Weekend Wrap-up #1

After trying to maintain a separate weight loss blog, I gave up on it.

It's impossible to separate my weight from the everyday and humdrum stuff that goes on with me, because...well, let's face it. I have been on a sporadic diet for the last 20 years. My weight affects a lot of what I do, how I respond to things, and how people respond to me. My perceptions, my choices, my day-to-day are all heavily (no pun intended) influenced by The Fat.

For example: My honeymoon. After a two-week clash of wills, I finally agreed (reluctantly!) to go to Hawaii. My husband wanted o go someplace tropical. My stated reason for not wanting the Hawaiian Honeymoon was that it was a cliche.

In actuality, it was because I would not be one of those girls wearing a white bikini with "Just Married" Bedazzled in rhinestones across the ass. I didn't want a bunch of pictures of size 14 me wearing a scowl and a sarong. This is probably the first time I have admitted it to myself or anyone else.

The Fat also is a big factor in why I didn't go to my high school 10 year reunion. Not because I thought people would judge me so much, but because I hated high school, where my weight and the nickname Double Bubble, en homage to the triple G boobs (yep) haunted me for four long, angry years. I seriously didn't want to relive all that ten years later.
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As I get older- maybe it's the fact that my husband is pretty accepting, maybe it's the fact that I have fought with my weight for TWENTY years now, maybe it's because I just can't be bothered anymore- I am realizing that what other people think is not that important. Does it really matter what the waiter will think of me if I order dessert? When I order fast food for my husband and I, do I need to state that fact to the drive-through guy so he knows that all three cheeseburgers aren't for me?

Studies show that there's a good reason behind feeling this way. Plus sized women are definitely treated differently when they shop. An experiment was done where a large woman who came into a store with a diet beverage, and discussed losing weight with the sales clerk was treated in a much more positive manner than the same woman in the same store if she was holding an Orange Julius and no dieting was mentioned. Go figure!
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One of the students that I tutor has this fantastic mom. She's a really attractive woman, maybe 5 years older than I am....really petite, thin as a rail, always well-dressed. And last week, she confessed that she hates to have her picture taken.
Actually what she said is, "I always look like a wrinkly, mis-shapen dwarf in pictures."

Nothing could be further from the truth in real life. I laughed and said that I had the opposite problem, I felt like I looked like a hippopotamus on film. We both ended up laughing about it.

Women are too damn hard on each other, and even harder than that on themselves. I wish I had something profound to say about it, but I can only sum it up with: That totally sucks.

So, the purpose of the weekend wrap-up is simply to talk about The Week in Weight Loss, how it's going, and what I am doing. I guess the significance is that I no longer want The Fat to run my life, but I am accepting that The Fat is always going to be a part of it, and it's OK to be open about that.
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This week has been good. I did my four days of exercise, interval running/walking on the treadmill. I didn't panic about waking up late on Friday, I still exercised, but not as long. And that's OK.

I re-started South Beach Diet, because it's really easy for me to incorporate that into the way I like to eat. And lo and behold, it's working. I have lost almost 6 lbs. this week, which is amazing. I am getting back into that groove of planning ahead, of making sure there are going to be good food choices in the fridge when I open it.

So I saw a major scale victory this week with the loss, and I had several non-scale victories. The exercise, I feel really good about. I can already tell a difference in the way my clothes fit.

And I went out to dinner twice this week, and didn't even falter. I had a salad last night when my buddies had fried appetizers, and then for girls night out, I got a turkey burger with jack cheese and avocado, and I just didn't eat the bun and ordered cottage cheese instead of fries. Both nights, I had one drink and took about three sips. For some reason, alcohol isn't appealing to me lately, and I remember that this happened the last time I did SBD too. My tolerance has gone out the window too, half a martini in three hours, and I still could feel the buzz. I also remember that the one time in my life when I drank too much and threw up and blacked out and had the worst hangover ever? I had been on SBD. (Note to self: don't do that again!)

