My fellow bloggers have been busy as little bees I see! There will be a couple of late nights trying to catch up with all of the reading I have to do to see what you all have been up to in the past few days. I'm looking forward to it!
Okay. I'm having difficulty getting back into the groove. My focus is shot. I think instead of trying to expound on one subject right now, I'll just try to de-clutter my brain a bit.
*First things first. I have now been confined in enclosed spaces with Mr. Right and The Offspring for nine days straight. Please send help. Seriously. My vodka supply is dangerously low.
See the boat through the fog? The Duchess had blue lips and the shivers after five minutes.
*Alright. I'll choke down my humiliation for long enough to tell you about The Swimsuit Incident. The last time I wore my teeny weeny hot pink and white polka dot bikini, I was deeply tanned and a few pounds thinner. Smokin'. Fade to this week, standing in a hotel room in California. Um...not so hot. I haven't been able to tan because of my surgical scars and therefore, have turned a pasty shade of white. I've also put on a couple...er...a few pounds. As I stood in front of the mirror in the hotel room, I realized that my bikini bottoms were almost the same shade of white as my ass. I also could not get my boobs to stay contained in my top. Every time I moved, a boob fell out. I was disgusted. I was mad. I stood there with tears in my eyes, angry at myself. A vow was made right then and there to do something about it. So far, so good. We've been home for two days and my willpower is still strong. I'm just saying "NO DAMMIT!" to all of the evil foods calling my name. I WILL see my hip bones again. Yes, I will!!
*I forgot my makeup bag. I walked out of the house, got in the car and drove to another state without a lick of makeup. Someday, twenty years from now, The Offspring will be looking through the picture album from the trip and ask, "Why didn't Mom go with us to San Diego?!" That's right. There are no pictures of Mommy.
But Mommy's feet were cute!
Sidenote: I'm on a quest to find the people who take the pictures of hotel rooms for travel websites. When I find them, I'm going to show them a picture of a nice large luxurious hotel room and tell them that this is where I'm taking them for a week. Then I'm going to take them to an old teeny tiny hotel room and stuff them all in it, kicking them each really hard before I slam the door and throw away the key card. Oh. And they will have NO access to a Diet Dr. Pepper...anywhere...and their "heated" pool will be ice cold. (How do they sleep at night?! Probably much better than I did....)
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
*I woke up for the final time Thursday morning, really mad. I'd been awake at several different points during the night because Mr. Right was snoring. There's nothing quite like being wedged into a queen size bed with a squirmy four-year old and the equivalent of a small grizzly bear. Good times. About 2:00 a.m. I'd been awakened for maybe the twelfth time and couldn't get back to sleep. So, I did what any psychotic insomniac would do. I laid in bed, half awake, plotting Mr. Right's death. I just kept thinking about how many times I've had the discussion with him about his snoring and how he's never done anything about it. In my woozy state, I thought, "How can he profess to love me?! He can't possibly snore like this, keeping me awake and wrecking my sanity and really love me!" Had it not been 2:00 a.m. I would have called my sister in Oklahoma and cried on her shoulder for an hour. Or, at least until I fell asleep.
*Have you read the article about sleep and its affect on weight loss? It's amazing. In a test study group of ten women who were having extreme difficulty losing weight, doctors took all ten and asked them all to agree to abiding by a few simple "sleep" rules. The rules included things like going to bed within ten minutes of the same time every night, getting at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep every night, etc. After one month of following the sleep rules , all ten women lost weight. Their weight loss ranged from 5 to 12 pounds! I have ten ugly pounds to lose and haven't been able to do it. I don't sleep at night because my husband snores. Moral of the story: My husband is making me fat.
*We've lived in our new house for eight months and have been hoping, hoping, hoping that the house next to us that has been sitting empty since we've moved in would eventually house super cool neighbors. Maybe a lovely gay or lesbian couple with whom we could drink pomegranate martinis and laugh together at our collective wittiness, or maybe a hip couple our age with no babies to impede them coming to our parties and who swear a lot and worship the Stella bottle the way I do. Alas, 'tis not so. We met our new neighbors last week. I don't know who is who and what is what over there. The main guy is a tall fellow with spikey hair who wears a gold chain and drives a massive pick-up truck. The first time I met him, he engaged in conversation that included making money from at-home web porn and comments about our country no longer being free or a democracy. Dude. Your laundry is hanging out for everyone to see, and it's icky. His "wife", Marty, looks as though she expects you to elbow her in the face at any second. I don't think she said a word when Mr. Gold Chain introduced her to me. Apparently, another fellow lives there who Mr. Gold Chain refers to as his "partner." Business partner? On the Down Low partner? Partner in crime? I don't know, but Partner also drives a gigantic redneck pick-up truck. Damn. Damn!
Show Your Boobs if You Think We're in a Recession!
*Today I opened up MSN and one of the headlines read, "More women strip and make porn as economy tanks." Okay. My question is, who in the hell are these women?! Unless there are clubs that actually have Stretch Mark and Cellulite Night, I'm not getting hired on anytime soon. They must be referring to the unemployed, non-children having, tight bodied, shame-free, willing to show your tits for dollars segment of the population. Hey, I'm not knocking it. I'm just pissed they turned down my application.