Monday, November 30, 2009
1. work out five times in seven days
2. no eating after supper
3. no booze
How did I do? Well, good and bad.
I did manage to make it to the gym for the first time in months, so that’s good. However I only made it there once when I promised myself I’d go five times, so that’s bad.
I managed to eat properly and lay off the snackage and beer, so that’s good. But I cheated three out of those seven days, so that's bad. But, in fairness to me I only drank beer one day out of seven.
I might have to stop here and preface this with the pronouncement that I am not a raging alcoholic, and knocking it off with the booze isn’t really that hard for me, provided there is no occasion closely associated with booze to contend with. The Grey Cup, for example. My team was in the championship game this weekend, so I was practically mandated by my province to drink beer.
Just as an aside, we lost in the worst possible way I’ve ever experienced in my whole football watching life. It was horrifying.
Let’s focus on some positives –
All of the occasions that I was eating like shit, I felt really guilty about it. I wasn’t rationalizing my indulgences like I have been known to in the past, telling myself a ‘deserve’ a treat because of stress, work, kids, etc. The whole time I was eating those chips I felt like a total failure, so that’s good right?
My guilt is in fact so pronounced that it has morphed into the most annoying bitch ever. She has taken up residence in my head and makes me feel like an asshole for not working out and eating garbage. I call her Pageant Mom because she is extremely judgmental, and is all, “Does your ass really need another one of THOSE?” when I’m eating something crappy. I hate her. She’s blonde with fake tits and for some reason has an American accent – one of those Texas/Georgia/Louisiana type accents. She wears a lot of glittery shirts and way too much blush.
Let me apologize right now to all of you Americans who are completely insulted by me stereotyping my split personality (I can’t help it – she just appeared that way), as well as the lumping together of probably three totally different accents. I’d love for you to hear her voice so you could identify what specific region she belongs to for me, but that would be difficult since she is, you know…imaginary.
I think this post has come off the rails a bit.
A new week is upon me, and I am going to do my best to get Pageant Mom to shut the fuck up. My beloved boot camp class starts up again tomorrow, and this time there is a competition, a la the Biggest Loser – whoever loses the most percentage of weight wins SIX free sessions with Trainer Lady! She don’t come cheap, so I am totally in it to win it.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
However, we found a pretty good deal on accommodations at a little condo/resort type place about 5 miles from town and last week we confirmed our reservation. We’ll also be able to drive there from here, so all and all it shouldn't be too bad on the ol’ pocket book.
We are going to go skiing.
Me and skiing have somewhat of a sorted past. Unlike many of my friends who grew up in this country, my parents never took me anywhere so I never learned how to ski. I’m also not exactly the most naturally athletic or graceful person you’ve ever met, so at first glance skiing shouldn’t really be my thing. But, much like interior decorating and penning the next literary masterpiece, I have the desire to be good at it, but I’m not really.
I have baby pink plastic venetians hanging in my living room. And, you have clearly all read this blog.
Just call me Solieri. No, I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Solieri was good just not great. Call me Solieri’s nerdy little cousin who sucks at stuff.
The last time I went skiing in Banff was when I was sent there for a work conference about two years ago. When the conference was over, Politika flew in from Vancouver and joined me in Banff for a weekend getaway that did not include any husbands or children. Not knowing what do to with ourselves under such circumstances, we considered trying to get some of our Banff-jacked money back by hitting the bar to get hammered and dance topless for rich Japanese business men. But, good judgment and a fear of leaked facebook pictures managed to prevail and we decided to go skiing instead.
Politika can ski quite well (of course she can), and I…..I had a new jacket. So, after a lovely breakfast buffet at the hotel we loaded our stuff onto the bus and headed out to the gigantic mountain prepared and contented to strap skinny boards to our feet and hurl ourselves down the slopes at lightening speeds with little precision.
I like to take a ‘ski a little’ ‘drink a little’ approach to skiing. Since I’m not that great at it, the entire time I am on the mountain every muscle in my body is so rigid I’m bordering on rigamortis.
And don’t try talking to me because my mind is singular in its focus and determination to stay alive.
As you can appreciate that gets a little tiring, so after a few runs I like to have a beer or two. And no, it doesn’t matter if it’s only 10 am.
Politika is very nice and humoured me by slumming it at the green runs now and again, but mostly she was swooshing down the quadruple black double mogul plummet-to-your-death-at-any-moment runs. Of course she was.
All in all it was a lovely day and I only had one near death experience, but I was saved by a charming and handsome Aussie who rescued me from the clutches of my extremely uncooperative ski bindings and helped me limp by tired ass down the mountain. I was seriously considering resurrecting the dancing topless plan to express my gratitude, but alas, he just wanted to continue skiing. It was a little cold out for that kind of thing anyway.
We made it back to the room alive and I think we even ventured out that night for a bite to eat. Everything was just fine until the next morning.
OH MY GOD. My legs have never, ever, ever hurt that much in my whole life. I felt like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ lady. I was pretty sure that while I was sleeping someone had drugged me, split my legs open and practiced tying intricate boy scout knots with my leg muscles.
For the next solid week, whenever I was confronted with a flight of stairs I would retreat and decide that wherever I was originally intending to go could live without me. My two kids who have bedrooms in the basement? They could have been hosting raves and Texas hold ‘em tournaments down there and there was nothing I could have done about it.
It was way bad.
So! Skiing again for me in February!
I’m bringing some morphine and a flask of weed-laced moonshine this time.
Monday, November 23, 2009
It was pointed out to me a few weeks ago that I was far more successful at dropping the pounds when I was blogging about the whole being fat thing on a regular basis. That is true, but it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing. I stopped blogging about it regularly because I wasn’t really doing anything positive in that area, and reporting that I just plain ol’ sucked AGAIN each week makes for some tedious reading. That, and well…I’m not super proud of the fact that I fell off the diet wagon. Again. For about the 459th consecutive time.
So, good or bad I’m going to start blogging about my big fat ass again each week. I swear I mean it this time. I pinky swear. I even best-friends-forever swear. I just spit on my palm and wiped it on my monitor and everything.
I’m starting with a new sense of resolve today after having a horribly indulgent weekend covered in football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer. Our team won, by the way, so I now have next weekend to contend with too, as our beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders are going to the Grey Cup on Sunday (for all you Americans, the Grey Cup is Canada’s answer to the super bowl). I really hope those fuckers win, otherwise my football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer weekend will have all been for not.
There is an upside - the whole city is freaking right out about our football team and therefore huge jerseys are practically a mandated uniform right now. That is a great deal for us fat people.
So! Instead of announcing my poundage lost like I did the last Fat Chick reporting cycle, I’m going to adopt weekly goals/challenges for myself and report back at the end of the week on my progress. Trainer Lady (she has a website now – go check her out!) is on vacation this week so I set the following goals knowing I will have to live without her -
1. Work out five times in seven days
2. No eating after super
3. No booze
Just those three goals. Short…..sweet…..simple. I can do it.
Does a milkshake count as ‘eating’ after supper?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Social networking brings a whole new layer of bullshit to a relationship. To that end, I am posting a video that is nothing short of genius. This gets a straight up LMAO yo.
To all the lovers out there.........
Monday, November 9, 2009
The traditional cast of characters at a wedding doesn’t really change no matter who is getting married. You have the relative that drinks way too much and either dances like a total asshole or starts a fight with someone – he’s usually worth the price of admission right there. Then of course there is the older woman who you can tell probably used to be attractive, but now is sporting a terribly unfortunate outfit and is still under the impression she is very hot in that short, low cut, strapless ensemble that is embarrassing the SHIT out of her teenage son.
