Monday, December 28, 2009

Forcing the Shatner upon you

Several years ago I was dating (I use that term extremely loosely, since I never even kissed this guy) this nice fellow who thought I was a "really good hugger" and told me he desperately wanted to see me naked, but since I was not in the mood to deflower him, I instead settled on stringing him along for an agonizing month or so, since my friends insisted he was such a great guy that I should give him a chance. This is where my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Raimondi, would throw her chalk at me for run-on sentences.

Anyway I was sitting on a futon in this charming young man's apartment one evening, listening to William Shatner's "The Transformed Man," for the first time, and I was so floored by what I heard that I declared then and there it would be my mission in life to purchase this CD and listen to it until my brain melted (coincidentally, are you familiar with the Star Trek episode in which Spock's brain was stolen?).

My delightful male friend took it upon himself to purchase the CD for me immediately, wherein I subjected all of my work-mates to it incessantly, until they agreed that it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard and we were all clutching our stomachs from laughing so hard and exclaiming, "Mr. Tambourine Man!!!!"

You have to hear it to understand how completely hysterical it is, but just trust me on this one.

Anyway, segue to me, married and plump several years later, snorting with laughter in bed while reading Shatner's "Up Till Now" (don't ask me about the "till," since I certainly understand until is not spelled untill and anyone who shortens until with till is obviously demented, but maybe there's some explanation for this later in the book and I haven't gotten to it yet).

Can I just say that William Shatner is up there at the top of my list of celebrities who I want to hang out with? He is. I'd like to go to his favorite Italian restaurant with him and have him explain to me where the rest of his favorite restaurants are and tell me hilarious stories about lies he's told the media. I want to know more about the crazy landlady who smashed half of his belongings with a hammer. I want him to "sing" for me.

Long story short, you should read "Up Till Now," misspelled title and all. If you think it is hilarious, we are kindred spirits.

Also, that poor guy I dated, he was about six inches shorter than me and had, I think, two lazy eyes, and a body odor issue that was probably the main obstacle to our getting any closer, physically. When I broke it off with him, he sent me a "break up box" that included a sad letter and a CD of sad songs.

All the girls at work thought I was a real bitch.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

A vacation from the holidays


A year ago Hubs and I agreed that we would take a week-long vacation to Maui with my parents, which we did a couple of weeks ago. It came in the middle of what is always a maddening month of shopping and year-end work deadlines and everyone acting like a complete asshole and, to top it off, the weather always sucks balls in December.

So a couple of weeks ago, we got up at 4 a.m. so we could catch a 7 a.m. flight out of Oakland, and then we stepped off the flight and out of the airport and I stood for a moment in the balmy sunshine and if my skin could have moaned with pleasure and relief, it would have. I'd been told by my doctor about a month prior that I have a Vitamin D deficiency, which is largely caused by a lack of exposure to the sun, and, call me crazy, but I think my body was craving the sun. So I sat in it for seven days.

I wore a bathing suit and read silly novels and drank alcohol and sunned myself for hours on end and ate a LOT of food and altogether forgot that it was December and I would be facing a long list of to-dos when I returned. I watched the sun set and I stared at the ocean and I thought of things I want to accomplish next year and I slept for hours and hours and I looked in the mirror one morning and realized I looked younger.

I have never, ever taken a vacation where I did nothing. Where nothing was on the agenda except for lazing around and eating. Until now. It was the best thing I could have done for myself.

When I returned, I spent one frantic day running around Christmas shopping, two 12 hour days at work, and countless hours wrapping gifts (why does it take so LONG?). Hubs and I went on a fruitless search for tamales and then had to clean the house and make dinner in preparation for Christmas Eve guests. Christmas passed in a blink and when I think of it I see torn wrapping paper and smell champagne and feel tired.

Another year has passed and another lies before us. I am preparing my list of resolutions in my head, soon to be put on paper. I love making resolutions -- it's the keeping of them that I'm not so good at.

Another year is in sight and if you look at it as a new beginning, anything could be possible. We're not too old or fat or unhappy or cynical to accomplish anything we want to.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Working for a living

My dad says: The thing is, all jobs suck.

Does your job suck? I ask him. He is a pastor.

Sometimes, he says.

So I'm thinking, maybe one should stick with the job at which one has racked up a considerable amount of vacation time so that then, at least one could spend as much time as possible away from one's job.

Monday, December 14, 2009

My little husband

Tonight I ate dinner at a Hawaiian restaurant with my parents and my husband, and near the end of the meal, as I was halfway through my Eos Tears of Dew dessert wine, my mother whispered to me that a boy was flirting with me.

I looked up to see a little boy peering over a chair that was almost taller than he was, batting his eyelashes at me. I smiled, and in the next second he was at my side, holding my hand (or rather, two of my fingers in his tiny palm).

"Would you like to dance with me?"

My first inclination was to say Sorry but No, but he looked so adorable and not as though he would be accepting No for an answer, so I asked: "But where will we dance?"

And he swept his free arm out in front of us toward the lawn area, and said: "On the grass!"

I had a bit of a buzz from my Tears of Dew and a previous glass of chardonnay, so I accepted. He pulled me up out of my seat and instructed me to hide with him behind a bush, which would allow us to make a grand entrance in front of a number of amused restaurant patrons, not the least of whom were my family, who were chortling, quite satisfied to watch me embarrass myself.

We hid behind the bush, and my new friend instructed his mother to call us out. She called us by name (at this point I'd given the boy my name), and frustrated, he stage whispered to her: "No! Say 'husband and wife!'"

"Ok, husband and wife, come on out!" she announced. We ran out onto the lawn. My little husband became bashful and held his hands to his face.

"Show her your moves!" his mother prodded. I asked him what his favorite moves were, to help get him going. He admitted to enjoying a hearty dance of twirl-around-til-you-fall-down, and demonstrated as such, after whispering to me, "By the way, I love your nail polish."

Picking himself up off the grass after the twirling dance, he considered a dance that looked suspiciously like the running man. His mother prodded him to do his "Steve Martin moves," explaining that her 5-year-old son's favorite movie is "The Pink Panther." Claiming not to remember those moves, my new little husband decided that he and I would, instead, perform the twirl-til-you-fall-down dance together, so while he twirled, I decidedly did not twirl but instead pretended to twirl in order not to actually fall down on him and break his adorable face.

I was then released back to my table with my parents and Big Husband, but my new little husband later brought me a flower to put behind my ear, proclaiming that it was my Christmas gift from him. And then he touched one of my earrings delicately and said, "I like your earrings, too."

And then my little husband left me for the Hawaiian dancer performing the hula on stage.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Geminid shower

Tonight there is supposed to be a spectacular meteor shower, so if you live in the Northern Hemisphere, you might want to step outside after dark and see if you can catch it....

This site tells you when the peak hour for viewing is in your area. Choose "4 Geminids," your city, and Dec. 13-14 2009 as the date. For the SF/Bay Area region, peak viewing is at 12:48 a.m.

http://leonid.arc.nasa.gov/estimator.html

I'll be at the beach, watching from a comfy spot in the sand.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

New discoveries this week

1. Moose munch with cranberries. Tasty.
2. According to conventional sizing charts, my boobs are one size larger than I thought they were, which means they are roughly equivalent to the size of watermelons.
3. It's never too cold to buy a bathing suit.
4. Cafe Pro Bono in Palo Alto. May I recommend the ravioli appetizer with the gorgonzola almond crack cocaine sauce?
5. Yoga is hard.
6. "Outlander." Which is kind of good if you don't mind rambling Scottish epic novels with typos in them.
7. 2005 Sanctuary Pinot Noir. Thank me later.
8. Searchable online coupons, which could have been saving me money for years.
9. Santa hats for cats.


Monday, December 07, 2009

Snow Day






This morning felt a bit like mild winter in Colorado, what with all of the fluffy white clouds and the blanket of snow in the hills.

I took a couple of photos on the way to work to commemorate this rare occasion.

Thursday, December 03, 2009

It's the most (f*cking) wonderful time of the year

My brain doesn't want to focus on this blog this week. I'm too distracted with the madness that is the month of December. Even my tweets are dwindling. The other day, I tweeted that if I had my druthers, I'd spend the entire month of December on a tropical island. Alone. Because here's what happens every December, without fail:

Everyone becomes insane.

Everyone is freaked out about buying Christmas gifts for everyone else, and planning their family get-togethers, and sending out Christmas cards and putting up the Christmas tree and BEING FESTIVE GODDAMIT. Is anyone actually able to enjoy this month any more? Anyone over the age of 12? Besides my friend, Diane, who finished her Christmas shopping before Halloween, just to piss the rest of us off?

