Struck By Lightening

I saw my first lightening bug tonight. As if the 90 + degree heat and oppressive humidity weren't enough to alert me to the fact that summer is here, this sealed it.

Do you guys have lightening bugs (or fireflies, or glowworms, however you call them) where you are or are they strictly a southern thing?  I love them.

Of course, I'm a sucker for anything that glows.

To my sister: Hey!  Remember that time when you were little and we saw that lightening bug fly into the spider web and then the spider got him and slaughtered him mercilessly and then we had to tell you that he had escaped and flew away but it was pretty obvious by his frantic buzzing  that he was in the throes of death?  Yeah...remember that?  Good times.

I hope we can afford to get the air conditioner in the old beater fixed for summer or driving around in this heat is gonna be a bitch...and so am I.

How I'm Feeling Today:

Two Daze

All in all, not a  bad day.  Not a bad day at all.  Despite sitting here tired with little bloody stumps for feet, I'm feeling pretty dang good.  I shall sleep well tonight.

Dare I say, I'm feeling sassy. Especially being that the above is not the worst pic of me I've ever seen...and my hair isn't nearly as ginormous as it could have been considering the humidity and the pouring rain.

For no particular reason other than this song pumps me up, I feel that a celebratory tune is in order.

How I'm feeling today (in addition to sassy):

Do I Hafta?

So, tomorrow is the BIG day, the first day of the new job.  I'm not as nervous as I normally would be when starting a new endeavor, so that's a plus.  It's weird, but I realized today that another advantage of having lost all that weight is that I, though I may not realize it on a daily basis, have better self esteem about myself.  I no longer feel that nearly debilitating panic upon entering into a new situation of "OMG, will I be the fattest person there?  Do I have anything appropriate to wear that I can fit into?  Will I find myself in some uncomfortable situation where I will have to sit on a less than sturdy piece of furniture fearing it will break, or squeeze in between two desks, apologizing to people as they shove their chairs out of the way with either disgruntled (more often than not), amused or (hardly ever) sympathetic expressions on their faces?

Not this time.  I will be just another generic, slightly overweight, nondescript middle aged chick in understated office-casual clothes on her first day, and that's not a bad thing.

Still and all...the nerves.  Or maybe it's just a dislike of any change in my routine, though my daily routine has mostly consisted of sitting around in my fancy pants (code name for pajama bottoms), playing Zynga games on Facebook, with occasional spurts of cooking and/or cleaning like a braless wonder.

And I am so grateful for this job, and the opened doors and possibilities that it's going to offer me.  You will not hear me mention my religious beliefs very often, I prefer to keep those private for now, but I do thank the higher powers for hearing my plea for help, and giving me this opportunity.  That I will make the most of.

That doesn't change the general (not altogether unpleasant) churning of my brain and stomach as I type this and make my way towards the bed.

I will have a new companion tonight.  Sir Nigel Wentworth Noogington, Esq. does not like to be alone...ever, so the Rottenator's idea of fixing him a palate on our bedroom floor was completely unnecessary and unwanted, and our bed was held hostage by a one pound ball of orange fluff who slept in between us like a furry little chastity belt.  At least tonight it will be just the two of us as the Rottenator is at work, so here's hoping I'm able to get some kind of decent sleep so I'm not a zombie tomorrow.

Though I will miss my mid-morning nap.

That being said, as excited and nervous as I am about tomorrow, a part of me can't help but think of one of my favorite scenes from one of the all-time greatest work place movies, "Office Space".

How I'm Feeling Today:

Me & You & A Cat Named Nooge

It's a boy!

Ha!  Actually, no, that would not be funny in the least. 

Faithful  readers, may I present: Sir Nigel Wentworth Noogington, Esq.

AKA "The Nooge" (pronounced 'Nooj').  We adopted him today, and already, he is loved and adored.

Look at me, I'm about to get all this on him:

Our little family is complete.

Suck On This, Norman Rockwell

There is nothing my family enjoys more than spending quality time together during the holidays:

And cheesecake.  Red velvet tie-dyed cheesecake, that is.

I hope all of you have wonderful Memorial Day weekends with your own families, and many thanks to my sis and fam for a wonderful day, and delicious food!  :-)

Spanx For Nothing

Well, the Rottenator is off to work, so you know what that means: par-tay up in herra!  Actually, what that normally means is "cleaning frenzy for Kathleen" but I'm caught up on my cleaning, so I'm bored and I decided: "Hey, what better way to cure this boredom than to add a little dash of self-loathing to the mix to spice things up a bit?"

So, in preparation for my new career, which begins on Tuesday, I decided to give my Spanx a test drive. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what Spanx are; there's probably no woman on the planet who doesn't know someone who owns a pair if they do not in fact own one themselves.