I know it's easy now, when I am gung-ho. It's down the line when I get sick of my usual stuff that I will hit some major bumps, so I guess I need to prepare for those in advance.

I haven't called the headhunter yet.

I have 15 freaking messages on my cell phone. I know, I know....I got behind. I think he is in there somewhere.
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In other news...a conversation I had today. It was with the 4 year old sister of my new tutoring clients.

4 y.o.: I know you!

JSQ: Yup- I was here yesterday, remember?

4 y.o.: You came back!

JSQ: Yes, I will be here all the time now. I am helping your brothers with math!

4 y.o.: I want to see the picture of the bird. (There is a picture of my parrot on the cell phone. I comply.)

4 y.o.: I want to see a picture of your little girl!

JSQ: Sorry, I don't have one of those.

4 y.o.: You don't have babies?

JSQ: No, not yet.

4 y.o.: Why not? Do you hate kids?

At this point, she is starting to look upset. Of course, I probably am too.

JSQ: No, I don't hate kids- I teach kids all day, remember? I like kids!

4 y.o.: Then why don't you have any?

At this point, her mom came in, gave me what can only be described as a wry look, and mercifully carried her off.
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On a more positive note:

The thing I am doing is going well...the excess weight that hatched over the fateful Sonoma weekend has been banished, and I managed to hit my goal of four days of exercise this week, which is amazing, considering the crazy schedule I have had.

How are you doing? Anything good planned for the weekend?

Mine involves reclining on the couch. Daylight Savings Time plus wacky schedule plus new diet and exercise program has done me in!

Head Hunted

I am not good at being positive about myself, but this week has been a pretty good week. This has been an amazing few days at work (note to self...consider that you would have to leave your job if The Man's job offer pans out).

So far today, I have had two teachers interrogate me about any other classes that I teach, so they can be sure to book me.

"We want YOU!" they said. "Can we request you? It'll be next year. Are you booked already? If you are, we'll wait."

I can hardly believe this. Am I booked next year? Are you serious?

Three years ago, I was working at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named. I was practically glued to my desk covering for my boss, who was never in the office. I worked my ass off and got no credit, appreciation, or recognition. My boss was one of those people who took the credit for your accomplishments, but if you screwed up! The finger of blame would descend upon you. (Now, imagine that you are having to run interference with Vice Presidents of the company for this person. Holy Crap!) I came home ANGRY every night. I was constantly stressed out. I felt completely value-less as an employee, and the harder I worked, the more useless I felt.

Now I go to work in a different place every day, but the schools are are becoming more and more familiar. I am getting a lot of "repeat customers' through my company, people like those teachers mentioned above. It's a great feeling to be appreciated. To me, that is worth more than a title change or a 3% raise. (which, when you're making $12.00 an hour, is so ridiculous as to be laughable.)

The kids are also wonderful. Sure, there are stinkers, but on the whole, it's a fantastic feeling to walk into a classroom and 25 kids start shrieking, "She's here! She's HERE!" with manic glee. They want me to see that they've lost a tooth since that last time I was there. Or to tell me they got a book on volcanoes, and can they show me? Or they saw Jurassic Park, and can scientist really do that thing with the bug in the amber? Is that what I do in my lab? Or do I blow things up? Blowing things up is cool. Hey, did I bring rockets this week? What do I have in my big crate to show them today? Are we going to make a project today? What is it?

At the end, I get the occasional hugs, and loud choruses of thank you's. They all want to tell me what their favorite part of the presentation was, and when I am coming back. When I head across campus, kids from past classes will see me, and evidently tell their friends. It is like being a rock star, or Spongebob Squarepants or something. I have been mobbed a few times, which is just hilarious.

And as of yesterday, my worlds have started to collide. I showed up yesterday at a new tutoring job. The boys didn't recognize me without my lab coat, but when I mentioned that I taught science, their eyes got big. "You helped us make volcanoes in our class!!!"

These two boys are ten (and adamantly opposed to having a tutor). I had no problems with them after that. I figure, if you can hold the attention of a 10 year old boy, you can basically do anything.