Because, frankly, this frantic scurrying around, trying to find meaningful, non-shitty gifts for everyone, fucking sucks. And I feel like a loser because I haven't put up a Christmas tree or baked a cookie or watched "The Sound of Music" or had any eggnog or gone to Christmas in the Park, and to be honest, people? It's possible none of that stuff will happen this year. Because I can't figure out when it's going to be possible. But I know that I am supposed to HURRY UP AND ENJOY CHRISTMAS DAMMIT.

I'm sending pleading emails to family members, begging them for their Christmas wish lists and approximately -5 of them have responded. That's to be read "negative five," to emphasize that NO ONE has sent me their list (which is a lie, now, my mom sent hers today but THAT'S IT) and I'm about to get very un-Christmas-spirity and send a nasty email letting everyone know that if they don't send me their lists, they're all getting liquor for Christmas and I'm showing up for the family gathering drunk. Which isn't too far removed from any other Christmas, but I'm trying to be CHEERFUL and GIVING and THOUGHTFUL here.

I need their lists now because I refuse to go to an actual store to purchase gifts. I haven't physically gone Christmas shopping for a couple of years now, since I found myself sobbing in the REI parking lot because I couldn't find a gift for my brother-in-law (which by the way, HARDEST PERSON TO SHOP FOR EVER). When that happened, I realized that A) I was taking Christmas way too seriously and B) I could never, ever go shopping for Christmas gifts again. It's so much more pleasant to buy everything online and then cross your fingers and hope it arrives on time.

To make my life just a skoch more difficult, I've created a couple of Christmas projects for myself -- namely a calendar that I plan to gift to all of my family members and a photo Christmas card, which we have yet to even take the photo of! I apparently was struck with amnesia in November and forgot that I am liable to go fricking bonkers during a NORMAL Christmas season, much less during one in which I've created "fun" projects for myself. I must hate myself. At this rate, it may be February when our Christmas cards finally go out.

Anyway, I know I'm making a bit of a mountain out of a mole hill, but I do this every year. Some day I'll have it all figured out, and by then I'll probably be 70 years old and I can give everyone chocolate covered cherries and slipper socks for Christmas every year and everyone will think it's charming. Until then, I've got some snarky e-mails to send.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Corn. With Pone. In a Pie.

Well here's the deal. I made the corn pone pie, under a bit of duress. My grandfather was ordering me to "get out the clacker" (long story) so I could sweep the dining room, shortly after which my aunt arrived, full turkey dinner in tow, and already a bit freaked out about ... well. It's Thanksgiving. With bossy elderly types. That's pretty much enough, I guess.

My parents arrived in time for my mom to diffuse some of the anxiety, and suffice to say that it's just lucky I remembered to put the cheese in the corn pone pie. I did not, however, remember to season it at all, which wasn't disastrous, but made for a slightly underwhelming CPP experience. And actually, I'm thinking the recipe needs refining, anyway. I mean, seriously. Fifteen crushed saltine crackers? Can we maybe substitute a cup of breadcrumbs??

So I'll work on that in 2010 and letcha know how it goes.

For now, THANK GOD Thanksgiving is over.

Friday, November 27, 2009

The Fortress

So you know how we bought a house last year? And it had a fence. And Hubs looked at the fence and said to myself and the realtor, "I don't know about that fence." And myself and the realtor scoffed and said the fence was fine. And then we bought the house and moved in and there was a wind storm and part of the fence blew down, and ever since, Hubs has been reminding me of his misgivings about the fence (and the house, altogether -- "Never buy a corner house!" his mother used to tell him). So we decided to replace the entire fence.

In case you're wondering, that's a lot of fucking wood.

So I took some before and after photos of the fence, and I must say, the end result is quite nice.

Enjoy!

BEFORE

AFTER!
Before, we had a separate, fenced off enclosure, presumably for an RV. We had it removed.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Regarding Beth

Yesterday I wrote a REALLY depressing blog post about how much I hate the holidays and then I had second thoughts about posting it and, instead, posted that cheerful recipe for Corn Pone Pie (which seriously -- It's got corn and it's got pone, what more could you want?).

Suffice to say, I was sad because I remembered the last time I saw my grandma was the day after Thanksgiving last year. She had a stroke a few days later, and died after she was suffocated by her feeding tube, which had been inserted into her lungs (I know I've never addressed this here and I'm not ready to delve into how fucking angry it makes me, but the truth of the matter is the stroke didn't kill her -- the hospital did).

It makes the holidays a little sad, you know? And then I started getting all mopey about how the holidays suck now because everything revolves around accomodating elderly people who are in declining health, and it's fucking sad. When I was a kid my dad would say, "You should appreciate your grandparents. They're not going to be around forever, you know." Which, when you're like 7 years old, you're thinking, Of course they'll be around forever.

Because I had zero concept of age. A 35-year-old man could have claimed to be 493 years old and I would have believed him because a) I still did not understand the concept of how fun it is to fuck with little kids and b) I still did not understand the concept of age and c) I still did not understand the concept of death.

Shortly thereafter, my grandmother's boyfriend, Harold, died, and I was very sad that I wouldn't get to see him ever again, but then again, we got to go to Disneyland, which as everyone knows is the HAPPIEST FUCKING PLACE ON EARTH, especially when you are 8 years old, and pretty soon I was associating Harold's death with having lots of fun, and if Harold was in heaven anyway, how awful could that be?

And when my dog, Nicky, died when I was 11, I was horribly sad, but my sadness got diluted by my anger towards my dad (it's a long story) and then another dog appeared in our lives.

It wasn't until I moved out and was living with a friend and I got a phone call that my aunt's partner had died that the true impact of a person's death struck home with me. A person I loved had been taken from me and my family and this made me inconsolable. And since that time, I've been living in a changed world in which, as Dr. Evil says, people DIE. People die and they die and they die some more. They die and we are dragged through the horrifying process of planning their funerals and burying them and then they are simply gone and it's surreal and sometimes we forget they are dead but then we remember, I remember, she is dead. She was sitting next to me in a restaurant, smiling, making plans for the future, and then the next time I saw her she was in a dusty rose-colored casket and they put her in the ground and now ...

Now we are here without her, planning holidays without her, and it's like trying to get warm when there's a bag of ice under your shirt. We can smile and make Corn Pone Pie and cherish our remaining few family members -- and we will -- but I feel cold and tired and melancholy and bruised.

So believe it or not, this was the post that was NOT depressing, and I didn't mean for it to even get this deep or sad or real. But, this is reality. I'm trying to wrap up by saying something about being thankful on Thanksgiving -- and I am thankful for so many things, so many wonderful things in my life that I probably don't deserve. But I can be thankful and I can miss my grandma at the same time, and I'm just saying, I miss her.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

You down with CPP (Corn Pone Pie)?

Yeah you know me!

So, back in the good old days when my grandparents were of (relatively) sound body and mind, my grandma (the one who's still living) used to make this thing she called Corn Pone Pie. It was corny and cheesy and delicious. Nowadays, Grandma can barely walk, let alone remember how to make Corn Pone Pie.

Thankfully, before Parkinson's Disease ruined Grandma's brain, my sister asked her for the recipe for Corn Pone Pie. It's simple, fast and muy delicioso.

Grandma Garcia's Corn Pone Pie

2 eggs beaten
1/2 c. milk
1 16 oz. can whole kernel corn
1 16 oz. can cream style corn
approx. 15 saltine crackers crushed
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
1 small can Ortega diced green chiles
Salt and pepper
optional - a little garlic salt or onion salt

Beat eggs in 2 qt. casserole dish, add milk and beat together. Add all other ingredients and mix well. Put some grated cheese on top and bake at 350 until knife blade comes out clean when stuck in middle. Although my sister's recipe doesn't specify for how long, I'd say about half an hour will do the trick. And if I were you, I might throw a little extra cheese in the mix.

Enjoy!

Thursday, November 19, 2009

This post was written by a dumbass

Things I have done in the last few days that are either going to get me killed, fired, or publicly humiliated (I know, too late, right?):

Yesterday I was frantically driving to yoga (let's hurry up and relax dammit!) so that I wouldn't be late, and I could have sworn that a light was green, but it so was not. Much honking ensued. Luckily no accident resulted. For the rest of the day I kept second guessing myself. 'That's green, right? Let's not be hasty...'