The bridesmaids are always fun to watch – half of them are all about fixing the bride’s dress when it bunches, making sure the photographer is adequately documenting the day, etc. The other half are getting shit faced and trying to decide which groomsmen they are going to let feel them up in the coatroom.
I for one always beeline to the first gay guy I see and immediately make him my friend. Gay dudes are hands down the best wedding companions. They like to check out the outfits and hot guys just like a girlfriend does, but they bring the added bonus of being able to do a little bathroom re-con and report back on who’s packin’.
Oh shut up - like you never use your gay friends for evil.
Sadly, nary a queer was in sight this weekend and I was flying solo. I ditched the assigned seating chart about five minutes after the ceremony was over when I quickly realized that Cutie Pie was flying solo too and then spent the evening as his pseudo date. I really miss that guy. Aside from the fact that it’s hard to look at him without wanting to lick his face off, he’s just an all around cool guy. He’s kind of quiet and seems perfectly content to deal with my incessant drunken chatter which makes him the perfect date, really. You know, if neither of us were married and in love with other people* (and I was ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter)……..let’s just say I wouldn’t need my gay friends to follow him into the bathroom. Anyway….where was I? Oh yeah…weddings.
I have two close friends (*cough* KEELY and CARRIE) who should be planning their weddings as we speak but seem content to go against everything that is holy and just live in sin. Clearly they are not thinking of baby Jesus. Or even more importantly, ME. They know how much I love weddings! Why can't they simply acquiesce to my wishes and just get married already? Don’t they realize how much I would add to their wedding? I am the perfect candidate for acting the cool aunt and getting the 13 year-old cousins drunk. And who would be better at leading the drunken loco-motion around the room? I’m even up for hauling all that leftover pizza from the midnight buffet to the gift opening the following morning to the delight of all the hangovers.
I'm even willing to be dressed in a hideous pea-green monstrosity covered in lace with a huge satin bow on my ass. Provided it allows proper access for coatroom groping, of course.
*cute ex-coworkers aside, I love the hubby more. And he's AWESOME at making out in coatrooms. The Hubby, not Cutie Pie. I mean, I'm sure CP would be good at making out in coatrooms too, but you'd have to ask his wife about that.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I wanted to write something tonight, but I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted/needed to say. In my haze of frenzied googling I stumbled accross something someone else wrote that sums up perfectly how I feel. I have no idea who she is, but I'm going to turn it over to her anyway.
So....take it away Emily Perl Kingsley -
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
There has been quite the lively debate on this continent lately about the H1N1 virus, specifically regarding the ol’ chestnut of whether or not to vaccinate. I am a largely suspicious person. I don’t just blindly take at face value what the medical community tells me. I learned that lesson when I helped my father die of cancer three years ago. If I didn’t ask the right questions or push for a real answer or make them show me the fucking DATA, they were perfectly happy to just let him croak because they needed the bed for the next poor sop they were keen to ignore. It’s not like I THINK they are out to get me, I KNOW they are out to get me.
Luckily for me, I have Politika. She is a masters degree educated research epidemiologist (gnarly contagious disease enthusiast) who has spent the last 10 years researching infectious disease, specifically influenza. Besides the impressive credentials, I have known Politika for 20 years, and she is nothing if not a critical thinker. Putting the science stuff away for a second, she is also a tree-huggin’ organic food eating vegetarian who doesn’t let her kids watch violent cartoons (raising a kid without hotdogs or batman seems just plain wrong to me, but whateva). Let me put it this way – when I was pregnant the second I went into labour I drove immediately to the hospital and ordered a double epidural on the rocks with a twist of morphine. Politika delivered her babies in her living room with a midwife. Then they all ate a tofu salad and started folding cloth diapers made out of hemp. She is far from a ‘western medicine’ flag waver.
Politika strongly believes I should get my whole family vaccinated.
We all have been bombarded with information, some true and some not on this issue. We’ve all heard the stories or watched a you tube video about people having bad reactions to vaccines or getting really sick from them or even dying. Has that happened? Probably. But I look at it this way – not getting immunized is like refusing to wear a seatbelt because you once heard a story about a car wreck where someone died because they were trapped by a seatbelt that wouldn’t release. Has that happened too? Probably. But I think we can all agree that the risk of dying because you’re NOT wearing a seatbelt is WAY higher than the risk of dying because you ARE wearing a seatbelt if you happen to crash. There is a chance that you could go your whole life without ever having a car accident. You might get into a few fender benders and live to tell the tale about how you don’t wear a seatbelt and still just walked away when some asshole rear-ended you. Or, you could roll your car when it was raining one night and die because you went flying through the windshield. Smell what I’m steppin’ in?
Therefore – I urge you to read the below. Politika has written this. This is factual information from a trustworthy source. This source is not trying make money, or pass a health care bill or kill your grandma. It’s long and sciencey, but this disease could kill you and your children, so it’s important you have the correct facts when making a decision.
Dem da facts, Jack.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The last few years we have spent this holiday traveling to Winnipeg to see my mother. Winnipeg is about a six hour drive from where I live, but I have three kids and to do that drive anymore than once a year would be downright masochistic. There is literary NOTHING to do or even look at. It is six solid hours of bald-ass prairie. But, being the dutiful daughter than I am, I feel it necessary to make an appearance in Winnipeg at least once a year and I usually choose thanksgiving.
I was born in Winnipeg and lived there until I was fourteen and my father got transferred to Vancouver. We were only in Vancouver for about six months when he was transferred again to Saskatchewan where I have lived ever since. Since I was still quite young when I settled in Saskatchewan, I consider it home more so than Winnipeg. So whenever I return to Winnipeg I always feel this mixture of nostalgia and disgust. I fucking hate Winnipeg.
I was a nerdy kid who was socially awkward and desperately wanted to have friends and be cool and be good at stuff. I wasn’t athletic, my grades were mediocre, I tried to be good at music but really wasn’t and I had no real hobbies or interests that I could attach myself to. I had two friends in elementary school and the rest of the time I had to duck and weave the verbal and physical attacks hurled at me on a daily basis (I'm talking to YOU, Rob Morese). My cousins were older and cool and had no interest whatsoever in dealing with me. I have one brother but he is almost six years younger than me so he didn’t really factor in to my life that much. My parents traveled a lot and when they were home they couldn’t wait for me to be ‘filed’ each night (that’s the word they used when it was time to put me to bed). They practically high-fived each other every night when I was finally out of their hair. I always wondered what the hell they did each night that they couldn’t do while I was around. Closet drug addicts? Sex fiends? Satan worshipers? Was Jacee Dugard chained up in our backyard? Who the fuck knows what they did each night, but it had to be something because they spent a lot of time figuring out how to get out of dealing with me.
Anyhoo, this really isn’t a ‘poor me’ post; I know everyone has their stories of bullshit they’ve had to deal with and many are far worse than mine. I just had to give you a little background on why I hate going to Winnipeg. It drags all that shit up for me and I prefer to leave it buried nicely under a giant piece of chocolate cake where it belongs.
While I was in Winnipeg this weekend I did have a chance to see a friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Our parents were friends so we sort of grew up together. Now she was cool. She was very smart and got great grades and was even in French emersion so she could speak A WHOLE OTHER LANGUAGE. She had beautiful long blonde hair and could swim forever and could ride a bike super fast. She was good at everything. She was very popular and everyone loved her and she even had three sisters which I badly envied. For some bizarre reason she liked me and was willing to be my friend. As kids we saw each other periodically throughout the school year, but we didn’t attend the same school and since she was so wildly popular and fucking good at everything she rarely had anytime to just hangout. But our parents would vacation together every year so each summer she was mine for two whole weeks!
