in the process of planning the meals for the week. In the meantime, I am considering using up the ton and a half of frozen fruit that seems to have mysteriously accumulated in my freezer. I am loving the sorbet recipe that I found on Recipezaar. I actually use this site to find new recipes and to make shopping lists and do menu planning- it's seriously the bomb.

Ain't that a kick in the head

No, it just feels like it. Hello migraine!

The replacement keyboard should be here by next week. In the meantime, I still wince every time I have to hit the "h" key.

I am just feeling kind of blah. I just asked The Man what I should write about, and he said, "The keyboard?" Uh, been there done that.

OK, I am just going to write this off as a boring day.

Obsessive!

I lurves me some Project Runway.

Yes, I admit it. I am so very addicted. I want Uli and Michael to be in the top 3 Laura and Kayne can fight it out for the remaining spot- Project Catfight! RRrrrrowr!

Every Wednesday night, there I am- I head over to Secret Squirrel's place, and we watch it together and snark the whole damn time. It's wonderful. And sad at the same time, since in order to get the Bravo network, The Man had to bump up our cable package. Yes that's right. I can live without HBO, but not without Bravo.

Anyway- If you are a PR fan, and haven't checked out Project Rungay yet, you are seriously missing out. Seriously. These guys are friggin' hilarious.

Is it wrong that I am already completely excited about tonight's new PR episode? I totally need to get a life.

HHhh

My H key is broken.

That's my pathetic excuse for not blogging. It is actually still broken, although a replacement is on the way.

In the meantime, I have been:

Knitting
Cleaning
Trying to get ready for my baby brother's upcoming wedding
Adopting random kittens (true- pics are forthcoming)
Implementing "date night" with The Man

and doing a whole bunch of other things that I am too out-of-it to remember right now.

Reports of my death....

Have been greatly exaggerated.

Please stay tuned!