Then here's something I've been doing for like three weeks now. First, a little background. I have a mixture of clients and vendors who have the same names. There are like five Craigs, 14 Jeffs, 3 bazillion Steves -- you get the idea. I've been REPEATEDLY contacting the wrong Craig, Jeff or Steve for the wrong information, causing much confusion on my part, and much irritation on theirs. This means more people than usual think I am mentally retarded and will probably be recommending I be terminated shortly.

And then, I've been getting sloppy with my writing. Just yesterday, the headline on my blog post was completely incomprehensible and fucked up and not a single one of my 3 readers said anything. I realize that what my head is doing is sounding words out to itself, and then my hands are typing words that kind of sound like the correct words, but so are not the right words, and are in fact very wrong and causing much confusion among my faithful followers (I love you. And you. And you, too).

So, I hereby apologize to all drivers, Craigs, Jeffs, Steves, and faithful readers who have been thinking to themselves: What the fuck is wrong with that woman and why is there a crazy gleam in her eye? I blame a combination of sleep deprivation and yoga fright (seriously, have you been to yoga? It's terrifying). But that's a post for another time.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

'Twas (almost) all for naught

Well. I spent the last three weeks exercising and cutting out as much salt as I, personally, could (but let's just face it -- salt is divine and cannot be completely eliminated) in an effort to lower my blood pressure, but the only number that lowered was the diastolic pressure (the second number). The systolic (first number) pressure is still much too high, even though the night before yesterday's doctor appointment, I took my own blood pressure and it said 124/80, which is only minorly pre-hypertensive. My doctor says my machine probably needs to be calibrated.

Calibrate this, bitch!

I just had to get that out of the way.

So I was totally depressed about it yesterday. All of these fruits, veggies, mustard and yoga seem to have gotten me nowhere, fast. My doctor has talked me into taking a low dose of a diuretic every other day and coming back to see her in a month. It just makes me want to swear. So: Motherfucker! I am so fucking tired of this shit. Part of the problem is I am not sure I even really believe that my blood pressure is an issue, but a naggling part of my brain is saying, "Hi. Remember last year, when your grandmother died of a stroke? Yeah. Just sayin'."

So I will be a good patient and take the awful pills for ONE MONTH, even though it makes me want to punch strangers in the face and call them cocksuckers and warn them not to tussle with me.

"Don't tussle with me, cocksucker!"

The good news is I don't have AIDS or hepatitis A or B. My cholesterol is fine, although I could use more "good" cholesterol, which you can fix with fish oil and avocados, that kind of thing. Which: guacamole? No problem. Also, my B vitamins and iron are fine, and everything else looks great, except for my Vitamin D, which is rather low. So, I will now take a calcium supplement with Vitamin D and I've been instructed to get 10 minutes of sunshine a day. Which: I work 8 hours a day in an office and it's wintertime, so, NO PROBLEM, obviously. I googled "Vitamin D tanning beds" to see if you can get Vitamin D from going to a tanning salon (which, I KNOW: tanning is tantamount to exposing oneself to nuclear waste, but come on! My Vitamin D would be up AND I'd have a fantastic tan!) and you can! So, Australian Tan, here I come.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Hold your tongue between your thumb and your index finger and repeat after me

Things in my purse (an idea from my friend, Jacq, who today listed off the things on her desk, not the least of which was flarp):

Corkscrew
Parking ticket
Camera
Wallet
Keys
2 luna bars
Hairbrush
2 tampons
Note pad
Ipod
Eyeglass case w/ eyeglasses
Sunglasses
Empty Excedrin bottle
Prescription bottle of Allegra
Nasonex nasal spray
Two written prescriptions for a diuretic and a potassium supplement
Approximately 10 lip balms and/or lipsticks, & a compact
2 pairs earrings
Sample packet of Citracal
Dramamine
Hair ties
Approximately $5 in loose change
Pocket knife
2 cell phones
Business cards
Access cards

So, it seems I am adequately prepared to be stranded in the wildnerness with a congested 85-year-old. Happy Tuesday.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Please tell me how you do it

As I enter the third week of my exercise regimen, I am wondering how in the world some people do it. How do they work, exercise, eat right, and somehow manage the rest of their life in a fashion that makes it look as though they've got it under control? Because there's one thing no one would ever mistake me for at the moment, and that would be someone who has things under control.

I am just not sure how everything that "needs" to be done gets fit into one day. I put "needs" in quotes because necessity is relative, no? The bathroom "needs" to be cleaned, but hell if I've cleaned it.

Here are the things that "need" to happen in order for me to be healthy and maintain some semblance of control:

-I need to get up at 6 and go to bed at 10.
-I need to work from 8 to 5.
-I need to exercise after work.
-I need to cook dinner when I get home.
-I need to clean up. This could involve a number of things, since, as we know, cleaning of the house is a horrible never-ending cycle that will eventually probably drive me into the loony bin.
-And then I need to relax. I deserve this, dammit!

So here's what's not been getting done:

-I have not been getting up nor going to bed on time.
-I have been working too late.
-I haven't made ALL of my dinners.
-I have not been cleaning up.

By the time the weekend arrives, I feel a bit shell-shocked by the week's activities. I sort of stand in the middle of my house, surveying the filth helplessly. I arrange things into piles. I brew coffee and then drink it and continue to survey the filth. I might do the dishes and then give up on housework for the day, wrap myself in my Snuggie and turn on my Kindle.

I think I need to go back to my old standby of accomplishing one thing per day. One thing outside of the things that I absolutely must do. I think tonight's one thing shall be to fold and/or hangup the giant basket of clean laundry in our bedroom. Wish me luck.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Wherein I tie myself in a knot and walk around like that for a week

An example of a pose some of the people in last night's class were actually able to do. If I lose, like, 40 pounds, I could probably do it.



Last night I tried a yoga class that was led by a mustachioed man who bragged that his classes "do tend to be a little more advanced." If you think that stopped me, aka Old Iron Legs, from attempting to bend over to touch my toes, you'd be sorely mistaken.


Today I feel approximately how I'd expect to feel after being bound in a burlap sack and beaten for an hour with a baseball bat. My body is basically making a statement today, and that statement is, "Next time you want to attempt to balance your entire weight on your triceps, try taking a look in the mirror first, girlfriend. It might be time for a reality check."


Nonetheless. I did it. An hour and a half of yoga, and I survived, albeit jello-legged and drenched in sweat. I attempted a number of poses that I don't expect to ever be able to actually do, but some which I look forward to some day being able to perform correctly and without falling flat on my face.



Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Everyone Relax: You're in Capable Hands.

This was my dummy. His name was Number Two.

Today I spent six hours in a First Aid Certification training, and let me tell you: I am ready to save lives. I DARE you to lose consciousness or stop breathing in my immediate vicinity. Because I will be all over that shit. Also, feel free to choke on your dinner if we're out together: I've got the Heimlich down, pat, and I'm not afraid to use it.

First Aid training is one of those intimate situations where you have to get comfortable with your co-trainees in a big hurry, because you've got your hands all over them, practicing opening their airways and flipping them this way and that in order to situate them in a position that will allow them to breathe easy and not choke on their own vomit.

Each of us spent a number of sweaty minutes compressing the chests on plastic dummies for 30 beats at a time, then puffing twice into their mouths to ventilate, and let me tell you: it's a lot effing harder than it looks, if you've never done it before. For one thing, chests are tough. For another, you're supposed to compress WAY faster than they do it on TV. It would be difficult to perform CPR for more than a few minutes, although I believe could do it, if need be.

We learned today that there are good samaritan laws to protect us, should we ever find ourselves in emergency situations, although we must not deviate from our training, and we must always ask the person needing assistance if they would like our help before we just jump in. Which is why we were made to repeat, over and over, "Hello, my name is Bobby (or whatever). I am trained in First Aid. May I help you?" We were made to ask this of our nonresponsive CPR dummies. It's assumed that if the person cannot respond, they want your help, but you STILL have to ask. Isn't that insane?

So anyway. Faint or choke, have a heart attack or a seizure, and I promise I'll do my best to make sure you don't die. No guarantees, though. ;-)

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

An Ode To My Muffin Top


O proud paunch above my belt
Your burgeoning balloon of blubber
Jiggles jauntily as I saunter confidently
Into the juniors department

Nary a passerby can stop his eye
From admiring your dimpled love handles
As your buxom chub perches
Firmly over the waist of my jeans

Your cylinder of chunk around my middle
Is a flag staked in newly discovered land
Loudly announcing
"These pants are too tight,

"And so is this shirt."
But you're not one to shirk your girth
And instead prefer to wriggle free
of your restraints, and

When at all possible
Display your deep, dark belly button.