We kept in contact into our early twenties, but work and life took over us both and we fell out of touch. She of course went off to dazzle everyone with her fabulousness (as a physiotherapist living in Minneapolis treating the Twins baseball team), and I took a job pushing paper, bought a house four blocks from where I grew up, married my high school sweetheart and had a bunch of kids. Natch.
Thanks to the invention of social networking, we have been chatting via facebook and made a plan to get together while I was in town for the annual pilgrimage. For various reasons she has recently moved back to Winnipeg and came over for some drinks with her new beau Saturday night. He’s cute, and very well behaved. He must really love her because he sat back and calmly watched us get completely shit faced on red wine and didn’t bat an eyelash.
It was really good to see her. I still have very few positive things to say about Winnipeg, but least now I have someone to share some good memories with (read: get drunk and giggle) when I’m there.
And yes, she is still fabulous. And still wants to be my friend. Cool, huh? I wonder if she could get me some baseball tickets…..
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Speaking of Trainer Lady, she’s pretty fucking awesome. I don’t even have to suppress the urge to make fun of her, because while yes, she’s is iddy biddy and probably needs to wear weighted shoes when it’s windy outside, she somehow manages to never make me feel like a big fat person she feels sorry for. I like that about her. I’ve known other fitness crazed people in my life, and pretty much all of them were raging douche bags or mindless bimbos who would say the snottiest things ever and then try to wipe it all away with an extremely insincere, “Just kidding!”
The other amazing part about her is the never ending bag of crazy exercise tricks she’s got up her sleeve. Every time I see her she’s got some new horrible, yet beautifully effective (read: torturous) exercise for me to do. I’ve never been able to stump her, and it’s hysterical because she LOVES that shit. I have a theory that she really wanted to be a dominatrix but decided to go into kinesiology because she needed a profession she could tell her parents about.
So, I guess what I’m saying is that if you happen to be in the south Saskatchewan area, and you are fat or gimpy or both, get a hold or Trainer Lady. She’ll whip you good.
Probably not in *that* way though.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Today I finished up what was supposed to be a two day meeting a half a day early. Since I was sure the meeting would go most of the day, I had ordered lunch for everyone. Consequently, there was a lot of food leftover since most people jumped ship as soon as the meeting was done.
I thought it would be a nice gesture to take the leftover sandwiches and veggie tray to the mission. So I packaged up the food, jumped in my car and drove to the ‘hood to feed the poor. Aren’t I thoughtful?
I arrived at the doors and got out of my 2008 Nissan Pathfinder SUV wearing my business suit and heels. I opened the hatch and moved my golf clubs out of the way (they were still in there because I spent Monday afternoon golfing in a corporate golf tournament on a beautiful private course), and took the food into the building.
There were a couple of people sitting outside of the doors having a smoke and they smiled politely. I walked in and handed the food to the first staff person I saw, and they thanked me politely.
Then I got in my giant SUV and drove back to my office located on the top floor of my tall downtown office building.
I felt like a complete asshole.
The definition of obnoxious - dropping sandwiches off at the shelter in an SUV and having to move golf clubs out of the way to get the food out. While wearing heels and a suit.
How did I get here? When did I move from making fun of ‘those’ people to being one of ‘those’ people?
Seven years ago I was the one smiling politely to the business suit people when they decided to slum it for an hour and make their way to the ‘hood to drop something off they felt the poor and withering masses needed or wanted.
Now I am the one being smiled at.
The trade off, of course, is ease of life. I left working non-profit because in order to work for poor people, you have to chose to be poor. In 2008 I paid more in income tax than I earned while working community development in an entire year. It was too hard to be poor. I had the ability to get out..... so I did.
Most poor people can’t get out of poverty whenever they like. Most of them have to battle through addiction, mental health problems, abuse, racism, a long family history of poverty and a complete absence of education or opportunity. I didn’t have those barriers, so I was able to change my circumstances a lot faster than most people can.
So, I left them and moved on up to a de-luxe apartment in the sky. It’s much more comfortable up here. I really like having a car – grocery shopping without one when it’s 40 below really sucks. I love being able to buy new shoes when I want them. I like taking my family on vacation and feeding them whatever I feel like cooking that day. We even go out for dinner from time to time.
I’m grateful for all of this, but….. today just kind of sucked. I miss the poor people. I feel like I have abandoned them. I miss doing something that really matters with my days and I fucking HATE the fact that I’m one of *those* people now.
Yeah, I know I can volunteer, but it’s really not the same. Working on the ground and being a real member of that community is what I miss. I want to be sitting on that step smoking a cigarette and smiling politely to the suits as they show up to donate some random thing in order to balance their karma and get into heaven.
Sorry, this post was kind of a bummer. I’ll try to be more entertaining tomorrow.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
My fat lady boot camp class starts this week, and I’m pretty excited about it. Well, about as excited as I can get about something like that. I guess I’m looking forward to getting involved with something that might help me look less like Marlon Brando. That might be a more accurate statement.
There are a few things I have found along this little journey that I have found REALLY helpful. First of all, has anyone heard of this? http://www.sparkpeople.com/
It’s a really great FREE site that has the best nutrition counter I’ve ever seen. It also has menu suggestions, group chats and exercise suggestions. It’s really great, and it really is free. I have been a member for a while now and I haven’t even ever been spammed.
Also, tea really helps me with my munchie issue at night. There are a million kinds, but I think my favorite is bangle spice. A bit of skim milk and a sweetener and I almost feel like I’ve had dessert. Almost. And, it’s even decaf so I can have as many cups as I need to.
Oh! Did you guys know that the fudge bar at Dairy Queen is only 50 calories? It’s no blizzard, but it sure takes that sugar edge off. 50 calories for the whole bar!!
Now I need a good suggestion for a chip substitute. Anyone? Don’t say carrot sticks or I’ll make fun of you.
Wish me luck this week folks. I think I'm getting my mojo back.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Anyhoo, most of you who responded to my rant yesterday about the Obama school children speech were pretty much members of the invisible choir I was preaching to. However, G-Man’s Mama is a proud right-winger and decided to chirp up. Which, I really appreciate because my little world consists mostly of hippies and Canadians and I really did want that point of view. Her comment was as follows –
"At the risk of being stoned I will admit to being one of those "right-wing nutjobs" you all are cussing. Here is the problem. Obama is a way left democrat. I would not want my children exposed to his ideals without knowing what the speech for about before hand. If the speech or a transcript were released before hand I would have let my children participate. The problem was not the speech that was planned it was the assignment after by the white house that asked "How would you help President Obama?" Um...last I checked he was our president as in for the people (or those that voted for him anyway). If it was Sarah Palin addressing the children of this nation all of the democrats would be figuring out "how to band together, bring on the crazy and then spread the madness like wildfire." Just sayin'."
Thanks, G-Man's Mama. While I still don’t really understand that position, it was delivered articulately and at least flirted with logic. It was certainly a significantly better way of communicating a point of view than the crazy screaming people I’ve been watching on the news at those town hall meetings where somehow people have become convinced that Obama wants to kill them. Regardless of what side of the fence you sit on, politicians don’t ever take the position that they want to kill people. It’s really hard to get re-elected with that platform.