Incidentally, the woman who created Spanx, Sara Blakely, is one of my heroes along with JK Rowling.  She's a fucking BILLIONAIRE, yo.  That's with a "B".  That's not why she's my hero; she's one of my heroes because she came about being a billionaire all on her own, from nothing, sewing panty hose onto underwear in her little place in the ATL (holla!) while supporting herself as a single mom.  That's fucking amazing.  JK Rowlings has much the same story, only she was a single mum.  I love these women.

That's what makes this so painful, not as painful as trying on my Spanx, but close.

See, I've been hearing what a miracle this garment is, so of course I had to try it.  I have a lot of imperfect anatomical parts, but the one that's bothered me the most, even since losing weight, is my tummy.  I still have a muffin top no matter how much dieting and exercising I avoid doing, so I thought Spanx would be a great way to help out in that area until I get my membership to the Y, which is dependent on my first pay check in three weeks. I opted for this little number right here .

So tonight, I tried them on...I would insert a photo here of me in said Spanx but I don't think you're ready for that. Hell, I'm not even ready for that.  And I don't want to get sued for sexual harassment or personal injury to eyeballs, so I'll just spare you that image.  I'll leave the sexual imagery to my sister, who is cultivating a very disturbing but possibly profitable interest in Uniporn© (copyright pending).


Yeah, so Spanx.  They were not entirely what I was expecting.  First of all, they are not as comfortable as everyone raves.  No, they do not bind like a girdle, but they do fit like pantyhose, in that the crotch is somewhere around my knees, and even after a great deal of pulling and twisting and other gymnastic quality motions they still only ended up approximately in the general area of my nether regions.


Okay, fine, whatever.  I'll add an extra 15 minutes to my getting ready for work time (time that I can subtract from my exercise routine) so I could live with that.  Especially because once I actually pulled them up, I did notice that my stomach appeared flatter, and my pants fit better, so okay.  I was willing to put up with them to the point that I wore them around the house for a minute, doing various chores.


And then I sat down.  And they rolled down past my stomach to my hips.  Defeating their purpose completely.  So what the hell is the point of buying a pair of undergarments to help flatten your stomach when all they do is bunch up at your waist, making you look bulkier than before?


I still may give them a try; we shall see.  I definitely will not attempt them with a skirt because I don't think it screams "we hired the right girl for the job!" when that girl is adjusting herself more often than a baseball pitcher.


Spanx, prior to experiment:

Spanx, post experiment, crumbled into a ball of rage:

How I'm Feeling Today (embracing my inner geek with a little bit of Dr. Who):

You Gotta Deal With PMP If You Wanna Be With Me

This explains SO much about what's been going on with me and my lady parts the past few months.

Glad to know that I'm not crazy (debatable) or that I might be dying again (to be confirmed by an actual MD shortly once my insurance kicks in).

Incidentally, almost dying is not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.  True fact.

How I'm (not) Feeling Today:

'Tis a remorseless eatin' machine!

So...if you count an all you can eat buffet as a single serving, I'd like to report that my diet is going splendidly!

If You A Fly Gal Get Your Nails Done

So, after weeks and months of not being able to afford this luxury, I finally got my nails did today!

Before:

 

After:

And although they are an obvious improvement (anything short of missing fingers would have been an improvement), I am not happy with the results. I mean, wtf?  Did the manicurist see me sitting across the table from her and think, "She is short, stubby and square! I will give her nails to match!" ("Cô ấy là ngắn, mập và hình vuông!Tôi sẽ cho móng tay của cô để phù hợp với!") Because that is NOT what I was looking for in the least.


But what I find more frustrating is my own reaction, or, lack of, more accurately, to the situation.  At no time did I speak up and say "I'd like more of an oval shape, please."  I sat there while she filed thinking that at any time she was going to round off the tips, keeping hope even up to the point where I was washing my hands and waiting for the polish.


And that pisses me off.  Why the fuck didn't I, the consumer, request what I wanted?  What I was paying for.  I could have done it very nicely, as in the example before, but no.  ANY kind of confrontation, uncomfortable situation, chance of argument, is to be avoided at any cost.  That is one part of my personality that I am totally conflicted about because on the one hand, I like being nice.  I don't want to be the reason that anyone feels bad, or has a bad day, because I know how I feel when the situations are reversed, and I'm doing my best to deliver awesome customer service, and am met with rudeness for the point of being rude.  It seriously ruins my life, and I never let that shit go.  Ever.


On the other hand, I avoid confrontation to the point that it is actually detrimental, and I will avoid actually handling situations, or taking care of necessary business in order to avoid a possible conflict, and this often times makes the situation THAT much worse and it blow it up into THAT MUCH MORE of a situation than it ever had to be had I just had the balls to speak up.


Or I get stuck paying $25 for nails that I stare at in hatred knowing that I'm going to be stuck with them for at least three weeks, and wonder how odd it would be to wear gloves in summer.