So today, I finished up class, and headed out to the parking lot. I got stopped by a grown woman, which is unusual. (Adults usually give me indulgent smiles and a wide berth, like I am wearing a Big Bird costume.)

"Did you teach my daughter's class yesterday?!" She didn't stop for an answer. "That little machine you gave her...I can't believe everyone in her class got one! We all played with it, even my husband. It was fascinating! What a fantastic program you have! Do you do birthday parties?"

I chatted with her a little and gave her a flyer. I continued rolling on through the parking lot, and was reaching for my car door when a white Saturn swept up next to me and the driver dramatically announced, "Wait!!! Are you Jenna? I need to talk to you!!!"

Um, OK. Guy knows my name. I waited.

The upshot is, this guy wants me to work for his company and develop and run the science section of his after-school programs for a school district. He says he wants to talk to me, and that he is sure he can pay me enough to make it worth my while to leave my current company.

I gave him my number, since I am sure it can't hurt if I talk to the guy and see what he's going on about. But I am still in shock. And part of me is wondering if he followed me or got a tip off or something...I mean, what are the odds? Granted, I do tend to be paranoid. But...!!!!!

I suppose I should be happy that my life isn't boring.

Deal with the Devil

Cue fiddle music!

The Man is nearly done with his Business/Marketing degree.

I am really proud of him, and when he is done with school, it will be my turn to go back and finish my English degree and get my teaching credential.

So we are at this huge family shindig, and well...

I guess I would have enjoyed it more if we didn't feel like the poor relations.

My sister is a lawyer. My brother is in real estate. If we expand to extended family, you get a few major judges, a big time buisnessman or two, a few more lawyers, and a computer mogul. There are a smattering of teachers who are on the edge of retirement, married to the posessors of the aforementioned Big Impressive Jobs. They live in the Bay Area, they have vacation homes and brand new cars and designer clothes and timeshare condos in Hawaii. The younger ones all have kids. And they all look like they live at the gym.

My husband is in the military. I work with kids in a part-time capacity. We squeeze by every month, mainly because I quit my full-time job at The Company Which Shall Not Be Named, and because The Man's college education is freaking expensive. We have no kids. We're not into wine or gourmet meals. (They're nice, but not really a part of the big equation for us.) In short, we have nothing in common with most of these people.

Anyway. These people love me, and they don't intend to make me feel "small." And it pisses me off to no end that I couldn't just sit back and enjoy myself, without constantly comparing and analyzing everything.

There were moments that were awkward..."You've NEVER had a massage before?!!!" This was uttered in a tone like I had just swung in on a vine, wearing a loincloth.

There were moments that went beyond awkward to agonizing. Like the part where someone offered to sell me her three-year-old son, who was acting up, at a discount. It was one of those laughing things that mothers say because their kid is on their last nerve. I just sort of laughed and said, "Name your price!" in a jokey way. It was worse because I am sure her husband took her aside and talked to her afterwards, because she was visibly uncomfortable around me after that.

I guess I do have a point, and I am getting to it.

The Man was constantly asked if he was going to have to go back to the Middle East. They would thank him for all he did, thank me for giving up my husband for six months to defend our country. They's ask what was going on with us, so we'd tell them about his college, eventual job search, etc.

The Man has a job offer from a family member. However, it's a loaded proposition. We would have to to move to the Bay Area, but lodging is provided, which is a big part of the cost up there. The huge down side is that it's a trailer park, which we would have to live in. It bothers me more on the level that we already have a house, and I already feel like a "poor relation". Let's face it, there would be something of a stigma attached to it. And I am not sure how much I want to work for family. I worry that if we hate it, we couldn't just change our minds.

The upsides are huge too. Stigma or not, we would triple or quadruple our current income. This place may be a trailer park, but it has a fantastic location, with a view of the bay. SF is right there, and housing would be free, which means that we would be able to take care of our debts and have huge financial freedom in one fell swoop. Family would be close by, especially if my parents move to the Carmel house when they retire. We would be able to save money to buy our dream house fairly painlessly.