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Never one to disappoint

One of the first things Hubs did when I saw him on Friday night was to fart on one of the cats and then laugh hysterically at his own ingenious humor. So, mission accomplished!

(see yesterday's post to clear up any confusion.)

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

And so it begins. Again.

I'm on my second day of a less-sodium, more exercise lifestyle. I wasn't sure I'd make it through Day 1, so didn't want to blog about it until today.

So far, cutting out salt kind of blows. As we know, I can eat unlimited amounts of fruit, vegetables, and mustard in my crusade to lower my blood pressure. So that's about what I'm eating. Yesterday I used lemon juice in lieu of salt whilst making dinner, and it sufficed, although it was a bit tart.

And last night after work, I went to the gym for the first time in months. I eeked out half an hour of cardio in what has to have been one of the most disgraceful displays of a person attempting to exercise that I, personally, have ever seen. During the last seven minutes, I just had to close my eyes and think about cupcakes. It was pathetic.

This morning was the Annual Drawing of the Blood, and because my doctor likes to check for everything under the sun, the tech had to draw 8 vials and my hand started to fall asleep before he was through. For the record, I go to a great place with a guy who manages to draw blood without you even realizing there's a needle in your arm, in case you're needing your blood drawn in San Jose. Lemme know.

Then I had to pee in a cup, which is totally my fave. I'd juiced up ahead of time to be sure there was plenty of "sample" up in my business. And there was. I peed in the cup, I peed on the outside of the cup, I peed on my hand. What can you do? It's a tricky business, filling a tiny cup with urine when you're a chick. Plus, I wore nylons today. Which -- poor planning? You bet.

But? I won the pee contest. Which is to say, you know how when you are supplying urine at a medical office, and there are already a few moist "samples" sitting in a basket behind the toilet? Yeah, you know. I like to compare my own urine sample to the samples already sitting there, and today? I won. My sample went nearly to the top of the cup and was a nice, healthy color. There were two other samples there, both of which were pretty pathetic, in my opinion. One of them had literally like a fingernail's worth of sample at the bottom of the cup.

I'll find out the results in a couple of weeks when I visit the doctor next, and in the meantime, I'll be avoiding salt and attempting to conquer the stair machine.

Monday, November 02, 2009

Halloweenie

Halloween this year was very tame. We carved pumpkins and gave handfuls of candy to the few trick-or-treaters who came by. The weekend overall was mellow. We did buy a sectional couch on Sunday in what was essentially a hit-and-run couch purchase at Macy's. Hubs hates shopping with a passion, so my technique when I take him shopping with me is what can best be described as smash-and-grab. Shopping around be damned. So we went to only one store -- Macy's -- sat on every sectional they had, chose the most comfortable one, and left. It may take a few months to be delivered to us since a portion of it had to be special ordered. Anyway the couch was hella comfortable so I feel pretty good about the buy.

Below -- a couple of photos from the weekend. Murray & Simon mixin' it up and our jack-o-lanterns. I carved the skeleton head and my 5-year-old monkey carved the other one.




Friday, October 30, 2009

Newsflash: I am still a little fatty fatterton!

So first of all, can I just say that the way I look in photos? Yeah, that's not what I really look like. I don't look nearly as hideous and fat in real life as I do in photos, JUST SO YA KNOW. Ask my husband. He will tell you that normally I look at least passable, but if he takes a photo of me, it's simply grotesque. I am not photogenic, goddamit. I am actually the opposite. I could be making a perfectly normal face in real life and someone will snap a photo of me and suddenly I look like I've got a snaggle tooth, 42 chins and a disturbingly yellow pallor.

Enough of that.

Yesterday I went to the doctor for the follow-up to my desperate flu visit a couple of weeks ago whence I received a double dosage of antibiotics and enough decongestants and nasal spray to ... well, to get rid of the fucking nasty hanger-onner of a disease that I had.

I was dreading the blood pressure test, knowing I'd very likely flunk it, so I was trying to be very zen. I was thinking about kittens and nap time and even making myself a little sleepy. Nonetheless, my blood pressure was 150/100. In case you're wondering, this is very not OK with doctors. My goal blood pressure is 120/80. My doctor starts to fling around words like "stroke" and "heart attack" and "medication" when she takes my blood pressure. Personally, I believe my blood pressure is only high in her office because she freaks me out. Nonetheless, your blood pressure is not supposed to reach these unsafe levels when you're not really under duress.

So my doctor asks me "Do you eat salt?"

I think of dinner the night before: Taco Bell. Salt, with a little salt on top?

"Yes," I admit.

"Stop eating salt. No salt, ever. Don't eat it."

So. I was a little depressed about this. If I'd agreed to take medication, she would have told me to cut back a little and we'd see how it goes, but since I'm not interested in medicating more than I already am, she wants me to completely cut out salt.

She started writing two lists. One said "bad" and on that list were things like cheese, processed meat, ketchup, bread, french fries. The other list said "good," and I kid you not, it had three things on it, and they were: Fruit, vegetables and mustard.

Seriously? I can eat fruit, vegetables and mustard? I'll get right on that.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Dangerously close to becoming naked hair dryer girl

So yesterday when I posted the photo of my kitties in the sink, I checked for my reflection in the hideous brass faucet fixtures but didn't even think of checking in the silver reflective hair dryer. Thankfully, I was not nude whilst photographing my kitties, but I was in a towel, which is my usual garb when putting on makeup in the mornings. When the kittens sat in the sink, I couldn't resist the cuteness, so ran for my camera and snapped a couple of photos. In one photo you can actually see me in the mirror behind the sink, which was definitely a no-go.

This morning, Hubs tells me that if you zoom in on the photo, you can kind of see my reflection in the hair dryer. I mean, I'm kind of clothed anyway and it's not a clear picture of me by any means, but WHOA! I came dangerously close to becoming Naked Tea Kettle Guy. Or Girl. Whatever sex that person is. I was almost Almost Naked Hair Dryer Chick.

So to prevent further embarrassment, I have "fixed" the photo by removing myself and replacing me with a stick figure. To enjoy, you have to click on the link. I'm much too lazy to re-post that photo.

Happy Thursday!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Pure sweet baby love



These are my 5-month old kittens, my sweet babies, my furry children. Every morning while I'm putting on my makeup in the bathroom, they sit in this sink and watch me.


And yes, that is my blog for the day. :-)

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Writer's block

I am totally blocked about what to write on the blog this week.

So I'm gonna tell you about my day.

Today I overslept. Again. The cats sat in the bathroom sink and watched me get ready. I put on a new sweater made out of some kind of demonic material that seems to just melt all over everything and get stuck in my lip balm, nostrils and eyeballs. I knew I should have stuck to good ol' cotton.

I had to chase after one of our leasing reps, who was taking stairs four at a time, literally, and didn't seem to notice that his 7-foot-tall normal gait equalled me in a full sprint.

I returned to the office, sweaty and disheveled, since it's also windy as fuck outside today and my hair is now pointing north, south, east and west.

I listened to a message from Hubs, who wanted me to know he's feeling very free in his new boxer shorts.

I started my period. JOY. Nothing I enjoy better than fricking period cramps while I'm doing financial reports. Just kill me now.

It's picture day at work. We're all taking photos so they can load them into our online corporate directory and people in Chicago can laugh at us. There could not have been more fluorescent lighting in the picture room. I look like a bloated H1N1 patient.

And now for the rest of the day I will continue to pick sweater hairs out of my eyeballs and stoically suffer my Red Tent pains while poring over financial reports that have to be read with a magnifying glass, the print is so small.

Fascinating, no?! Perhaps tomorrow I'll be less blocked.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

As I suspected

There is this study out that shows women are becoming more unhappy, while men are becoming happier. Worse, as women get older, they become more unhappy. Experts claim this is because there are too many important demands in our lives. Education, work, looking good, having the perfect house, feeding your family, raising your children.

"...the one thing in life that will make you less happy in life is having children," this article actually quotes some assistant professor as saying.

Men, the article says, are feeling happier now that the full burden of financially supporting their household does not fall solely on them. Also, they are allowed to age gracefully and seem to have their choice of women, while women are expected to botox themselves to the gills to stay as youthful-looking as possible, as long as possible.

I really see only a few solutions to this problem.

1) I won't have kids, after all. The problem with this scenario is the huge-normous guilt trip that would be visited upon us until the end of time by our families who are dying, and I mean DYING, for grandbabies.