It’s also interesting the ‘right’ (sorry, G-Man’s Mama, since you are the only one who spoke up for that side you are representing them ALL now) see Obama as a ‘far left-wing’ democrat. I would consider myself a far left-wing democrat, and Obama seems pretty moderate to me. I think health care should be completely free to everyone and you can just go right ahead and raise my taxes to make that happen. Obama is proposing a shared-cost/income based approach to health care.
I think America should immediately pull every last troupe out of Iraq, throw themselves on the mercy of the UN and beg the industrialized world for help cleaning up that horrible mess that should have never begun in the first place. Obama is going with a more cautious approach and still has soldiers over there trying to….well, do something I guess.
If Sarah Palin was to give a speech to school children I would absolutely let my kids hear it. First of all, I think it’s good for kids to hear all sides of the issues since they are the ones who are ultimately going to lead the country one day and the sooner they can learn about issues/points of view (although Obama’s speech was just about the importance of education, not a point of view), the sooner they can start deciding for themselves what is good for the country and themselves and what isn’t. Second of all, it would give me, as their parent, a perfect opportunity to talk to them about what someone like Sarah Palin has to say and how they feel about it (and how I feel about it). And, I would of course need the chance to clear up the fact that Africa is indeed a continent (sorry, couldn’t resist).
And lastly….the ‘right’ starting flipping out IMMEDIATELY. They had no details, they asked no questions about what Obama was planning to say (although that information was available), gave no thought as to how it might open up communications and discussion with their children, and lept to all kinds of conclusions that because it's Obama it just simply MUST be evil and involve some kind of satan worship.
Just the fact that a democrat (horrors!) was going to talk to their children was enough to make them completely lose their shit.
THAT smacks of partisanship way more than your President speaking to kids about why staying is school is a good idea to me. No? And, while I have you, G-Man’s Mama, wasn’t the whole mantra of the ‘right’ for the last eight years of George W rule that unless every American blindly supports the President he/she is a trader? Why doesn’t that theory apply anymore? ESPECIALLY to one little speech that has nothing whatsoever to do with politics?
I like the lively, respectful debate. I’d love to hear from some more right-wingers. And, for the record, when I say, ‘right-wing bat-shit crazy nut-jobs’ I’m referring to the screaming town hall people whose heads are about to explode. Reasoned, respectful right-wingers are just fine.
Although horribly misguided.
Okay, I’ll stop now.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Your President, the guy you overwhelmingly elected to the top office of the country (I’ll just take a minute here to say, on behalf of the entire planet, THANK YOU), spoke directly to all the students in your country at the beginning of the school year. His speech to the youth included the following quotes –
"Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That's the opportunity an education can provide."
"You can't drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You’ve got to work for it and train for it and learn for it. This isn't just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country."
“What you're learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future."
“You'll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You'll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You'll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy. If you quit on school – you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country."
Before and after this speech, I have read much in the media about how parents were OUTRAGED that the President would have the nerve to speak to their children. One of my ‘facebook’ friends (I went to high school with her and have never seen her since. She moved to America ) had this her status,
“Who does he think he is? Would HE let anyone speak directly to his kids without knowing what they are going to SAY?”
Uhh…..alright. Who does he think he is? Seriously?? What was she worried he was going to do? Start telling the kids some new fart jokes?
And here are some reactions from the right -
“That's Obama-centric. It's not focused on education but on the worship of Barack Obama," Michael Leahy, spokesman for the conservative grassroots Nationwide Tea Party Coalition, told AFP. "This is indoctrination, pure and simple, into the cult of Barack Obama, and we are opposed to that," he said.
And this -
Jim Greer, chairman of the Republican Party of Florida, raged that "Pied Piper Obama" was going "into the American classroom" to spread socialist ideology.
First of all…. Nationwide TEA PARTY Coalition?? Whose running that group, five year-old girls dressed in fairy princess dresses? Lena Chairs a tea party in her room with Mr. Floppy and Yellow Turtle every night, and even she would have the good sense to realize boycotting children from hearing your PRESIDENT speak is really fucking stupid.
(for the record I know that name is probably a reference to the Boston Tea Party brouhaha of seventeen hundred and whatever. Still stupid though)
Not to mention the fact that nothing included in Obama's speech had anything remotely to do with socialism, cults or even politics.
Your democratically elected leader decided he would speak to your children about the importance of education, working for a future, the betterment of the country and being contributing members of a democratic society.
What a bastard.
Please, I’m begging you – can someone explain to me why some Americans think that the President speaking directly to school children about the importance of education and their role in the country makes him an evil, commie-loving narcissist who is just DYING to kill your grandma?
Anyone? Seriously - I'm all ears.
Monday, September 7, 2009
I met with Trainer Lady this week for an assessment. As part of the boot camp/getoffyourfatassalready classes she is hosting (starts next week) she has to assess everyone so we know where our starting place is. I have the unfortunate advantage of having a comparable; the assessment I had in January when I started my fitness plan and then the reassessment I had in March when I was kicking all kinds of ass.
I am now back up to only one pound shy of what I weighed in MARCH. Ugh. My fitness level is about the same or has even improved a little though, so that DID make me feel somewhat better about completly SUCKING this summer. I haven’t totally given up on the exercise. The problem is clearly the food. I like food. Food is good. Everything is always so much better when you get to have some bacon.
I haven’t been going to Trainer Lady much this summer, and after our meeting last week I think she gets that I need a kick in the ass. So she gave me homework. It was to figure out how many calories I will burn if I take the stairs at work instead of the elevator. That’s when I found this - http://www.caloriesperhour.com/index_burn.php
The most hysterical calorie counter EVER. It seriously has a function for every possible activity known to man. If I throw a hammer and then go polka dancing for twenty minutes, I will have burned 205 calories! If I fold me some laundry and then ride a unicycle for 15 minutes, I’m 149 calories down! It’s totally my new favorite website.
I’m going to really try and focus on the food part this week. That definitely seems to be my weakness. I have a ridiculously healthy eating boss, so maybe I’ll just follow her around at lunch and eat grass with her for a week. Sounds good, right?! The exclamation point says so!!
I just burned 43 calories writing this blog. Pass the bacon.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The four of us went to high school together and have remained pretty close for the last (mumble mumble) years. We’re pretty much the same age, with all of us having birthdays within about 13 months of each other. Valentina is the oldest with Keely bring up the rear 13 months later. This if course means Valentina was the first one to turn 30.
Feeling it necessary to celebrate in a big way we planned a surprise party that included bringing Politica in from BC. She jumped at the chance since it was April and a trip to Saskatchewan would give her the opportunity to turn her nose up at our lack of adequate foliage. Keely was traipsing around New Zealand somewhere at the time, but we weren’t going to let that stop Politica and I from partying with our newly minted cougar.
We shelved the husbands and kids and took off to our neighbouring city about 3 hours away for a weekend of shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, pillow fights in our underwear and tickle parties (that last bit was just for all you male readers). We had a great time and definitely ushered Valentina into her 30’s in style.
Then it was my turn. Again, the girls planned a SURPRISE! party. Now I figured they would do something, but I was actually surprised when Politica arrived since she had just been here 6 months earlier. Keely had finally brought her Ozzy lovin’ ass home and was able to join us for a weekend trip to the spa. Off the four of us went and again, and it was awesome. We ate, we drank, we marinated ourselves in giant dry-cleaning bags stuffed with in seaweed, swam in some salty water and they even treated me to my very first manicure. I’m pretty sure that was strategic ‘cause if anyone needs a manicure it’s me. I have a nervous energy cuticle biting problem. But I digress…..