There has to be a happy medium somewhere, and there is.  I don't have to be the Rottenator, who takes an active pleasure in being confrontational and argumentative because he enjoys the conflict and the reaction he gets, and honestly doesn't give a fuck what people who don't know him think about him.  However, I also don't have to be the pushover who will actually apologize to some rude old bitch who runs me over with their shopping cart and acts like it's my fault that I exist on this planet and how dare I happen to be in line in front of her.


So, that's my resolve.  I'm 40 fucking years old, I don't have to go around apologizing to everyone for shit that isn't my fault.  And neither do I have to be the fucking old heifer that I secretly want to trip so she'll fall over her shopping cart and break an arthritic hip while I laugh inwardly and prance off on my calcium enriched bones.


I shall find the perfect mix of passive aggressiveness.


How I'm Feeling Today:

L.A.Z.Y. I Ain't Got No Alibi

So, I'd like to report that yesterday's "get up and go" experiment was completed with a  moderate to high success ratio and though it's too early to tell, today looks like it may be heading in the same direction.

Meaning that I am up, I am bathed, and I am drinking my caffeine infused water.

Yesterday, I was so highly motivated that I actually got some things done.  Laundry, trip to the Wu-Mart to replenish household supplies, McD's, made dinner for the Rottenator, new sheets on bed, relatively early  bed-time.

Mmmm?  What?  Oh, yeah.  Mickey D's.  Well...yeah.  The whole eating thing is still a frustrating mystery to me.  I can't get a handle on it, but okay, I've come up with a plan of action similar to my cleaning one so I can at least put some things into perspective.

Again, a near effortless, free, barely life altering tip to control my eating: write down EVERYTHING that goes into my mouth (excluding those bugs that poop in your mouth while you're sleeping.  Have you read about this?  What the FUCK?!)

Now, there's no excuse not to do this.  It's not like the old days where you're whipping out a notebook and pen in front of your nosey waiter at the restaurant and adding up points.  This is the generation of smart phones, people.  Instead of rudely texting other people while enjoying your dinner with co-workers and/or loved ones, you can just be tabulating every mouthful of blooming onion slathered in special sauce that you've just devoured (and by quantity I mean "one" should not mean an entire onion, Kathleen).

I think actually seeing a list (damn, I do love my lists) of everything I've ingested during the course of a day will help me visualize exactly what I'm consuming, and sitting down at night and adding up the calories of said morsels will make me more aware of the amount of calories I'm eating, and the hope is, the amount will be so surprising/staggering, that I will take MORE effective steps to reduce my food intake and thus speed along my weight loss.

So, I'm not going to change what I eat...yet...I'm just going to make myself more AWARE of how much I'm eating, and how many calories I'm accumulating in one 24 hour period.  Oh, and I'm also going to track how much water I'm drinking too, because I figure as craptacular as I will feel upon staring at the lengthy list of unnecessary potato chips I've shoveled into my mouth, I can at least pat myself on the back for the amount of water that I've guzzled.  And perhaps I will allow myself an extra Reeses White Chocolate peanut butter cup because of this.  Because I'm all about the rewards system, people.

How I'm feeling today:

(To post on the fridge as a kindly reminder to myself.  And if other members of the household also take note, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing).

Lazy Girl Is (Trying Not to Be) Lazy

I am many things.  A natural born motivator is not one of them.  However, this is something I am desperately trying to change.  And I think I can (I think I can!) if I really set my mind to it.

Because one thing I am is impressionable.  And imprintable. Okay, two things.  I'm also a listmaker, taskmaster...okay, four, four things that I am.

And these four qualities will help me achieve my new goal of being an individual who is healthier, more organized, and living a more purposeful life.

Oh, yeah.  I'm spittin' some serious troofs up in herra. Now, I'm not going to go overboard, balls to the wall, all encompassing life changey with this new plan.  I'm going to start with small, barely noticeable, tiny little baby steps that take little to no effort on my part.

Because of the lazy thing.

But I do believe this will be easier than I think if I just stick to it, because, as mentioned, I am impressionable and imprintable.  Impressionable in that if I see someone else's idea that I think is a really good one, I immediately want to steal it incorporate it into my own life and claim it as make it my own. 

Imprintable in that if I read something, or see something, that I feel that I need to do even if I don't want to, that thought sticks with me and needles me for all eternity until I finally succumb to the urge, and just fucking do it already.

Prime example:  I read on Pinterest (duh) that one of the best cleaning tips in the world was to "never leave a room empty handed".  At first, I scoffed.  But then I started thinking about it and dammit if it didn't make sense.  You'd be amazed at how uncluttered your living space will be when you pick up a glass, a paper, a sock, a pin, what have you, on your way to another room.  Especially if you have to pee as much as I do, and you have to practically pass through the kitchen and the bedroom of my house to get to the bathroom, and these are the rooms where most of my belongings live.