2) We will have to win the lottery.

3) I will simply have to quit my job. This will happen. Eventually. Before I attempt to rob a bank in order to hire a personal assistant (did I ever tell you about my bank-robbing fantasy? Hmm. Two birds, one stone, maybe).

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I'm so 3008

So my much-anticipated birthday gift from Hubs this year was a Kindle. Because I read books like crazy, and all too often I buy a book and I don't really like it and then I'm stuck with this awful book sitting on my shelf just saying to me: "Oh hi. I'm a shitty-ass book about a knitting club that you bought because you thought the title, 'The Ladies' Knitting Club,' was probably some kind of reference to a detective agency or something else that doesn't suck the way knitting clubs do. And to add insult to injury, I'm poorly written. Which means you could have written a better book. But you haven't. Because you're pretty much a lazy whore." And if there's one thing that pisses me off, it's when books make me feel like a lazy whore who's squandering her talent and spending valuable time reading about boring knitting clubs.

So what I wanted was a Kindle, which is a nifty device that you can download books to and then immediately read. If you hate the book, the way I hated the book about the knitting club, no need to let the book insult you from its perch on the shelf: Simply delete it! There are a number of other advantages to the Kindle. You're being green by not buying a paper book. You'll never lose your place in the book because it always comes back to the page you left it on. Your fingers won't fall asleep while you're trying to hold your book open in bed -- you can just prop the kindle up against a pillow and keep your digits warm under the covers. Also, you can shop for, and maybe purchase, books you would not normally shop for or purchase in the book store because you're too embarassed to be seen with the book in hand. Such as the way that I immediately bought "The Host" by Stephanie Meyer, who is also the author of the "Twilight" series. Hubs thinks the premise sounds dumb and unoriginal but I haven't been able to put it down.

Possible disadvantages to the Kindle are that your father in law may try to destroy it by poking the non-touch screen violently with his fingers. Also, your cats might knock glasses of water over onto it. And lastly, the day after you receive your Kindle, someone else will probably come out with a cooler-looking technology, such as the way that rat bastard retailer Barnes & Noble released the "nook" this week. You'll rue the day you crossed me, Barnes & Noble!!

Anyway, nook or no nook, I love me some Kindle. All I wanna do is poke my hands through the convenient arm holes in my new Snuggie and curl up on the couch with "The Host." And when I'm done with that, I'm moving on to some trashy romance novels!

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Just kidding

Last week, in what I hope and pray was my final week of illness after four weeks of what I am now convinced were complications brought on by H1N1, I had reached my limit, and I was pretty sure of the following things:

- I would never blog again. In fact, I hated my blog. I believed I "jumped the shark" probably way back before I even started the blog, in, like 2003.
- I was probably getting a divorce.
- All of my friends hated me.
- I would never feel well again. In fact, I would probably die of swine flu.
- I would probably infect my cats with swine flu and they would probably die, too.
- My grandparents were probably going to get swine flu and die very soon, too.
- I would never be able to drink wine again. This made me very, very sad.
- I would never have children.

If you think I am joking, well ... I'm not. I had reached an all-time new low. I was crying and feeling sorry for myself all day long, every day that I had to lie on the couch and watch mind-numbing daytime TV. Something about feeling so ill for that length of time killed my spirit and my hope and whatever sliver of optimism I manage to have on a normal day.

Now that I've completed a round of antibiotics and am moving on to another (just to be sure this bastard sinus infection is dead, dead, dead) I feel like I'm waking up from a bad dream. Even though I don't feel 100% better yet, I feel better enough that I am pretty sure of the following things:

- I will keep blogging, even if this never goes anywhere and I continue to have only 15 readers.
- I think I'll stay married to my husband.
- Most of my friends don't hate me.
- I'll eventually feel completely better.
- The cats will be fine.
- My grandparents ... well, let's face it. They're ticking time bombs.
- I will drink wine again.
- It might take a miracle, but I will probably have children someday. Poor things.

Friday, October 16, 2009

I give up

Yesterday, feverish and sweating at the doctor's office with a thermometer in my mouth and blood pressure cuff on my arm, my physician said a number of things that blurred out of her mouth very quickly and stuck together like overcooked pasta.

Long story short, who knows what I had. Coulda been swine flu but it doesn't matter now because what it is now is some kind of infection that is raping my life. Probably a sinus infection. Oh. You didn't know sinus infections could rape your life? Well take it from me. They can.

The days I've had to take off work over the last month -- well, I could have had a very relaxing, lengthy vacation somewhere other than my couch. And the time spent alone at home has been maddening in its boredom. It would have been better if I'd had the slightest energy to do anything at all, but it took until today for me to even get on the computer to blog. I am also doing laundry and finding myself out of breath after moving clothes from the washer to the dryer. See? Life raper.

My doctor pointed out that I also had a mystery illness at around this same time last year, so she believes perhaps I'm a winter asthmatic, whatever the hell that means. All I know is that feeling how I feel for as long as I've felt it is completely demoralizing. It's hard to explain.

So tomorrow I turn 31. BFD. I won't even be able to drink away my misery over turning 31 and instead will have to face it head on, along with the Life Raper. Not sure I will even be able to fully enjoy the meal and cupcakes my mom's planning on for tomorrow, since my appetite has yet to return. I've lost 14 pounds now over the course of this thing.

You know what I've never blogged about in relation to my birthday, which actually surprises me? The Loma Prieta earthquake. It happened 20 years ago on my birthday, when I turned 11. My parents came home early so they could take me and my sister to my restaurant of choice: Fresh Choice. Which, hey, remember how cool Fresh Choice used to be? While we were piling food onto our plates, the ground started moving and suddenly nothing looked stable or still, and of course, nothing was. My dad pulled me outside and I gripped a swaying light pole and looked around at all of the trees tossing back and forth and the horizon heaving like the side of a boat.

When it ended, everyone was stunned. I'm sure my parents were a little unsure as to what to do. They were in the company of terrified children, one of whom had been expecting nothing more than a simple birthday dinner at Fresh Choice, followed by the opening of gifts at home. But the reality was that windows were broken, people were crying, and word had already reached us somehow that the Bay Bridge had collapsed. A woman in the restaurant became hysterical -- her mother commuted on the bridge.

My dad insisted we stay at the restaurant to eat. We were one of two parties that elected to stay. The management, which probably wanted to close up shop and go home, allowed us to eat for free, since the drink refrigerator had fallen onto the cash register, making payment impossible anyway. Not to mention that the power was out. I felt like vomiting the entire time we stayed. The aftershocks began and dinner was abruptly over.

At home it was dark. There was no TV, and no phones. Family could not reach us, nor us them. We had a battery operated radio to listen to news on, and we lit candles for a little light. I opened my gifts -- a stereo and an outfit (purple stirrups and a purple and black striped shirt. It was the height of fashion!). The next day at school hardly anyone came to class and the shell-shocked teachers phoned it in with "where were you during the earthquake" stories.

It was obviously devastating and frightening for a lot of people. Dozens died and thousands sustained injuries. There was billions of dollars in damage done.

So every year on my birthday, the news remembers Loma Prieta. The devastation and death and destruction and they always talk about when the next big one is going to hit and whether or not we're prepared. This year, because it's been 20 years now, they've been putting out stories about the earthquake for two or three weeks now.

And, even though I'm a rational (sort of) person who understands that devastating things happen on people's birthdays all the time, and even though my birthday is never a big deal to me, it always kind of pisses me off that the news brings it up. I just can't help it.

Anyway. That's about it for this week. I'll keep popping pills and hoping they do the trick and then maybe NEXT week I can drink away my poor-me-I'm-31-now blues.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Wherein karma says "nuh-uh"

I won't lie. Last week was a real bitch.

There are lots of reasons for that, involving various people and me, and frankly, anytime I am involved in a bad situation, it just seems to get worse. So these mysterious situations have been going on (I know. Why have a blog if you won't even discuss it? It's f*&king retarded. I know) and I was as sick as a dog and there's the whole situation with my grandparents, not to mention that the mere thought of the holidays is making me a little bonkers, plus every time I see an old woman I swear to God she looks just like my grandmother who passed away in November and I'm thinking SHIT when is this going to stop happening? When can I watch a simple commercial for Ben-Gay without dissolving into tears? It's going to be a while, I'm afraid. Also, everyone keeps saying how wonderful the fall weather is and talking about how they're doing their fall decorating and making pumpkin bread and visiting pumpkin patches and curling up contentedly with their mugs of cocoa and all the while I'm just thinking, who the fuck has time to decorate for fall? Much less purchase and own "fall decorations." When I was a kid we decorated for one holiday: Christmas. Now there's all kinds of decorating I'm supposed to be doing as a perfect wife and keeper of the house, when, let's face it, I can barely get out of bed in the mornings and we're lucky any time I manage to make dinner, so putting up fall decorations? Yeah, that shit isn't happening. And also, I'm fat. And old.