The more I look at the up and down sides, the main drawback (let's face it) is "What Will They Think?" Which is a crappy way to run your life. There is a lot of time to think things over, there are a bunch of details that we don't have yet.

Thw more I think about it...My main condition would be that we keep our house. I have so many friends here, and I am not giving up being a homeowner.

I know this is disjointed...I am just so incredibly conflicted, it is making my head spin!

Ah, Sonoma!

My cousin's husband threw a huge bash for her 40th birthday this weekend. And when I say bash....

I may still be in recovery for the hangover. But when someone offers you 40 year old port, you can't say no, can you? Can you?

It was a three-day thing, with brunches, continental breakfasts, tours of wineries, dinners, desserts, cooking classes, cheese plates, wine tastings, massages....you name it. All sponsored by my cousin's husband. Let's just say the house in Sonoma is next door to Danny Glover's, and I spent three days feeling like a bumpkin in town on the egg money. Albeit, a very well dressed bumpkin.

Anyway, we took the convertible.



We pulled up to the Fairmont Sonoma Mission Inn and Spa.

We saw this, and I said, "Well, GOLL-LEE!"



I am being pretty self-deprecating, but we had a great time. I had my first massage, which was lovely, and we ate and ate and ate and ate and ate. And drank and drank and drank. I knocked a few "dranks" aff because I stopped after the boozefest at the winery the night before we left. I couldn't take it anymore. The sad thing is, I was done by the end of the second day. I just wanted to be home in our nice squishy bed, in close proximity to Crystal Lite and regular, every-day chicken breast meals.

The worst part were the photographers, capturing our every move. I am dreading getting the link to those pictures. There are some pix of me that we took, and I look like I have been inflated. There is no nice way to say it. I could feel it happening on a daily basis, and it was hard to avoid, what with the squab and the rack of lamb and the chicken ctuffed with ham and gruyere cheese and slathered with cream sauce. Holy Mackerel.

So, the atonement starts today. (yet again) I am getting on the treadmill as soon as I finish this!
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Update: I went on the treadmill and didn't die. FitDay has been implemented. My water jug has been dusted off. The Battle of the Bulge is officially back on!

iiiiiiinteresting

So, I went shopping.

And I managed to find the ultimate bra (yes, really) and my very first pair of Seven Jeans.

Photos shall be forthcoming.

Well, of the jeans. But probably not the bra.

You make me wanna soup

Soup, soup eh loop, soup eh loop eh loop eh doop....

Yeah, you can slap me for that one. Seriously, I know I deserve it.

I am cooking up a storm, which is what having a clean kitchen makes me want to do. Sadly, when I cook, the kitchen becomes a mess again, so the cooking never lasts long.

Having a sick man in the house (he is still alive, by the way, mainly because I have spent the weekend so far hooked up to my iPod so I am effectively deaf to his suffering)evidently inspired me to make....soup.



The top recipe is Potato Spinach Soup from Recipezaar. The bottom recipe is taken from the packet of split peas I bought at Trader Joe's. It's official title is something like Split Pea Soup with Bacon and Rosemary.

Both of them are beyond heavenly. I seriously believe that soup in the freezer is like money in the bank. And while usually it's my fallback for lunch, I have been known to eat it for breakfast and dinner, too.

Yeah, I know. I am weird about the soup. But it's quick, easy, cheap, and gooood...not to mention, filling and good for you. How can you miss?

Since I made such a prudent decision re: making soup, I decided to make some cookies.



These are Aunt Zana's Amish Sugar Cookies, once again, from Recipezaar. I know, I am such a ho where the 'zaar is concerned.

I did dust the tops of some of them with multicolored sugar before I popped them in the oven. They are yummilicious.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am off to steam-clean my andirons.




Yes, I am kidding.

Mostly.

HOW many????!

I mentioned in my previous post that I went to a dive bar last night...accompanied by a good friend who shall henceforth be known as Bow Girl.