So, there's that.  And I do it every fucking time now.  My hands feel empty if I leave the room without something in them, something that needs to be put in its proper place, and needless to say, most of my shit is put away (as is the Rottenator's, though no thanks to him.  Half of the time it's his shit that's left out and getting put away, but whatever) and the house is pretty damned clutter free.  Which is a relatively new concept for me.  It's pretty awesome.

So, that tiny little thought was the impetus of this grand scheme of mine to make a list of things I really should do every day with the hopes that these little simple ideas will just ingrain themselves in me until it becomes second nature, and voilà, a brand new lifestyle.

So, here is the beginning of it, in a nutshell.  Lazy Girl's Plan To Not Be As Lazy (Morning Edition):

• Jump in the shower as soon as I open my eyes in the morning, no matter what time it is.

This seems so simple, yet is SOOOO difficult to do.  I mean, I'm a horrible morning person.  It takes a good few hours for me to even function, or to resist the urge to murder everyone (much to the Rottenator's fear and dismay).  But the way I see it, I always feel better after a shower, more energized, and already being clean makes me that much more motivated to get a start on the day...even if that start is nothing more than sitting in front of my computer for 12+ hours.

Besides, by the time I realize what the hell is going on, I'm already half showered, and feeling better already.  Win.  Plus, this gives me time to plan out my day, because most of my important and best thinking is done in the shower, of course.

Also, I think this gives my body time to wake up.  Normally, the first thing I do when I open my eyes is think "What is there to eat in this God forsaken house?"  Yeah, no.  This is not good, because this leads to diving into a bag of potato chips before my stomach even knows it's awake.  And I feel like shit all day when I start with craptacular food, so I'm thinking this whole shower thing will give my stomach time to realize that it's not really that damn hungry and wouldn't that yogurt really be better than the greasy potato chips that will leave it quite nauseous?  Probably.

So, that brings us to first meal of the day, and I use that term loosely.

•  Replace my starting beverage of Nectar of the Gods Diet Cherry Pepsi with water.

I know, I know.  I'm saying it to myself: "What bitch?  No caffeine in the morning?  You be trippin'!"  Now, stay with me, I use the term "water" very loosely.  In that, what I mean, is crystal lite, because plain water tastes like spit to me, and I can't do it.  I abhor it.  But Crystal Lite makes a wonderful caffeine infused flavor powder so I can still get my caffeine, increase my water intake, and make my pill taking easier.  Because, yay for me, I do take a multi-vitamin horse pill every morning, though I'm pretty sure it has a placebo effect on me.  I don't know how much good it actually does, but I notice when I don't take it.  What I also notice, and this is not just a placebo effect, is when I don't take my Prilosec (what up, P?) every morning, because I have stomach issues (more on that later, possibly) so I always take two pills in the morning.  Two pills that are hard to gag down (that's what she...) with DCP, and water makes the medicine go down much more effortlessly, so, again, win.

For tomorrow: Lunchtime and Beyond.  Maybe.  So far, this plan is currently under construction, so in keeping with my lazy nature, I'm going to continue this at a later date.  But I wanted to at least get this down "in print" so to speak, and release it to the universe in the hopes that I'll actually put this plan into action tomorrow morning. 

Baby steps, people.

How I'm Feeling Right Now:

The Smashing of the Pumpkins

How I'm feeling today...

Yes, Kathleen, They Do Exist

I first read about these five years ago.  I can't remember exactly when or where this took place, but it was a discovery that changed me forever.  I knew that it would become my life's mission to have, to taste, to possess, one of my own.

It was not until last night that I was able to cross this off of my bucketlist.  And of all places, this was achieved at my neighborhood Kroger (what up Kroger! Didn't I tell you it was fucking awesome?!?)

Small confession: I can be a tad bit obsessive about things (What? You? No! GTFO! Never!).  It's true.  You can ask my family and friends. I can get a little focused.

Thus it was with the Grapple.  And the most infuriating thing was that despite its promises on the website that they were available at a store near me, they never were.  Now, the smaller cities I've lived in in SC, okay, that I can understand, but I started looking for these damn things when I was in Atlanta.  Atlanta, SON!  And still nothing.

You can ask the Rottenator.  He was really fucking tired of searching down every store in our 15 mile radius looking for a damn fruit that he was convinced I'd imagined.  Yeah, he told me numerous times that I'd made the whole thing up just to annoy him.  And just because I read about a food in a Harry Potter book didn't mean it actually existed.

Grapples were a real damn thing (incidentally, so is butterbeer so he can bite me), and I hadn't read about them in Harry Potter, but somewhere else...which I couldn't remember...but hey, they had a website so of course they existed! Because there are no lies on the internet, everyone knows that.  Ahem.

Bottom line: last night I proved him wrong, didn't I?!?!  Does it matter that they tasted like a regular ol' apple with a barely noticeable hint of grape so subtle it could easily be missed? No.  Did it matter that I'm not even really an apple fan?  Absolutely not.  The monkey on the packaging?  Whatever!  It was obviously an homage to Grape Ape without the licensing permission, so I could deal.  How about the fact that they cost $6.50 for a four pack?  Hell NO!  Well, actually, yes, that was a bit harder to swallow, but still!!!