So I was so happy to feel kind of OK over the weekend (even though SITUATIONS with PEOPLE were going on) that I was determined to plant some plants in the front yard. And I took a hoe and I whacked away at the packed soil that had the approximate consistency of granite, all the while thinking, Gosh, this is so cathartic, I can take out my frustrations on this dirt and it just looks like I'm vigorously hoeing! So Hubs and I spent several hours in the yard doing that, and when we were done we had, like, five measly plants in the ground and it looked rather unimpressive and to say that Hubs was skeptical and unimpressed is an understatement.

Then on Sunday we got up early and walked in the 5K (which, to clarify, it was really only 2 miles, ok? Are you happy now, Hubs?) and then yesterday I got SICK AGAIN.

So it's possible that I pushed too hard, too fast. After all, when one is recovering from the flu (and let's get real here. I had the swine flu), one should probably not hoe insanely in one's garden or go for walks on chilly mornings. But probably what is really going on is that I have AIDS. Let's just face it. My immune system is so weak that it can't fight off even a simple cold at this point, and since this is the third time I've been sick in three weeks, it seems obvious to me that my days are numbered and I should probably go in for testing. Perhaps I can testify in front of Congress about my AIDS. I'm not sure how it would help anything, but I've always wanted to tell Congress something.

And as if having AIDS weren't bad enough, on Saturday I am going to be 31. Shit!

Monday, October 12, 2009

Beating 'Betis

In the very early hours of the morning that I got married three years ago, my little sister miscarried in the upstairs bathroom at my parents' house. She was two months pregnant.

Because she is so strong, she muscled through the day as my matron of honor, allowing her tragedy to be overshadowed by my wedding. Later that night, in the honeymoon suite, I bawled over the loss.

A few months later, my sister began to lose weight. A lot of weight. Without trying. Rather, she was hungrier than usual and eating whatever she wanted, but it didn't seem to make a difference -- the weight just kept falling off. She was gray and moved slowly and seemed disoriented and tired.

It took a while for the doctors to figure out what it was. At first they said it was Type 2 diabetes. My sister radically changed her diet and began taking medication. The weight loss slowed, but continued. She still felt awful, all the time. The diagnosis changed.

Type 1 diabetes.

Often referred to as juvenile diabetes, Type 1 is believed to be an inherited disease that causes the pancreas to stop making insulin. Type 1 diabetics must test their blood sugar all day long by pricking their fingers to draw blood, and then must figure out how much insulin to inject themselves with, making sure never to fall too low or go too high. My sister is in constant danger of falling too low, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason to when her blood sugar will be too low or too high.

Since her diagnosis, her blood sugar dropped too low one time, and she had a seizure at home one evening. Thankfully, she carries an emergency syringe of insulin with her everywhere she goes, and her husband was able to administer it before paramedics arrived. Without it, she could have died.

Nowadays, she's outfitted with an insulin pump that is attached to her body through a shunt in her stomach. She carries the pump with her everywhere and she tells it how much insulin to give her. The pump simply makes it easier for her to administer insulin -- it does not remove the risk of her blood sugar getting out of whack.

Although she does her best to stay healthy by eating right and exercising, as a Type 1 diabetic she will always be at risk of serious health problems that can affect her eyes, kidneys and nervous system. And having children, which she wants desperately, is not as simple as just getting pregnant.

Type 1 diabetes doesn't get the kind of press that many other diseases, like breast cancer, get. There are a number of reasons for this, I think. Firstly, many more people get breast cancer, so it affects a lot more families. Secondly, Type 1 diabetes typically strikes the young, who don't really know how to advocate for themselves (That's not to say that advocating for breast cancer research is not a worthy cause. I've personally lost someone very dear to me to that awful disease, and my grandmother who passed away last November had one breast removed many years ago as a result of breast cancer. She wore a prosthetic for more than 20 years).

At any rate, I've jumped onto the Type 1 diabetes research fund-raising bandwagon. This was my first year of true participation (last year I just donated). I inundated friends, family & co-workers with emails and facebook updates with pleas for donations, however small, and then on Sunday my sister and her rag-tag team of supporters -- myself, Hubs, my friend C-dog, and my sister's husband -- walked a 5k with about 1,500 other people who came out to support the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. It felt so good to do it. It was such a simple act, but something about being there, united with hundreds of other people for a pure and honorable purpose, felt fucking good.

Our little group raised $795, and we were so inspired while we were there that we vowed we would do it up bigger and better next year. We're determined to do everything we can to find a cure for this disease, and we're welcoming anyone who wants to join us next year.





Thursday, October 08, 2009

Dead animals = a laugh riot!

I was reading this morning that someone left a dead dear that was dressed up as a clown, with a wig on it, on someone's porch. Call me morbid, but this struck my funny bone. There's something, just... hilarious about the thought of someone going to the trouble of dressing a dead animal in a clown outfit and then leaving it on someone's porch as a joke. Make no mistake about it -- if someone did this to me, I would be livid. But when it happens to other people, it's just hysterical!

It reminded me of a story from my Sonora days (not one I wrote, just one that happened) in which someone threw a decapitated, rotting horse head into a crowded Taco Bell, yelled "Woohoo!" and ran off, never to be found. The horse head hit a customer in the leg and all of the horse's teeth fell out. Again, morbid, but hilarious!

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Inheriting Anxiety

Food for thought, courtesy of Hubs: An article in the NY Times, which, very simply stated, cites a study concluding our anxiety is inherited, not learned.

So basically, you are the way you are because you were born that way, not because your mom was a freak and she made you that way (although she inadvertently made you that way via the genes she passed on).

I find this fascinating because I've always assumed my personality flaws are the result of my upbringing. If I must own my personality flaws as inherited - as written in my genes - well, then all that the parenting mistakes resulted in is a chip on my shoulder.

Really, the article does not address all aspects of our personalities, but specifically anxiety. It states that babies who are anxious grow up to be anxious people, almost without fail.

Hubs recalls that as a child he was shy to a fault, and fearful of new situations. He wanted terribly to join a football league as a young boy but felt such anxiety over it he couldn't bring himself to do it. As an adult, he feels that he is an anxious person, and he's right that he is, in several ways, but he's not constantly anxious about everything. He worries over planning for events, paying bills, locking doors and windows, that sort of thing. He's certainly no longer a shy little boy, though.

As a child I was also shy, but mostly because I was locked in my own world, singing songs and telling stories to myself, puzzling over the spelling of words and imagining future possibilities. Today I am undoubtedly an introvert, but not to a fault (in my opinion). I am able to speak a lot, and will, but often find myself in the company of people who enjoy speaking more than I do, and I am typically happy to let them. I don't recall worrying over things as a child, but I certainly recall many solitary moments that were probably a result of my quiet, shy nature.

As an adult, I don't worry over things in an anxious way. Sure, I worry, but in a resigned, lazy way. I worry that a pain in my head is cancer eating my brain, in the same way I worry about a story on the news - in a temporary, half-assed way. I worry that I will never get this house whipped into shape. As I eat cookies on the couch. I worry that I will be forced to work at my job forever and might someday be driven to murder by it. As I surf the Internet, reading blogs written by much more clever writers.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

The Deal

Part II of this flu I am still getting over hit me like a freight train. I slept for several days, didn't really eat, barfed a couple times, and begged Hubs to knock me unconscious so I wouldn't have to continue to suffer from the sinus headache that I've had for, oh, ELEVEN AGONIZING DAYS.

All I want to do, all the time, is sleep, but unfortunately I have a job, so I'm going there again. Bummer.

I did lose 8 pounds during the whole ordeal, which is almost as good as when I did that crazy juice diet!

Thursday, October 01, 2009

Not in my front yard (NIMFY!)

So I should have known better than to be, like, oh look I got sick but I didn't get a head cold because what happened Tuesday night? Karma was like, BAM! YOU WILL BE SICK, OH MOCKER OF ILLNESSES. YOU SHALL BE MADE TO LIE PROSTRATE IN AGONY UNTIL YOU REALISE THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS (Karma is Canadian).