Then it was Politica’s turn! Clearly we had no choice but to head out to BC to celebrate her arrival into Club-30, right? Well, that was the position I was taking with the Hubby who was starting to raise an eyebrow about it all. I think the quote was,
“Holy shit, you guys are just turning 30. Why do you each need your own fucking Bat Mitzvah?”
Because we just DO, okay? Turning 30 to women is a big deal. Turning 30 to women is akin to a mans first incident of flaccidness. You want to be drunk when it happens.
So off we went to the bountiful blooming British Columbia so the three of us could be standing by with a warm dry towel when Politica was shoved out of the fountain of youth. You know the drill....we shopped, we ate we drank, blah, blah, blah… It was wonderful.
Then it was Keely's birthday. Holy shit, again? Alrighty....... Politica schlepped her ass back to Saskatchewan so we could have another weekend of indulgences. We rented a limo and went bar hopping. If you haven’t ever done that before, I highly recommend it because we had a blast. Keely refers to it fondly as the weekend we tried to kill her, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had more than three drinks in a row since. Her liver still sends me a Christmas card each year.
So, all in all it was a full year of partying our assess off. Looking back now I have no idea how we managed to afford to do all that, but we made it work somehow. I probably just fed my family KD for two straight months or something. KIDDING! Mr. Noodle is way cheaper.
So, we are now a stone’s throw from forty. But, like a really small stone you can throw really far. While the year of quarterly drunken madness was certainly fun, I think I might advocate just one group trip somewhere for the big 4-0. I think the four of us in Vegas would be pretty awesome. I better start sweet talking Keely's liver now.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Hey there, Tuesday bloggers! I haven’t played in a while so I thought I would stop back in for a RTT. However, it appears that our hostess has slept in. Uh...Keely? I'm standing here all alone with that fugly button! Bueller? BUELLER?
Last week I went for lunch with some of my old co-workers. It was great. There is a comfortable familiarity that comes with working with the same people day in and day out for five years, and I still miss it. As we quickly fell back into comfortable rhythms I found myself thinking, “Wow, I really miss these guys. Why did I ever leave my job again?’ After we were done the conciliatory ‘how are the spouse/kids’ type conversations, it naturally turned to work and I started getting caught up on what I’ve been missing. By the end of the lunch I walked away with a firm, “Oh yeah. THAT’S why I left my job. It TOTALLY BLOWS there.” A nice little side reminder with my buffet.
Does anyone else watch A&E? What is with all the new shows based around crazy people? And I don’t say that lightly; I have had a toe over the mental illness line most of my adult life, so that buys me the right to use the word crazy. Very much how I get to use the word fat - I’ve earned my right into that club too. Anyway…
Where was I?
Oh yeah, A&E crazy people programming. I think they built their new broadcast schedule around trying to make the rest of us feel better. And it’s working! I watch Hoarders and suddenly my housekeeping skills improve dramatically. Intervention? Pfft. I don’t mind if I do have that third glass of wine, now that you mention it! Hey, it’s not like I’m huffing on the cool whip can or anything. After watching Obsessed it’s suddenly perfectly fine that my son hasn’t had a bath in four days. Germs aren’t bad for you! Get a grip already!
Thanks, A&E. You have done a wonderful job putting my shortcomings in perspective. I’m fucking perfect.
My daughter's ipod was broken. After 2 days of trying everything she could think of to make it work again she got so frustrated she started to cry, and magically - it started working again. No kidding, just like that. I immediately sent her out to the driveway to cry on her father’s truck that has been sitting there broken for two months. I’ll let you know if that works. If it does, look for ‘J’s Magical Revival Tent’ coming to a city near you.
Keely and Xander came over for dinner this weekend. Upon hearing the news that the dreamy Xander was on his way over (they are affianced, by the way), my three year-old insisted on primping. No kidding. She looked at her dirty little toes that had been running outside with no shoes on all day and announced that she needed a bath immediately because, “Xander just can’t see me like this.” I’m not sure if that’s super funny or the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard. I guess he is pretty cute.
That’s it for me. I can’t find any more mental post-its or scribbles written on the back of envelopes hanging around anywhere. Go see Keely - she has much more faithful RTTers that won’t let you down. If she ever shows up, that is. Slacker.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Summer kicked my ass. I have been indulging in bad food a LOT and my exercising efforts have been weak at best. And I’ve kind of turned into a bit of a wino. I just love me a malbec. I’ve only recently discovered this particular wine, and it is YUMMY.
I went to the gym last week and weighed myself on their super-doper scale, and according to that I’ve gained 7 pounds since May (the last month I actually lost anything). I suck.
That’s okay, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. At least I’m climbing back on the Fat Chick bandwagon before I backslide the whole way. I will do better.
I’ve signed up for a twice weekly boot camp thing Trainer Lady is starting up just for fat people. It’s a small class of six, and each class comes with an hour of exercise and a stern talking to thinly veiled as ‘nutrition counseling and support’. I’m hoping that a group of actual fat people to relate to will help me. I don’t really know any other fat people in real life. I’m pretty much it. I’m surrounded by nothing but ‘the last five pounds’ people.
A good friend of mine once told me that if I ran in place for ten minutes before bed each night the weight would just fall off and I’d never be fat again. See what I’m dealing with here?
I need the REAL fat people as a support group to help me. The people who can’t wear a dress in the summertime unless they baby-powder up their inner-thighs. The people who have drawers full of gigantic lycra underwear. The people who dress in layers even when it’s 30 degrees outside. The burger king people. Trainer Lady PROMISED me nothing but five other fat people who want to cross over to the other side. I would love nothing more than a cocoon of people who plan to emerge from this class as ‘last five pounds’ people. This class starts on Sept 15th. I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime I’m going to fight Fat Chick as hard as I can. She’s really loud and obnoxious and filling my head with thoughts like, “Well, you don’t start that stupid exercise group for another two weeks, so why not live it up now? You’ll have to get back into it mid-September anyway, so just shut up and eat that piece of cake. Can I pour you a glass of vino?”
She is such a fucking bitch.
In a few short weeks, I’m going to start bitching about how cold I am again. Fair warning, internet.
What else is new?
The Hubby started his teaching job yesterday. He is a teacher. Mr. FoN. That makes me Mrs. FoN, which is even funnier. He’s been in school for the last six years completing his Bachelor of Education degree. I know it’s a four year degree, but he went part-time for the first four years so that’s why it took him six years to finish. He’s not, you know…just dumb. Anyway, it was his first day as a teacher yesterday, and he is now in charge of a room full of 7 and 8 year-olds all day.
I really have to give a shout out to all the teachers in the world, because short of having to scrape road kill off the highway all day or letting fat, sweaty businessmen stuff money down my pants, teaching would be pretty much last on my list of career choices.
Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. Well, I like most kids. Okay, I really only like my own kids and my friend’s kids. I like the odd stranger kid, but some of them really kind of suck. If I was a teacher and had a shitty kid in my class I would not be able to hide the fact that I thought he was shitty. Getting picked on by the teacher is probably not that cool. I’d feel bad being openly bitchy to some kid, even if they were shitty. Plus, I have a lot of residual scarring from my elementary school days when I was tortured mercilessly by Rob Morrese. I can’t actually remember how to spell his name right now, but just so you know it’s pronounced More-eese. I’m going to write a whole post someday about Rob Morrese, and in preparation I’m going to find my elementary school class picture to figure out how to spell his name correctly so when that narcissistic fucker googles himself he can read all about what an asshole he is. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, teaching.