Bow Girl is going through a lot of stuff lately. Stuff with her husband has reached the point where they decided to stay married, but basically lead totally seperate lives. She's also currently battling cancer, and is getting radiation once a week.

We didn't start out at a dive bar. We were actually hanging out at The Elbow Room, where we had drinks, steak sandwiches and split a creme brulee. We were out on the back patio, but I was sanwiched between a big heatlamp thing and an enormous fireplace, so I was nice and comfy.

Anyway, we dished and laughed and had a great time, and ended up deciding to go to a slightly less upscale establishment- in a strip mall. For more drinks.

Man, that was a rude awakening. We sat and chatted, and watched the ridiculous things that people ordered get created. One guy kept ordering a vile concoction which is evidently known as an H2- Hennessy and Hypnotiq.

I only know, because I asked. Anything that is blue and brown at the same time can't be a good idea.

"That has to be the most ghetto cocktail ever invented."

"They must be good, he's ordered 5 so far."

"I don't think it should be called an "H2". I think it should be called, "A Prelude to a Vomit."

"Maybe they'll take that under advisement."

At this point, the genial, tall, bald, tattooed, cute-in-a-bad-boy-way bartender got in a huge yelling altercation with a large bearded guy who was trying to order a beer. Most of it seemed to be bellowing back and forth about who was the bigger asshole. The large bearded guy eventually gave up on his string of profanity and stormed out.

"Who was that?" I asked the other bartender, wide-eyed.

She adjusted her studded belt. "Oh, he's just a *&^%$#@ asshole."

Yeah, I gathered that.

Anyway, BowGirl and I were in there with our wifely wedding rings flashing in an incriminating way, when someone plunked companiably down on the barstool next to us. She proceded to explain why we should never date a man like her boyfriend.

As the conversation progressed, we learned that she helped him pay rent on a house she didn't live with, and that she payed the utilities as well. And that he was out sulking in her car because he wanted to leave...he had work early the next day. She wanted to stay at the bar and drink black widows. (She'd obviously had several already.)

"Well," said BowGirl, soothingly, "At least he HAS a job."

"Yeah," I mused. "If he's got a job, why are you paying for all this stuff?"

"He has to pay a lot of child support."

"How many kids does he have?"

It was loud in the bar, so I thought I mis-heard her.

"HOW many?"

Ten. Ten kids.

By the way, this was not an old guy. I know, because he came into the bar to get her, and she shrieked at him that she wanted her keys and he could "use his Air Jordans to walk his dumb ass home."

I had another drink. It was crazy- like some ghetto OZ that I had stumbled upon.

Sorry, I am still reeling. Ten kids!

"I don't feel good"

Crap. When my husband says those words to me, the icy fingers of dread reach out and suffocate my soul. I think that a sick man in the house is right up there with the plagues of Egypt. Locusts and rains of blood may even be preferable.

I love my hubby. Oh yes I do, but if he's sick, injured, or otherwise under the weather, he is just a giant baby about it. Ask me about the time he was cooking something (it must have been sometime in the early dating days, because he hasn't once touched the stove for at least 6 years) and he somehow accidentally touched a hot pan with his fingertip.

There was yowling. There was rushing around frantically. I stood there in disbelief when he grabbed an egg from the fridge, cracked it open, and immersed his wounded finger in the egg whites. At the time, I thought it was a show put on for my benefit, and HEAVEN help me, I thought it was endearing.

As you can surmise, he is a little bit of a hypochrondriac, and also...well, let's face it, he's a drama queen. When you live with someone who screeches "FU_K!!!!" from the kitchen and you run from the back of the house only to have him lamely announce, "Oh- I dropped my spoon." Or if he's using the chainsaw in the backyard..."FU_K!!!!" And you think he's lost a limb, but it's actually a splinter.

Yeah. Nonplussed does not even begin to describe it.

After a few years of living with The Overreactor, I've learned that making a big deal of it only reinforces the behavior, so I just let ignore it and let him take care of it. Plus, I am the crappiest Florence Nightengale ever.
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So. He came home last night, and said, "I'm not feeling 100%."