So I did. I lied prostrate for many hours yesterday, with the head cold from f*&king hell. Today I am back at work, coughing all over anyone foolish enough to bother me. Get out of my cube and let me be alone in my misery, thank you.

So because Karma has sucked all creativity from my brain, I shall tell a Hubs tale.

Last night Hubs was turning the sprinklers off in the front yard, when he noticed several teenagers standing at the side of our house, under one of our trees, smoking pot. So he walked toward them (for those not in the know, Hubs does not look like someone who you want to fuck with). The following is a conversation between Hubs and the Leader of the Pot Smoking Teenagers and is an approximation of what was said, given that I was in a Sudafed-induced delirium when it was told to me.

Hubs: What the fuck are you doing? Are you smoking pot?
Teenager: Uh, yeah.
Hubs: Well get the fuck out of here. Why can't you go smoke under an overpass or something?
Teenager: You mean like a homeless person?
Hubs: Yeah, like a fucking homeless person! Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!
Teenager: Yes sir, that sounds like a good idea sir.
Hubs (walking away): Jesus Christ!
Teenager (jumping into car): He's my lord and savior!

So, for the record, neither Hubs nor I have an issue with teenagers smoking pot, we just have an issue with them being disrespectful enough to do it on our sodding front lawn.

Also, the police are apparently uninterested in these types of activities among the youth of San Jose. Because they were not willing to come check out the situation. And then today we received our ass-raping property tax bill and we now feel very, very slighted by these so-called public servants.

This concludes today's Hubs tale.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

I'M TWEETING AND I DEMAND YOU TAKE NOTICE

HEY. See that, over there? To your right?




-------------------------------------------------->


Over there?

I've been tweeting. I joined Twitter. Do you not see how witty and brilliant my tweets are? All day long I am making insightful remarks about movie stars and how my ass is falling asleep in my work chair.

It's just what you've been waiting for!

Monday, September 28, 2009

Sick Days

Ok so I've been sick. Everyone else around me is getting SICK sick, where you can see and hear that they are sick because their noses are leaking and their voices get that sexy sick sound. I got some mutated form of this, with full body aches, killer sinus headaches and a smoker's cough. It started last Wednesday and I still have not been able to completely get rid of this headache. I took Thursday off and came in Friday because I had a meeting I thought was important, until I got my ass chewed out in the meeting (not my fault). I decided to leave for the day after that.

Saturday was pure fucking torture. It was about 100 degrees out and the neighborhood was having a block party. I forced myself to socialize for several hours, until my headache got so bad I thought I'd barf on my neighbors.

Sunday I slept until almost noon and spent the rest of the day trying to be as comfortable as possible in the unbearable heat. We are SO getting air conditioning.

I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, so bear with me! For now, here's a photo of the house, which the painter managed to get painted without being arrested again. I think it turned out beautifully. And for what it's worth, I am now hearing that all painters are alcoholics, which is weird. Also, we got new gutters but this picture is from Wednesday, pre-gutters. I'll eventually get a new photo up of the house with the gutters.


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Progress Report

The painter has worked TWO DAYS IN A ROW, and the main body of the house has been painted. I was extremely nervous about it, but thankfully, in my opinion, it looks good! The shutters and trim still need to be painted and gutters are being installed on Thursday (fingers crossed), but so far, here's what we're looking at.

BEFORE

AFTER

BEFORE

AFTER

BEFORE

AFTER

Monday, September 21, 2009

Random Monday Thoughts

My brain feels disorganized and unfocused today, so I'm just going to blog about miscellaneous junk.

- A friend I hadn't seen since in quite some time said on Saturday that she has embarked on a new diet but refuses to blog about it because she is convinced that when she blogs about her ambitions, she fails at them. In related news, I read today that you are 50% likelier to be obese if your friends are, and 20% likelier to be obese if a friend of your friend, whom you've never even met, is obese. Something about "social contagion," a mystery scientists are trying to figure out so they can convince us all to lose weight and stop smoking.

- I am in full dread of the heat we are expected to experience this week. The entire week is supposed to be blazing ass hot, and nothing completely saps my will to live like a 100-degree day. There are things I'd like to get done this week, but I probably won't. There's nothing more awful than folding hot laundry in the heat.

- Sometimes I expect all of my friends to be completely up-to-date on my life goings-on simply because I have blogged about them. As if they have nothing better to do than read my blog or what I have written here could be that interesting! I might think that having my period twice in one month is completely fascinating reading material, but some of my friends might beg to differ! I came to this realization this weekend during a brunch with brilliant former & current journalists who continue to invite me to social gatherings because they are insane, probably. Several were current on my painter situation, but many were unaware of the saga that has been Me Trying To Paint My House. Which actually only benefited me because I then got to tell the colorful story of my painter and his arrests and why I think I might bury him in my backyard.

- For the record, the painter showed up at the house today, with two helpers in tow. He's patching & caulking. Painting is supposed to be done by Thursday. I will believe it when I see it.

- I am wearing a dress today, which has really thrown everyone, including me, off. I fucking hate dresses.

- While visiting with friends on Saturday, we saw a weird couple making out on the grass. They were a bit mismatched -- she was kind of large and looked older than the boy, who was small and geeky. They were having a major grope session on the grass in front of God and everyone. Including several newsy types who promptly snapped photos of them and posted them to facebook & twitter. We mostly stood close by with our hands on our hips, discussing their makeout session with a play-by-play. "Ohhh! She's grabbing his thigh! She's grabbing his thigh!"

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Photos on a very lazy Sunday

So, firstly, a photo of my exterior paint color choices...


And then a couple of comparison pics of the Destroyers. The first were taken in early August, and the next ones were taken today. They've each gained a few pounds and inches since then.



And yes, that couch has seen better days.

Friday, September 18, 2009

The Saga of the Painter Continues

Well.

All I can say is that I am not making this stuff up. I couldn't make it up if I tried. Because, believe me, I had my theories about where the fuck the painter was this morning, when he neither showed up at the house, nor was reachable by phone. The prevailing theory was that he was hung over in bed, seeing as how I have decided he is an alcoholic. Which is not too far removed from the truth, as it turns out.

See, what I haven't really explained up until now is that our painter has sort of been fucking up from the very start. He cancelled two meetings with us prior to us ever having even met him. We figured he was in high demand. After all, he came very highly recommended by a couple of good friends whom we love, but whom we will never listen to again.

Eventually, we met, signed a contract, and gave him a deposit, which he claimed he would not cash for a few days. In reality, he cashed it mere minutes after leaving our house. If he could have gone back in time and cashed it the previous week, that is what he would have done -- that is how fast he cashed that fucking check.

He showed up one day not seeming to understand how to make a pressure washer work. On other days he has had a wide variety of amusing excuses for why he can't be at our house, painting it, such as yesterday's excuse of the last-minute DUI class that he'd forgotten about.

So this morning, he was supposed to be at our house, prepping it for painting. When he (*gasp*) didn't show, Hubs tried to reach him approximately 93 billion times, to no avail. Around 10:45 a.m., the painter's phone called Hubs. As in, the painter was not actually calling, but maybe the painter's butt was calling because a button had been accidentally pressed on the painter's phone and when Hubs answered, all he could hear was our fucktard painter bitching and moaning to someone about how he had to drive all the way down somewhere for something. Without knowing precisely what the painter was talking about, I can only guess that he was talking about our house.

So then, around 12:15 p.m., Hubs finally reached the painter by phone, and the guy explains that he was jailed last night and was just released this morning. He said something about how you're not supposed to drink after you've been arrested for a DUI, and something about the DUI class he was supposed to attend yesterday (maybe he showed up drunk for the class?) but, as Hubs says, it's not clear what exactly transpired that resulted in our painter being thrown in jail. Again.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

I'm going to get drunk and THEN pick a color

Yesterday, on the way home from work, I drove through a neighborhood with nice homes in it, trying to get some kind of insight as to what to do about my paint color predicament. It ocurred to me that all of the houses with the greenish color I like were a lot lighter than the greenish sample I've got painted on the wall in my backyard. So I went to Kelly Moore and picked up two lighter samples. Then, on the way home from the paint store, I saw yet another, previously uninspected house, so had to stop the car and get out, holding paint samples, squinting and turning, looking fucking insane and scaring the neighborhood children. This house had a darker green.

I brought my two lighter green samples home, painted them on the wall, and immediately hated them.

So I stared some more at my original three colors. And decided that the greenish-grayish color I thought I'd settled on? Yeah, that one? I hate it, now. It looks like shit. Literally, like I may as well have smeared feces on the wall. I decided I liked the grayer color better. That was what I was going to tell the painter, who was scheduled to paint the house tomorrow, after finishing prep work today.