I WAS RIGHT.  And I accomplished another, albeit seemingly insignificant to some, goal in my life.

How I'm feeling today:

Sealed With a K.I.S.S.

So...more about my life with a 10 year old's tastebuds.

God knows I love the Rottenator. But God also knows that I love cooking.  Hence the dilemma.

I adore cooking.  I spend hours planning meals, grocery lists, scouring the internet and Pinterest for the best recipes that I lovingly prepare with my own little hands in Bella Cucina for our little family of two (soon to be three, but more on that later).

So imagine my dismay when I proudly present my latest masterpiece and it is met with a tepid response.  Or, even worse, a visible shudder.

My delicate little heart is broken.  Especially because the meals I research are not for me, oh, no, they are intended to delight a certain individual who, despite outward appearances, is a picky eater.

Oh, yes. The Rottenator does not have what I would call a refined palate, but he has a definite list of likes and dislikes.

Likes: chicken, cheese, bbq sauce, bread, with an occasional ground beef or pork chop thrown into the mix, and all-you-can-eat generic buffets.
Dislikes: everything that makes life worth living sour cream, cream cheese, Ranch dressing, mayo, soy sauce, anything healthy.

Therefore, my options are limited, and my creativity is stifled.  And I feel frustrated and stabby instead of appreciated and cherished.

Fine.  I'm making a decision and taking a stand.  If I do continue to feel like cooking after my full-time employment begins, I will implement the following plan: K.I.S.S.  Keep It Simple (for) Stupid.

Yes, I am a little bitter.  That tends to happen when you steal someone's joy.

How I'm feeling today (yes, three videos, one for every letter in PMS):

At Last My Job Has Come Along

As the time grows nearer for me to once again become a gainfully employed individual (a fully functioning and productive member of society one might say), I find myself thrilled.

It's amazing what the prospect of being useful and gaining some sense of normalcy will do for one's self esteem.  And I'm not going to lie, the extra income is going to be fucking awesome.

In the words of the immortal Cyndi Lauper:

But I'm pretty sure in this case, it's a good thing (what up, Martha!)

How I'm feeling today:

Rammer Jammer, WTF Alabammer?

Down here in the South, we love us some college football.  More specifically SEC college football.  Most specifically, Alabama Crimson Tide football...in this house at least.

A little background:  yes, I am a tried and true Southern girl, born and bred in the South.  However, up until the point that the Rottenator entered my life, I had never experienced the true obsession passion and undying love that Southerners have for this particular sport.  Football was never a priority in my house growing up.  Yes, I come from a family of college going individuals.  My father and maternal grandfather went to Clemson, my aunt worked for Vince Dooley when he was the athletic director at UGA, I myself attended that fine university, and my sister is a graduate of South Carolina.  So I am familiar with the concept of college football fans.

Yet I always managed to avoid it and them.  In fact, during my tenure at UGA, I actively disdained the sport.  I was what one might define as a goth chick for lack of a better word.  I was into the wearing of the all black, the listening to the britpop and the Smiths and the Cure; the Siouxie and the Banshees and whatnot.  I was alternative and cool.  I was from the original generation of over privileged, pampered, STFU we-know-a-pain-like-you-will-never-understand self righteous generation that did it first and did it better so take that, EMO kids. 

As I was saying, football was not a priority.  I refused to participate in the "Gooooo DAWGS! Sic 'em, WOOF WOOF WOOF!" chant at my orientation.  For those of you not familiar with this particular ritual, here is an example:

OMG, how my heart bled for those sycophantic uneducated sheep.  That was then, 20 years ago.

Now, I get honest to God shivers down my spine at the mere thought of either one of these two sounds:

(Sidebar: my sister feels much the same way at this point of a USC game when this is played; I have to admit, this is a pretty cool intro, too.  I'm actually looking forward to attending my first Carolina game this year):

So, what this boils down to is that yes, thanks to the Rottenator, I am a convert, and I "get it" when it comes to passion and excitement for this all consuming lifestyle hobby.

What I do not get so much is the fans.  The out of control, fucking crazy ass fans.  And every team has them, but I have to say, as much as it may anger the Rottenator, the Alabama fans are extreme.  Now, he will stick up for them, and to his point, there are the crazies here and there, but to my knowledge, none of them have actually gone to the extreme of poisoning the trees  or tea-bagging their rivals.

Now, in defense, everyone hates LSU.  I mean, EVERY fan of EVERY team in the SEC fucking hates the crazy Cajuns.  But still...this crosses the line.