Whenever I walk into an elementary school I feel like I have been immediately thrust into the Lord of the Flies. All that yelling and bell ringing and bad artwork hanging everywhere is offensive to my senses. And what is with the smell? Why do elementary schools need to smell like that? Some type of Franken mixture of stale bologna, glue, cleaning supplies and urine. How could anyone want to work in that environment all day everyday? And enjoy it? And not even get paid that well to do it? No thanks.
One day last year in a weak moment I volunteered to be the parent helper in my son’s class for some project they were doing. I was there for two hours, and when it was over I couldn’t leave fast enough. I raced back to work and immediately started making out with my desk. Full tongue and everything. It was awesome.
So, here is a big shout out to all you teachers in the world. Thank you for taking the bullet for the rest of us. I won’t even begrudge you the 2 months off you get in the summer. And the 2 weeks at Christmas. And the other 10 days around Easter.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Yes, that's me. In a bathingsuit on the internet. That's as close as I'm getting and the imagine gets super grainy when you try and zoom in so don't even bother. But...doesn’t that look like a good time? It was. Doing sweet fuck all for two weeks was all I thought it would be and more. Here are a few shots of the cabin –
Nice, huh? See why I was willing to whore out my husband and children? Lakefront people!! Lakefront!!!
And, when the weather wasn’t the greatest we played board games. Just so you know, internet, you are reading the literary works of the all time World Champion of Scattergories. Notorious people starting with a K? The Klu Klux Klan! THREE points right there. Crimes starting with a W? Whaling! Can you think of a crime that starts with a W in under 60 seconds?? It’s not easy. Clearly being the current Scattergories Champion of the World proves I’m a superior thinker. I’ve already put it on my resume.
So now, today….I went back to work. Back to my cold and sterile office building with my desk in the middle of the hallway. Back to the mind-numbing buzz of the florescent lights. Back to words and phrases like ‘template’ and ‘Governance Committee’ and ‘Meeting of the Board of Directors’. Back to highlighters and staplers and paperclips and that little chime that goes off constantly alerting you to the fact that there is yet another new email. Sigh. The party’s over.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I'm taking the laptop with me, but I have no idea what kind of connectivity they are rocking out there. I might be (shudder) completely without access. Either way I will be recording all of our adventures and taking loads of pictures so I will have plenty of material to annoy the shit out of you with when I return. Have a good couple of weeks bloggy land!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
I have been married for a really long fucking time. Maybe not that long if we’re talking Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward married, but considering my age a pretty long goddamn time. The Hubby and I have never been one of those annoying couples who can’t make decisions about what to do or where to go until we talk to the other. We’ve never been overly sloppy or affectionate. Aside from picking food or bugs off each other when the occasion warrants, our public affection is pretty limited. Unless we’re drunk – then we’re grabbing each other’s crotches in the booth of the karaoke bar while some asshole is singing ‘Mustang Sally’.
A’hem. Maybe never mind that last bit.
As I was saying, aside from the necessary “You’ve got something in your teeth. No, THAT tooth” kind of stuff, we’re pragmatic. Unless there is sex at the end of the rainbow we really can’t be bothered.
That is until everything we’ve been working for, for the last fifteen years, ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. No shit! We’re done school, we each have jobs making a nice wage, we have the same working hours, our kids are all out of the baby phase and fun as hell, we live in a nice house, and our neighbours? The Joneses? We’re totally kicking their ass. We have finally reached the Mecca. The promise land, if you will, and it is a nice little normal existence comprised entirely of suburban bliss. Had I been writing this about someone else, I would have used the word ‘drudgery’ right then. SCOFFED at the everyday minutia that only people not nearly as creative and enlightened as myself find themselves existing in on a daily basis. You know what? Fuck that shit.
So far minutia is totally fucking awesome. No scrambling to figure out who is picking up who when. No fighting about who fed the kids between classes/working/lessons/meltdowns. We get up, we head off, come home, eat dinner, play with the kids, drink a bottle of wine, shoot the shit and go to bed. That’s it folks, and WOW is my life easier. I’m in fact so totally into my new reality that I’ve completely dropped off the social radar. I’m not even getting invites out anymore because my friends have figured out that I’m just going to totally ignore them anyway. Why would I go anywhere else? It turns out I actually AM living with my best friend! How cool is that?
Not only have I turned into one of those silly girls who abandon their friends for a dude, but I’m all sunshine and rainbows about it too. In fact, every time I have a conversation outside Mr. Bluebird rests upon my shoulder. I don’t even need to shop anymore because whenever I need anything fairy music starts up and woodland creatures magically appear to dress me in toile and sing me songs about happiness. You know what is the most ironic thing of all? I totally fucking HATE people like me.
I know a new reality will eventually settle in and the fairy music and woodland creatures will tire of me and go looking for their next silly bitch to infect with optimism and hope. I have no doubt my eyes will be rolling again soon enough.
But until that day comes I’m going to enjoy my newfound, if not fleeting, sense of blissful and contented existence. My friends will still be there when I’m ready to come back to the dark side. Something is BOUND to piss me off sooner than later so I'll need them soon enough.
Besides, the Hubby never has any spare tampons in a pinch. That selfish prick.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
You see, most people bring their children to the beach because they have fun there. Since you’re not familiar, fun can best be described as the expenditure of time in a manner designed for pure enjoyment, most often characterized by activities that make the participant of said fun feel joyful. Parents can usually tell their children are having ‘fun’, because they express themselves with laughter, smiles and the occasional excited ‘whoop-whoop’.
If you take your child off the valium and allow him to move about, he may be able to experience fun for himself. I’m sure that piece of watermelon is simply riveting, but so is the GIANT LAKE right in front of him.
Besides, my little bastard is going to get it covered in sand anyway.
Monday, July 13, 2009
I know I really need to let the Jon and Kate thing go, but it just pisses me off more and more everyday. She rationalizes keeping the cameras rolling by saying, “Parents work. This is my career and I work for my kids”. Yeah, well most parents work by going to an office, or a restaurant or a car dealership or a factory. The butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker aren't whoring their little ankle biters out for a 'job', now are they? And then there is Jon who goes traipsing around France before the ink is dry on the divorce papers (and who am I kidding, most likely WAY before that) with a 22 year-old girl. That woman was in grade six when his first set of kids were born for crying out loud. What is wrong with these people? Could you imagine being those children and having to go to school everyday? When I was nine my mother dressed me in culottes one lousy day and I was teased for months. I feel so sorry for what those kids have to deal with now just because their parents are morons.
We sealed the deal on the cabin for trade yesterday! We went out on the weekend and had a look-see and it’s fabulous (for those catching up we found an on-line ad offering free rental on a lake front cabin in exchange for yard work). There is a lot of work that needs to get done, but I just happen to have in my possession an unemployed husband and teenager who needs to find a way to pay me back for the cell phone she lost with 26 months remaining on the contract. Hubby and the two oldest are going to head out next week and get most of the trees/bushes cut down and loaded up, and then myself and the little one are going to join them the following week for TWO WHOLE WEEKS at the lake. Ahhhh, the lake. I love the lake. The minute I step out of the car and am surrounded by trees and water I immediately just chill the fuck out.
I’m going to read Catcher and the Rye while I’m on vacation this summer. I’ve always wanted to read it, but have never gotten around to it for some reason. Then I’m going to get a dog and name it Holden Caulfield so everyone will think I’m an intellectual and take me seriously as a writer. Ha! I know, huh? Holla!