Except that the painter called this morning to let Hubs know that he wouldn't be able to make it today because he has to attend a DUI class that he totally forgot about. As in, he was arrested for driving under the influence and is now attending a class as part of his punishment.

Now, far be it from me to judge someone for driving drunk. I've done it before, and it was a stupid, stupid thing to do. I have friends who have done it and been arrested for doing it. One friend was arrested TWICE and was forced to have a breathalizer installed in her car that required her to blow into it before the car would start. So, go on and get arrested for driving drunk, and serve your time, and finish out your sentence picking up bags of dead kittens at the side of the highway or whatever, but seriously, dude? I wouldn't go advertising to your customers that you were recently arrested for drunk driving. Not everyone is as forgiving as we are and plenty of folks have loved ones who have been killed by drunk drivers, and let me tell you that if I were one of those people, we probably would be looking for a new painter.

HOWEVER. Since this means that prep work will get finished tomorrow (barring any other unforeseen events) and painting will happen Monday/Tuesday-ish, with paint being purchased Saturday, I have until tomorrow to continue to obsess compulsively about what color to paint the house. Which: thank you for the extra day. I will, no doubt, spend some more time pulling my hair out in the backyard while staring at the paint samples on the wall.

And now, to google "adult ADD." BRB!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I am the Decider

For the record, I Merriam Webster'd that shit, and "decider" is actually a word. Here I've been heckling G-dub for all this time for calling himself "the decider," and he was right all along. He was the decider. But he was also a total douche.

So here is why I am now the decider. I am deciding what color to paint the house. Three words to describe my decision-making process are: torturous, paralyzing, awful.

Here is why: Unless I have not explained in adequate detail prior to now, I am no Suzy Homemaker. I haven't got a blasted clue about what looks good ANYWHERE, much less on the exterior of my house. Until now, the biggest decision I've had to make pertaining to what the house looks like is what color finish to choose for the hardwood floors. Hubs made me choose the color by myself, with about six Mexicans staring at me impatiently while I hemmed and hawed (BTW I can say that because I am 25% Mexican) for about half an hour. After I finally chose a color, I was completely consumed with regret. I was certain that I had chosen a color that I would hate forever. But you know what? It looks like wood. Harwood floors. Exactly what you would expect hardwood floors to look like. Fucking wood.

So here is the deal with the house color. I know what color I want. It's like a cross between olive and gray, sort of a dusty forest green. I've done my research. I forced Hubs to drive through neighborhoods, while I took photos of houses with this color on them. Yesterday I drove to one of these neighborhoods and got out of my car and stood in front of one of these houses with paint swatches in my hands, squinting and turning around to catch the colors in different lights, and overall probably looking more than a little disturbed.

We purchased three samples that were a relative approximation of this color. Yesterday, I painted them on a wall in the back yard. One looked too gray. One looked too blue. One was what I THINK is this dusty forest green thing that I am going for. But I am so fucking afraid to choose it because then THE WHOLE HOUSE will be this color. It's a large thing to paint, a house. I keep thinking, God, it's so ... green. Am I sure I want green? What if we paint the house this color and every time I look at it, it makes me want to vomit?

Mind you, they don't really make exterior house colors in shades that would look like shit. If you see a house that is a strange color, chances are the owner saw a color swatch for interior paint and asked for it to be made into exterior paint. So even if this shade of green turned out to be slightly off, it probably wouldn't look terrible and no one would really mind. It certainly can't look much worse than what we've got going on right now, which is a taupe color with white trim, and all the paint is peeling off, exposing wood in some areas, and an interesting aqua color in others.

So the deal is, I need to know what color to paint the house by TOMORROW. Because the house is being painted FRIDAY. And Hubs refuses to have an opinion about the color (which is sort of a lie -- he likes the blue-ish one, which is the one I like the least, so he may as well not have an opinion). I went home for lunch so that I could stand in the backyard and stare at the colors on the wall some more. At first glance, I thought, "Oh! I must be crazy. That color is exactly what I want." But then as I stared for longer, I started thinking that I sort of hated it. Which is when I forced myself to leave.

So anyway. That is what I've been agonizing over lately. Stay tuned for my decision, plus before & after photos!

Friday, September 11, 2009

JOIN NOW WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!

Something that's been scratching at the back of my mind and which makes my eye twitch every time I try to do something simple, like GO GROCERY SHOPPING, is the fact that every-fucking-where I go, I have to give someone my personal information so that they will give me a piece of plastic to carry around and I can supposedly save money when I shop.

You know what's even better than that? When I give them my personal information AND pay them money for the PRIVILEGE of saving money, a la Costco and Barnes & Noble. For the record, I do not have "memberships" at these two stores. I can't stomach even being within 50 yards of Costco due to the massive crowd confusion that happens there all day long, every day, and although I've considered joining Barnes & Noble's club or whatever it is, I am planning on getting a Kindle, which will hopefully mean that my book-buying days are numbered and I am that much closer to becoming the hermit I've always wanted to be.

But seriously. I have a Starbucks card with money on it because I can only save 40 cents per latte if I use the registered card. I have a Safeway card that I am purportedly saving money with when I buy five pounds of butter for the simple fact that it's $5 for 5 lbs, even though I need only 1. I have a New York & Co Rewards Club card for the next time I am in need of something that doesn't fit me well and which will fall apart within three washes. I have a Loehmann's insider club card that I never use. I have an Albertson's Preferred Savings card. I have a Willow Glen Frozen Yogurt card that requires me to purchase 12 yogurts in order to obtain one free mini-sized yogurt. I have a Tandoori oven frequent diner card that grants me a free entree once I have purchased six. I have a Mojo Burger reward card that gives me a free Mojo Meal once I've bought nine. I have a Petco PALS card that, I guess, saves me money. I have a Petsmart PetPerks card that, I guess, does the same thing. I have a Subway card that I have no idea what it does. I have a Sephora beauty insider card, which I think gives me points toward free mini-sized makeups that I never use, anyway. I have a savings card from Ann Taylor Loft that I was only given after spending $80 and which allows me to save $25 on a $50 purchase between Sept. 8 & Oct. 3. I have a frequent diner card for Fukuya, a Japanese restaurant in Redwood City that I never go to. I have a Baja Fresh frequent diner card that expired in 2006. I have a Chevy's fiesta lunch card that gives me my fifth lunch free. Too bad I hate Chevy's. I have a Maidenform Outlet Store club card that grants me 15% off after I spend $100. I have a Famous Footwear rewards card. Is that place even in business anymore?

Here is my point: THIS IS INSANE! How many cards can I, as one human being, possibly carry around? I am looking to simplify my life, and these cards are making me feel crazy! Everywhere I go, I have to think, Now, do I have a card for this place? Is this even a place that has those kinds of cards? Where the fuck is that card, anyway?

Here's an idea for all retailers, everywhere: NO MORE CARDS, motherfuckers! How about you just give me a good deal RIGHT NOW instead of making me insane with all of this racking up of points and fictional saving of dollars on shit I don't need, like phyllo dough?! I promise you I will continue to frequent your store in spite of the lack of a card that promises to save me money, for the simple fact that, as a living, breathing human, I consume food, clothing and other products EVERY DAY and would not be in your store in the first place if I believed your product to be inferior.

Can I get an "Amen"?

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I knew it

What a load off.

All this time, I thought I was fat just because I don't exercise, and I eat too much, but it turns out that I am simply physiologically predisposed for it.

According to this NY Times article, my genes have determined my weight "set point," and my brain "exerts an astonishing amount of control" over my body composition and how I eat. Forcing my weight below "nature's preassigned levels" causes me to become hungrier and eat more, the article says. One doctor is quoted as saying that the brain's determination to keep you at your predetermined weight is 99.6% effective. This explains EVERY DIET I HAVE EVER BEEN ON.

In fact, it is now believed that the factor that most influences your predetermined weight is the condition in the womb, when you were but a wee fetus. Here's something that'll blow your socks off:

"Human studies have shown that women who eat little in pregnancy, surprisingly, more often have children who grow into fat adults."

Pardon? Did you just see the clouds part and hear what sounded like angels singing "Hallelujah"? Because, unless I'm mistaken, I've just been given a free ticket to totally pig out when/if I become pregnant.

Unfortunately, the one nugget of information this article does not offer up is how to overcome the predetermined fatness obstacle (brain re-boot, stat!), but for now I'm feeling a little better about my chubby thighs.