However, now it's debate time.  Because the victim in this video has decided that the humiliation he endured was too much to bear and is suing the tea-bagger for sexual battery, and is seeking damages for pain and suffering and lost tuition because he had to drop out of school from damage to reputation, embarrassment, blah blah blah. Now, don't get me wrong: I am not downplaying the incident, and I do think it was completely out of order and out of line.  BUT I do have some points to make regarding the issue.

1. You, sir, are a dumbass, for passing out drunk in a Krystal's full of Alabama fans on Bourbon St. after they kicked your ass in the BCS championship game, where emotions were already running high because that game was payback time for a loss earlier in the season.
2. LSU fan, where are your friends who left you drunk, passed out, alone, and vulnerable?
3. Why are you suing Krystal? Last time I checked, their only crime was to serve delicious addicting chili cheese pups and fries.
4. Why aren't you suing the chicks who had their tits all over you?

Bottom line: Football fans are fucking nuts.  Roll Tide.  And screw you LSU.

Intro-perspective

This post was originally going to be a lengthy discussion about how I think organized religion really is just a crock of shit.  About how those self-righteous old fogies and bitties sitting in the front pews telling you that you're going to hell for not accepting Jesus Christ as your lord and savior are actually the same ones cheating on their spouses, stealing money from the collection plate, gossiping about their neighbors, and passing judgement on the rest of the world.

But actually, one of the few things I have come to realize in my 40 years on this earth is that you never argue religion or politics with anyone.  Because all reason flies right out the window, and you just end up frustrated, full of rage, and stabby.

Which is ridiculous because it all boils down to one thing, and I think this scene from the immortal Saving Private Ryan sums it up perfectly:

How I feel today: see above.  Am I a good person?  I continuously ask myself this same question  and unfortunately, I still don't have a definitive answer.  But at least I do ask the question.

Thinterest Fail

Now, some are going to call me a hater for dissing all of these Pinners trying to be healthy, and I say to you...yes, that's exactly what I'm doing.

Yes, I understand the desire to be healthy and thin.  Hell, I'm always going on and on about how I want to do that myself.  And I'm going to, dammit.  I hear the Y calling my name as I type this.  First paycheck = Y membership.  I cannot WAIT.

Do not, however, mistake this as an opportunity for you to get it twisted.  Yes, I recognize that in order to get healthier and fitter, my eating habits will have to change.  I will probably employ in the near future some of the techniques and recipes that I am about to mock.

What I will NOT do is lie to you.  I will not claim that the following recipes are "just as good as" or "better than" the real thing.

Because let's face it people:  Pam cooking spray will never be butter.  Skim milk will never be cream.  Stevia will never be sugar.  Crystal Light Appletini Mocktail mix will never be vodka...though it may tempt you into becoming an alcoholic, I don't know, I'm not you.  That's between you and your God.

I have exposed some of these food fabrications in the past, compelling posts proclaiming that tofu is not meat,  much as cauliflower is not real steak.  You know what else cauliflower is not?

Mashed potatoes.  Hey, don't get me wrong, I like cauliflower, I will happily eat it steamed, or munch on it raw with some bad ass dip, but it is NOT the same as mashed potatoes.  Mashed potatoes, really good mashed potatoes, are like a religious experience.  So I'd appreciate it if you didn't desecrate my place of worship (aka my plate) with your false god.  I asked for Yukon gold, not a golden calf, thank you very much.

Hey, you know what else?  Zucchini can not, and will not EVER be pizza crust.  Um...it doesn't even RESEMBLE pizza crust, so what exactly are you trying accomplish here?

I would at least use squash if I were trying to pass this off.  At least squash is no stranger to being a wheat substitute.

That being said:  squash is not even in the same food group as god damn spaghetti!  It just looks like it and nothing, NOTHING you tell yourself is going to change that.  It's like eating a cupcake shaped meatloaf: in the end, it still tastes like meatloaf, and now you've traumatized an innocent 3 year old child.  Congratulations.

Hey guess what?  A box of cake mix, frozen berries and diet 7-up does NOT a cobbler make, despite what Weight Watchers and their Almighty Point System might tell you.

Also, this in no way resembles any fudge I've ever seen, so stop lying to the desperate sweet-toothers out there, American Diabetes Association, with your deceptive pin.

Last I heard, the very definition of the Spanish word "queso" was cheese, so WTF is Veggie Queso?

According to this Pinner, a sludge of white beans, cashews, yeast and coconut milk will deliver to you that same cheesy goodness and save you from the evil cows and their brew of poisonous dairy.

Speaking of insidious and evil vegetarians:

You can thank me now for your nightmares.  You're welcome.  Hey, at least I just showed you a picture of veggie man, at least you're not an 8 year old child and this was your birthday cake because your parents are stupid, self-righteous hipster vegetarians who think that the best gift they could give their future EMO child is the gift of knowledge and healthy eating instead of teaching them the evils of consumerism and corporations like Disney and Warner Brothers so no Ariel or Jasmine, or Harry Potter, or Batman birthday cake for you, son/daughter (we don't buy into gender specific stereotypes anyway)! 