The follow are words and phrases I wish I could completely remove from my lexicon without consequence:
- Terms of Reference
- Governance Committee and Board of Directors
- Quarterly report
- Please pass the potato chips
- Where is your cell phone, J?
- Mom, it turns out we’re not going to make it to Winnipeg for a holiday this summer after all….
I think my husband is going to be the best teacher in the whole world. The thought he puts into not only what to teach the kids, but how to teach them is amazing. If all the world’s educators approached their jobs in this way, the planet would be filled with much different people.
I still need a pedicure. I'm prety sure I could sharpen knives on my feet at this point. I should really address this situation before vacation because I’m not planning on wearing shoes for two whole weeks. Hmmm…..maybe I should get one AFTER I’m back from the lake.
That is it for me, now go see Keely – she is queen of all things insightful and visionary. Is that better?
If you recall I was lamenting last week about how we can’t really have it all, I’m happy just to be home for a while with the family, a happy fat is just fine, blah, blah, blah. What a total crock of shit, huh?
Yeah, that is what we call rationalizing a backslide people.
This is an interesting turn of events for me. Traditionally, around the 30 pound down mark something shitty happens to me and I use that as an excuse to stop exercising and start eating chocolate cake for breakfast all the while telling myself that it’s okay because hey! At least I’m eating breakfast, right?
Here I am around the 30 lbs mark and life could not be going more swimmingly. All the things I’ve ever wanted seem to have fallen into place in a way that I never really thought would actually happen. No horrendous loss has befallen me, no reality crushing blow has shaken my foundation…. hell, my biggest worry of late is reserved for the kids of Jon and Kate Plus 8. Oh yeah, did you see him this weekend??? He was photographed in France gallivanting with some chippy – can you believe that? Dumbass. What about the KIDS Jon! Think of the KIDS!!! They’re old enough to read now! How do you think they feel seeing their father with someone else all over a magazine cover? Dumbass! Sorry, back to the fat chick thing....
As I was saying, my life is going just fine, and yet I still find myself in a familiar position - TOTALLY WUSING OUT. Why? Why Why Why is this so hard for me? Why do I fall off the wagon after seeing so much success? Oprah would say that it’s because I have low self esteem and don’t think I’m worthy of a healthy body. Okay, there might be some of that there, but I don’t think that’s the whole answer. I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and this time around I think I’m sabotaging myself because I’m worried my contented little life will vanish any day now if I get my weight under control. I know that sounds ridiculous to all of you sane and rational people out there, but I’m a little nutty. I believe that if I get the last major thing in my life that has been a serious problem for me under control I’ll be way too happy and therefore something terrible will happen. Logically I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s where my brain goes. It’s not easy being crazy, trust me.
I have all the tools I need. My whole family is very supportive. I do not have one of those husbands on the reality shows that makes his wife feel like crap every time she leaves him with the kids to go work out. He is all for it – never once has he ever suggested he couldn’t hold down the fort while I went to work out. I know he wants me to get into shape. That poor guy really is pretty screwed. He’s the one with a front row seat watching me give up, and I know how badly he wants to kick my ass and tell me to quit fucking around and get back at ‘er, but he can’t. He has learned that lesson well over the years. If he doesn’t say anything he has to sit back and watch me get fat all over again. If he does say something, he has to watch me have a total freak out, accuse him of not loving me anymore and then have a raging battle that ends in us not speaking. And then he’ll have to watch me get fat all over again anyway.
What I need to do is stop worrying about the things I can’t control and start focusing on what I CAN control. I can’t control when someone I love gets cancer, but I can control my weight and health. There really isn’t a finite amount of good things that can happen to me. Is it temping fate to even write that down?
I have gained five pounds in the last month. That’s a total loss of 23lbs since January, and a whopping 37 pounds to go. Sigh.
Backslide over. And……..here we go!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Happy belated Fourth of July you crazy Americans! I love you even though you shun the metric system, and the letter ‘u’ and the tasty goodness that is clamato juice. I hope you all had a blast with your giant trucks, bud light and apple pie. Or grits. What are grits, anyway? I’ve always thought they were some kind of potato concoction, but I’m not exactly sure about that.
Canada Day (our version of Independence Day) is July 1st, so last weekend we went for the obligatory celebrations in the park with over priced concessions, cover-bands and fireworks. I’m REALLY upset I didn’t bring my camera, because some of the people there were awesome. Who knew the Canadian flag made such a good toga?
My daughter is fifteen and desperately trying to find her ‘cool’. I’m usually just fine with this and stand by the motto that as long as she’s not dressed like a whore, she can wear whatever she wants. However, she has recently added a toque to her wardrobe repertoire (that’s a winter hat for all those south of the border). Yes, in JULY. I am usually good at biting my lip when she wears or does something I think is stupid provided it doesn’t cause harm. I shut it when she dyed her hair pumpkin orange. I kept it to my own self when she came home wearing 80’s style flashdance leg warmers. I even managed to let the phase that saw her wearing a skirt and jeans at the SAME TIME go by. However, I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut when she left to go to the mall this weekend in a skirt, tank top, flip flops and a wool hat. I knew the minute my ‘why in hell are you wearing a toque in July??’ comment came out of my mouth I had totally screwed myself. That stupid thing has been glued to her head every day since, and I predict will be well into August.
I REALLY need a pedicure.
I think I found an awesome deal for our vacation this year. We are really out of money (the Hubby doesn’t start working until September, so it’s been a little lean around the FoN household recently), but still really want to go somewhere for a holiday this summer. There is this super great used crap website for locals (sort of a Craig’s list type thing) that was advertising a free lakefront cabin about an hour out of town in exchange for someone to stay there and do some landscaping. Perfect!! I love this trade economy that has suddenly sprung up. The people with the cabin can afford to forgo rental income they would make on it, but have no time to deal with the yard work and upkeep. The Hubby has the whole summer off and a ton of free time, but subsequently we have no money to rent a cabin with. Sounds like a perfect match to me! Lakefront even! I have no follow up pithy comment for this, I’m just happy we figured out a way to have a vacation.
Hey – I wonder what kind of service I can offer to get a free pedicure? Surely I must have something to offer. If anyone out there hears of anyone who wants to trade a pedicure for a list of pointless observations and musings give them my email address, okay?
That’s enough from me. Go see Keely, our Captain O’ Captain of pointless observations and musings at the Unmom. She’ll hook you up with lots of drivel. It’s kind of her thing.
Keely pointed out to me the other day that not everything can go well all at once. While my first response was of the, ‘No fair!’ variety, she has a good point. Everything requires effort, and most people have a finite amount of effort in them (super mom types aside, but they at least have Percocet). I have a lot of shit I need to pay attention to, and usually one suffers at the hand of the other. It’s a priority thing, I guess.
I can invest my marriage OR weight loss. I can play with my kids OR clean the house. I can go to work OR get all my personal ducks in a row. I have to pick, and there are consequences to each.
I can hang out with my husband who is home every night for the first time in our married life, or I can leave him and the kids and hit the gym. You know how long I’ve been waiting for all of us to be on the same schedule and to be able to do regular things like eat dinner together every night? Fifteen years. No kidding.
I can quit my job and have a beautifully decorated and spotless house, wake up every morning and go for a run, play with the kids whenever I want, etc, or I can earn money and pay for things like shelter and food and clothing. You see where I am going with this.