This should have set off alarm bells, since normally, there would be an announcement of imminent death, dramatic coughing, and perhaps some swooning and weak demands that I fetch a poultice or some smelling salts.

However, I went out to a dive bar with a friend last night, where I consumed many WhiskeyandDietCokes, and by the time the relevant announcement was made, I was feeling no pain.

OK, I was wasted.

I patted him on the head in what I hope was a sympathetic manner, said, "Hope you feel better...." and promptly passed out into an alcoholic stupor. He presumably tucked himself in. At least I hope it was him, because I hazily remember that whoever it was took the opportunity to grope me playfully a few times. And he was there in the bed with me when I woke up.

Actually, he woke me up, to say:

"I don't feel good. My head hurts."

"Well, why don't you take some Advil?" I said, more or less reasonably for someone with a hangover who has been woken up at 7AM for no reason.

"I think I need to go to the doctor." He looked at me expectantly.

At this point, my penchant for sarcasm really sucks. What can I say to this?

A. "I'll alert the media."

B. "Do you want me to call your mommy?"

C. "Hug it out bitch!"

D. "Shut up and get me a Bloody Mary."

E. "No, I'll just put a knife under the bed...to cut the pain."

I know. I'm a horrible person.

I settled for muttering "Okaaaaaaaaay" and burying my head under the pillow. It seemed like the least potentially damaging option at the time.

The Man went to the doctor, and returned around the time I was up and around and ready for work with a sack of medication. Uh-oh. My heart sank.

"I have strep throat," he said, heavy-eyed. "Do we have any soup?"

I made him soup- it was actually earmarked for my lunch, but I felt guilty for not taking him seriously. I even put Goldfish crackers in it to take advantage of their magical healing properties.

I realized later that he ate all the Goldfish crackers off the top and then put the contaminated soup back in the fridge. Crap. I am married to a five year old.

It wouldn't be so bad if we hadn't JUST dome this a week ago- I had chills and fever, and he had a runny nose, and it was the end of the world.

He's off work for the next three days. I seriously don't know if I can make it. Would it be selfish to ask you all to pray for me?

Oh Dear.

It strikes me that I have been sort of negative of late.

I'm really not sure what to say about it- snarkiness is just in my nature. Love it or leave it. I have tried to trancend it, and it doesn't work.

Character illustration:

Dad: (tiling countertops) This is all screwed up!!!! (assorted profanity)

Me: No! It'll be fine!

Dad: Uh-huh.

Me: Think sunshine and puppies! Keebler Elves! Lollipops! Incense and peppermints!

Dad: You have no idea how close you are to death at this moment.

See? It's hereditary.
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When life gives you lemons-

The Man was not exactly on my good list today. I woke up around 9AM to find that he was playing video games in his underwear. I decided that if he could spend his morning in his Calvins, I should definitely spend mine reading Diana Gabaldon instead of say, washing the dishes. (Forget a dance-off! Let's have...a slack-off!)

Around 11AM, I lost the slack-off, and wandered in to check on him. He promptly closed the computer screen, and said something sweet about how he was thinking, he should make me a meal one of these days, and how about lunch today? He will let me know when lunch is served.

This was a turn-up for the books! Pacified, I went back to A Breath of Snow and Ashes.

I looked up at the clock at noon, and again at one. My stomach started to rumble. At two, I cruised past the computer room. No sign of movement, no sign of lunch. Rather than make it an issue, I nuked myself some soup and sulked in silence.

He emerged from the office at three, just in time for both of us to get ready for work. No mention of lunch, no apology. This has been happening a lot, and I am getting sick of it.

I took the passive aggressive approach of changing into a cute new outfit with my sexiest heels and my red red lipstick, complete with a glare that evidently seared the gizzard out of him, because he was suspiciously silent when he left.

Meanwhile, I re-did a few buttons on my black satin blouse and went out to tutor an eight-year-old boy, who would be completely unappreciative. His mom was impressed, and I had to make up a lie about going out for dinner later so as not to look like a dork.