Well, Crunchies, you certainly did teach your child one valuable lesson: the world may be full of its own horrors, but they will never compare to the horrors of middle school and high school.  Those years are difficult enough without you piling on your self righteous crap to ensure that your child will be an outsider, on the fringe, anti-social.  Sure, sometimes you get some really interesting cool kids; the ones of us that do survive being different often become quite successful members of society, and go on to write creative and entertaining blogs for all to read and enjoy.

But you're taking a chance.  Because you know what else may come from being a little "too" different?  You ever see Bowling for Columbine?  Just saying.  Also, you may want to go ahead and reserve your tickets for the sequel to Bully now because I'm pretty sure you just guaranteed your child a starring role.

That concludes today's edition of Pinterest Fails.  You're welcome.

How I'm feeling today:  she may be a diabetic heifer but she's right about one thing:

Ready for the Beach!

Ready for the Beach! by ainslee921 featuring summer bags

Forte Forte full length skirt
$334 - matchesfashion.com

Sport tankini swimwear
$29 - sportsauthority.com

Ralph Lauren Collection espadrille shoes
$295 - ralphlauren.com

Rachel Comey summer bag
$322 - gargyle.com

Mali Sabatasso 24 karat gold jewelry
$170 - maxandchloe.com

White winter hat
$14 - target.com

Monki retro shades
€10 - monki.com

Burts Bees lip treatment
£3.49 - debenhams.com

Quelle est cette chose appelée shopping?

So, yeah, I bought clothes yesterday!  Grown up professional clothes and shit.  Did I purchase any of the items above?  Of course not, don't be silly.  In fact, the lip purse itself was probably more than my entire allotted clothes buying budget.

 

Nevertheless, $75 later (including thrifted items from the Mother, Grandmother & the good folks at Goodwill with a side trip to Payless and the Wu-mart), check it, I have a brand new wardrobe that will last me at least two weeks of mixing and matching without too many repeats.

 

Do not mock the Goodwill, Payless, or the Wu-mart, thank you very much.  An extra bonus of being significantly smaller than I have been previously in life is that it opens up an WHOLE NEW WORLD (cue Ariel the Little Mermaid here) of clothing opportunities that I never previously knew existed.

 

I've always hated shopping...as one does when faced with the limited selection of muumuus and elastic waisted jorts that are available to encompass one's expanded girth. EXPENSIVE muumuus and jorts, I might add.  Talk about sticking it to the "healthy" girls: not only will we mock you by making impossibly hideous clothing that you will be forced to wear, we'll also make you pay out the ass for anything that doesn't make you look like Jabba.

However, being in the comfortable 12-16 size range, I can now find a pretty decent selection of slacks, skirts, and yes, even buttoned down shirts (gasp!) for cheap.  Cheap, cheap cheap, without looking it.

Example: I bought a pair of St. John gray dress slacks WITH the tag still on them for $1.75 at Goodwill.  Beat that, bitches.

They are currently between seasons at apparel stores, apparently (see what I did...nevermind), at least they are at Wal-mart, so a lot of their long sleeved but still lightweight shirts and sweaters are significantly reduced.  Seriously, 50-75% off.  I will be working in an air-conditioned environment, so needless to say, I benefited greatly from this; on average, my shirts cost between $5-$7 a piece.

This just made me realize that if Walmart was doing this then probably other stores, like Target or even (gasp!) Macy's or Nordstrom or Neiman-Marcus...dammit!  

Well, I'm not there financially (YET!) but that just gave me even MORE incentive to keep working on this body thing.  Because one day, oh, yes, I will have the $ to shop at high-end department stores.  And I will want to have the figure to continue to enjoy the wide selection of choices that will be available to me.

And I will still shop between seasons, because nothing excites me more than a bargain.  Only now, instead of putting my financial abilities to work at the grocery store...I shall apply them to refilling my wardrobe.

I'm already excited about shopping for upcoming birthdays and holidays.  I need to let my sister know to get her lists in order...though I'm sure her chirren already have gifts in mind.

 

How I'm feeling today:

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

However, I've never been good at that: waiting, that is.  I'm more of an immediate gratification type of gal.

Which has cost me endless hours, months, and quite possibly years of stress, anxiety, and heart ache.

But there are times like this when, although I wouldn't say the prolonged waiting period wasn't torturous, the ensuing payoff is quite wonderful.

This is one of those times.  After two months (the Rottenator will tell you it felt like longer than that), I will once again join the ranks of the huddled, teeming, and in this case, washed, masses of the regularly employed.

And for that I am grateful, and relieved, and quite frankly, I feel quite blessed.  Blessed to the point where I feel I need to make an Oscar speech:

"I'd like to thank the endless support of my loving family who have supported me throughout this and are here with me today to cheer my awesomeness and to join me in saying, 'God damn right, you GO, girl, you earned this mother fucker!'"