The Man did call later to say "I'm sorry for being a jerk. My co-worker, Justin wants to say something to you." Um, okay.

Justin: "Your husband said you were mad, and he told me what he did, and I told him he was being a stupid puto!"

Me: "Well...um, thanks!"

Justin: "No prob. Bye!!!"

The Man: "See? I'm really sorry."

Me: "Apology accepted. Tell Justin I give him mad props."
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I went to Trader Joe's today, at 5PM.

If you are having issues with wanting kids and kids aren't happening?

Well, there is no good time to go to Trader Joe's, unless it's like an hour before closing time. But 5PM would have to be the worst, because the place is literally filthy with harried moms and their kids. I am not exaggerating, there were three brand new poppin' fresh babies in there, and a few more around the 6-9 month mark.

Those are actually the worst, because they are interactive, and goddamn it, they never fail to look at me with their big round eyes. Their downy little vulnerable heads swivel to watch me as I pass. They smile gummy grins, coo, peer at me, fascinated.

Maybe they do it to everyone, but I doubt it, because it seems to make their mothers nervous or jealous because THEIR BABY IS LOOKING AT SOMEONE ELSE. I have discussed the phenom with people I know, and they seem to feel that it's because I am sparkly and wearing red lipstick, whereas a newly delivered mother gnerally is happy if she got a chance to shower that week. I am sure that Laura Bennett's new baby wouldn't give me a second glance- he's seen it before.

Anyway. Having a nervous breakdown in the pasta aisle was not on my list of things to do today, but it was a struggle to avoid it. I choked it down, forced a smile onto my face, and forced myself to hold my head up. I was a woman on a mission! A mission for inner peace! And also, some Marinara sauce.

So I straightened up, threw on the most brilliant smile in the old arsenal, and somehow accidentally locked eyes with some guy. Evidently he decided that we had some kind of moment, because he started staring at me.

I am sure the thought process was, "She smiled and looked at me! Do I know her?" Either that, or, "Hehehe...She WANTS me." Either way, he looked completely flabbergasted, like I had given him a saucy wink and then flashed my bra at him.

I immediately averted my eyes and started loading brown rice and lentils into my cart. Evidently, he did not collect himself right away. I turned around to head out of the aisle, just in time to see his wife poke him viciously in the ribs.

Whoops.

Sorry East Coasters.

Damn, the Oscars just seem to get longer every year.

I leave you with ten thoughts:

1. YES!!! MARTY WINS IT!!!! Let's face it, as soon as we saw the Big Three out on stage it was basically inevitable. That is one happy little man with some seriously outrageous eyebrows. I bet they crawl off his face at night to feast on the blood of the living.

2. Reese Witherspoon: Girl. Please eat some ice cream. Are you doing a remake up Buffy The Vampire Slayer? The twist could be that you use your uber pointy chin to stab the bloodsuckers through the heart.

3. God, the new bald Jack Nicholson is shiny. Between the glare off the sunglasses and his head and his teeth, he could only be more blinding if he were wearing a tinfoil tuxedo.

4. Happy Feet beat out Cars? Who was smoking what illicit substances? Can you use the alleged "rolling papers" that Ellen found to spark up The Crack?

5. Re: Philip Seymour Hoffman. Dude. Someone needs to be soused in sheep dip and/or fumigated. My guess is that his only concession to personal hygeine was to duct-tape a roach motel into each of his festering armpits. Possibly.

Look, Philip, we know you're never going to look like Clooney, but you know...brush your hair. And maybe bathe, at least fortnightly. That's all we ask.

I did laugh out loud when they announced him as "America's Sexiest Man Alive who has ever played Truman Capote.

Frankly, if I were Toby Jones, that would seriously piss me off.

6. How did I not know that Altman died? What rock was I under? Alas, The Internets have failed me.

7. Speaking of The Internets, the erstwhile "inventor", Al Gore? Okay, was anyone surprised that he won? Yawn.

8. Eddie Murphy: No, you didn't win. Consider it a judgement on you for Norbit. Oh, and for Scary Spice. Dumping your pregnant girlfriend on Swedish TV has to be a big black mark against you in the 'ol karma department.

9. Jennifer Hudson won everything. Damn, that girl has pipes. I love that rrrrred dress. However, I'm worried that she has reached max sauration. People are getting sick of her already. Hmm...Beyonce's dress isn't bad, but her wig appears to be attacking her at intervals.

10. Bloody hell, how far over time limit has this thing gome? I'm yawning, and I'm on the West Coast!

It is clean!

My car!

It's seriously unbelievable.

This is an old pic...because I still have to get the car washed. I have been using the car for work for awhile now, and it has transformed my sassy 'vertible into...well, a dump truck. A filthy, dirty dump truck.

There are always big plastic bins stacked to the rafters in there, along with plastic kids toys and odd scientific paraphenalia. The last straw is that, for many of the classes that I do, sand is a requirement.

So of course, a few bags have broken open on me, but it's usually just a minor annoyance.

Then last week, I was turning left behind another car, and I guess they wanted to make an immediate right turn into a shopping center, and a pedestrian stepped out right in front of them. They slammed on the brakes. I slammed on the brakes. And the 5 lb. container of sand in my passenger seat exploded and dumped all over the passenger side of my car.

Seriously. It filled the entire area at least two inches deep, even back underneath the seat. Crap.

I have been avoiding cleaning it, due to the fact that my car is always full of the plastic crap. However, my car needs desperately to be smogged, so today was the day.

All I can say is, thank heaven for my Dyson vaccuum cleaner. If you're on the fence re: getting one of these babies- look no further. It's worth the price.

That thing is amazing. All the sand got sucked up in short order, and I could even use the attachment to get under the seat, and to excavate the creases in the leather seats, too. The resulting desert got dumped back onto our patio via the amazing cannister system. It took three trips to get all of it, but it worked like a charm.



So we are taking a teensy road trip this weekend. Let's hear it for Carmel!! I am looking forward to sunshine. I don't know if I'll get it though.

We are taking Mom up with us on Saturday morning. The Man will be driving. It should be...uh, interesting. But we will be helping them get the kitchen done: mainly, tiling. And yes, I plan to make sure that The Man will employ his newfound knowledge in our home too...the tile in this kitchen has got to go.

still kicking

Well, sort of.

The cough is not going away. And it has managed to squirm its nefarious way into the throat of The Man, which means that there is now coughing in stereo. Hmph.

In other news, I am supposed to clean the house. And I don't want to.

I did try to get back on the treadmill, but it was a fiasco. I guess I better wait to haul out the running shoes again until I can, you know, like, breathe and stuff.

*sigh*

The best Valentine's Day EVER

YES!!! It's a Valentine's Day MIRACLE!!!!

Since I weighed myself yesterday, and the last time I weighed 111.2 lbs was in the seventh grade....

Well, the reality is, it would take me some dramatic bingeing and purging and possibly also amputation of limbs to get me down to this weight.

This didn't stop me from announcing to my sleepy husband, "Dude. That must have been some seriously good lovin' last night."

Possible explanations as to how I lost over 100 lbs.:

1. Too busy coughing to eat peanut butter cookies.

2. Really efficient tapeworm

3. Alien abduction

4. I've got the rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu

5. See above, re: Valentine's Day Miracle!!!

6. Chills and fever = the new Pilates.

7. Atmospheric phenomena

8. Pixie dust

9. Woke up in an alternate universe

10. Need to change the batteries in the goddamn scale.

I've got chills...they're multiplyin'

What the fresh hell is this?

I got to bed last night, and snuggled under my down comforter, and I was freezing. The Man had to bring in three more blankets, and we had the heat on in the house.

Yes, kids...I officially have the flu, and it looks like it's in tandem with a sinus infection.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to bust out the trashy novels and the hot tea with lemon.

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?