Because, yes, I have been blessed.  And yes, my past struggles are of my own doing, but I did earn this.  I worked at it, and here it is:  a fresh start at the age of 40.  That's fine with me.  I'll take it.  More than that, I will be thrilled, and grateful, and make the most of it.

The more you grow...

In the words of the immortal George Michael and Axel Rose, the two most important things you need in life are this:

and this:

Jesus, my posts lately are definitely showing my age, and my seemingly horrible taste in music.  Let me assure you:  I have impeccable taste in everything.

Testify!

This Body Knows the Trouble I've Seen

I've been overweight all of my life.  That may be an understatement, because truth be known, I've been fat all of my life.

I started life as a chubby baby and reached an all-time high of 280 lbs; this is me at my sister's wedding June 2000:

(Note: I am not the one in the wedding dress, the tux, or the gray haired lady on the left)

This is me about a year ago, at my current-ish weight of @ 160 lbs:

Despite that fact that my face is considerably older and more wrinkled, I am much happier with photo # 2, natch.

In Sep 2001, I had gastric bypass surgery.  Yes, while the world was watching the horrific events of Sep 11, I was doped up on Lortab on my couch getting pissed that the Food Network was off the air.  

Side note: I'm kinda happy I experienced all of that in a drug-induced daze the first time around, or I don't think I would have been able to process that emotion.  I still have a difficult time with it.

This is not to say that the gastric bypass was a phenomenal success, but that was of my own doing, or "not" doing as was the case.  See, my body has a miraculous ability to heal very quickly from any perceived trauma, which this surgery definitely was.  However, in this case, that ability worked against me in that I didn't experience a lot of the side effects of the surgery that would have been conducive to losing weight.  Which totally sucked at the time.

So, I gained all of the weight back through improper eating habits, and increased drinking habits.  This sucked.

In Jan 2010, I became deathly ill.  And when I say deathly, I mean, literally.  I had a bleeding ulcer that went unnoticed and untreated by me, and it landed me in the ICU for about two weeks.

This sucked as well.  However, it was at this point that my body and its miraculous healing abilities was appreciated by me, whereas before, it had not been.  My body not only saw me through that recovery, it actually made me healthier than I've ever been before.  And for that, I am grateful.

I lost the weight again, and am at a point now, where my weight is stabilized at @ 160, which may sound horrible to some of you but for a former fattie, it's incredible.  Especially being that I can wear "normal" sized clothes instead of shopping at specialty stores, and I can eat whatever I want.  You see, the original surgery I had almost 12 years ago did leave me with a permanently smaller stomach, and even though I managed to stretch it out over the ensuing years, ever since my illness, it has shrunken again, and now I can't physically eat as much as I used to, even though I try.  Oh yes, I fight it, and I do try.  Unfortunately.

This time around, at the age of 40, losing weight by any means is not my top priority any more.  Another thing that my illness has done for me is made me appreciate how much better it is to FEEL good as opposed to LOOK good.  I want to be healthy.  I want to wake up in the morning, not feeling sluggish and exhausted and hung over and dehydrated, but I want to feel a strength and a grace in my body that only comes with good nutrition and exercise.

So, here I am.  The good thing about doing this at 40 is that I have lost some of that narcissistic perfection that girls look for in their 20s.  My body will never be perfect. I will always have sagging skin, stretch marks, wrinkles, scars, gray hair, and a paunch.

But that doesn't mean that I can't be healthy, and that doesn't mean that I can't strive to look the best I can, and decrease these perceived imperfections as much as I can.  I can color my hair, and I can tone my body, and even lose some of this paunch.  Which is what my main focus is going to be.

As I written before, my life is in a holding pattern at the moment.  I am waiting to hear if I have a new job.  This has been an ongoing, stressful, frustrating, two month period of my life where I have eaten and smoked myself into oblivion.  Any day now, I am waiting for this to change.  I'm in the final stretch, and this is the most difficult part.

The reason I mention this is because with this new job comes new fundage, which, if put to the proper use, will change my life dramatically for the better.  Right now, I'm not in a financial position to eat the healthiest foods, or work out at the gym, or go to the doctor to get a physical, or spend one extra cent on anything that is not an immediate necessity, you know, like electricity, water, gas, internet (god damn right I said it: internet!)

The positive aspect of this is that unlike before, where the prospect of more $ meant "who hoo, let's go out and tie one on, celebrate, homie!", it now means "OMG, I can buy organic, whole grain, free range shit and join the Y!"

That part of getting old I don't mind.

For some reason, I keep trying to find a focus, a certain point of my blog, to tie it up into one neat, easily classified category.  Will it be a foodie blog, a lifestyle blog, a recovery blog, a humor blog?  

I guess in the end, it will be about all of those things, because basically, it is my online, public diary.  And I even titled the damn thing "All About Me" so fuck it, that's what it's going to be.