For the last six months Fat Chick has been a high priority. She has received a lot of attention, and it’s been working! She’s dropped almost 30 pounds! This is quite a bit and has certainly improved my quality of life, my clothing options and fitness level. I’m feeling good. I could be feeling better if I was working on dropping the next 30 pounds, but….the whole priority thing has shifted somewhat.
This is not to say I have given up all together. I’m making concessions here and there. I’ve been taking the stairs quite a bit at work (and I work on the 12th floor, so that’s a lot of stairs), and the other night we all went for a bike ride. Sure, it was to get ice cream, but it was still a bike ride dammit!
I’m going to continue the Fat Chick posts because they keep me honest. I’m also going to start trying to get my family active with me, which shouldn’t be too hard because they love being outside now that summer is finally here. The Hubby and I even tried playing tennis last weekend. I’ve never played tennis before, and not surprisingly I completely suck, but so does he so there is a lot of running after balls going on. I’m hanging in there.
Fat and miserable is a terrible way to live, but I might be okay with fat and happy. For the short-term, anyway. SHORT TERM.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Like I said, I’m not entirely sure what went down while I was running for my life, but from the bits and pieces I can gather Valentina tried to unsuccessfully pin down the Fucktard Sister, the group of guys at our table just sat there half stunned, half turned on that a real honest-to-god girl fight was unfolding right before them, and Keely took off trying to find some help.
By the time I had reached the stage and the safety of the Hubby, Keely had alerted security to the situation and was trying to lead the bouncers through to the direction of the Fucktard Sisters. The Hubby, pretty fucking mad two crazy chicks were trying to kill his wife, threw his drumsticks down and charged to the front of the stage. Hearing the drums suddenly stop the rest of the four guys in the band looked behind them to see what the hell was going on. They were able to figure it out just in time to get out of the way while the Hubby took the microphone to address security.
“This crazy bitch here, and that crazy bitch there. Get them the fuck out of this bar right goddamn NOW.”
The bouncers were being led through the crowd by Keely who was trying to direct traffic and move the people on the dance floor out of the way.
From my view on stage all of a sudden I saw a huge bouncer come up behind each Fucktard Sister, grab them around the waist and haul them each – kicking, screaming and massive hair flying - out of the bar. Keely was standing front and centre, laughing hysterically while giving each one of them the finger. I’m pretty sure that if they would have managed to free themselves from the bouncers Keely would have been their next target.
So there we were. On stage in front of 300 stunned people, the Fucktard Sisters were being hauled out by giant men while screaming profanities, Keely was still giving the double birdies to each one of them, the band stood silent while they tried to figure out what in the hell was going on, and I was in the middle of the stage with a crowd of people (most of whom I knew) staring up at me. After a moment or two of awkward, the band decides to start up again with ‘We are the Champions’ and the crowd goes wild. I stayed up there for a moment, waving at the Fucktard Sisters (who were about halfway out of the bar at this point and still completely wigging out) and savoring my victory. My victory over the fact that not only can I run faster than they can, but I have friends who are good in a crisis. My one and only bar fight in the history books.
I know there were a bunch of you waiting to hear all about the ass kicking they took at the hands of me and Keely, but……. we’re Canadian. That’s just not how we roll.
This happened about twelve years ago. Our city is not that big, and while the Fucktard Sisters and I don’t exactly frequent the same type of establishments, I am still to this day on the semi-lookout for that giant hair. I haven’t ever seen the youngest one (the one who hit me in the face), but I’ve seen the oldest one twice. The first time I saw her was in a mall and I managed to see the hair coming over the crowd in time to avoid a pass by in the aisle. The second time……. she was getting into a bar fight.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
She started to drunkenly charge through the bar immediately. I tried to stop laughing, because at that point I was terrified, but on her way over to my table she crashed into the corner of a chair and fell over. She was only down for a second or two when her giant hair shot back up and she resumed stumbling my direction. Amazingly, she was still clinging to her beer bottle.
Sitting at our table was a group of our male friends. To put it mildly, these guys are giant pussies. They are white collar dudes who avoid confrontation at all costs so not to get their polo shirts dirty. I had given them a general overview of the Fucktard Sister situation earlier in the night, but aside from cracking a few jokes they had long since forgot about it and were not at all concerned for my safety. I knew they would be no help whatsoever.
Realizing I only had seconds to live, I did a quick scan of the bar trying to locate a bouncer, an exit sign, Scotty waiting to beam me up, a bookshelf that if you pull the right book it leads to a secret passageway, anything that might help get me out of this. Nadda. Crap! Here she comes………..
“Whase so fucken funny? Youwannagobitch?”
“Um, no. I do not want to go. Are you okay? That looked like a nasty spill you just took back there.”
That's when the Fucktard Sister leaned across the table and swung at my head with her beer bottle. I was a little tipsy by this point, so my reaction time was not that great. I did manage to get out of the way enough that she didn’t knock me unconscious, but the beer bottle/fist combo still connected with my face just under my left eye.
Ow. The only thing I remember going through my head at that moment was RUN. Right as I took off I saw out of the corner of my eye that Valentina reappeared from behind the Fucktard Sister and was trying to restrain her from leaping over the table to kill me. I bolted.
I started running through the bar trying to find a bouncer. The band was pretty popular by then and usually at least once a show some stupid drunk girl would try to get on stage to grope one of the guys. Consequently, they often had security hanging around the dance floor area. I gave a quick glance over my shoulder to see if the Fucktard Sister was in hot pursuit or if the table of people I was with managed to restrain her. No such luck. As I looked behind me I could see that she had managed to free herself from Valentina (no surprise there, Valentina weights about 100 pounds) and with beer bottle and giant hair a-blazin’ was coming to get me.
You must remember a few things here. First of all, the band had been playing all night long so the band guys didn’t fully get what was going down. Secondly, the bar was filled with people I know. I didn’t tell them all exactly what was developing throughout the course of the evening because some of the people there were acquaintances and I really didn't want them to know I was in danger of getting into a bar fight. People from work, for example. I had a professional job and I didn’t think a drunk-bitch bar fight would really do wonders for advancing my career or reputation.
Anyway, back to the running. I was grateful Valentina managed to give me a bit of head start because clearly the Fucktard Sister was in it to win it. Thank god I was familiar with that bar because I knew exactly how to weasel my way through the crowd, tables and dance floor to try to get to security. There was a DJ booth right beside the stage, so I headed straight for it. Yeah, I know a DJ wasn’t really what I needed at that moment, but I figured bar staff of any form would improve my situation. I mean, they worked there, so they were sort of obligated to help me, no? As it turns out, not really, no.
I made it to the DJ booth! I started banging on the door - “Hey! Let me in! Some crazed fugly drunk and hairy chick is trying to kill me!! Let me in goddamn it! GAH! She’s coming!! For FUCK sakes open the fucking door!!!!”
Dude just starred through the glass at me pointing to his ear, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah, I know you can’t hear me, there is a FUCKING ROCK BAND playing three feet away. Isn’t my crying and flailing enough for you to think you should open the door anyway?” FUCKER! Wait a minute…there is a rock band playing three feet away! Hubby!!
Without the aid of the 20 year-old DJ (fucker), no bouncer in sight and nowhere else to go, I jumped on stage and ran behind the drum kit. Mid song.
The band was on stage kicking ass when I ran up behind the Hubby all out of breath. He kept drumming, but looked at me and mouthed, “What’s up?”
I pointed at the front of the stage. I’m not exactly sure what went down while I was running for my life, but all I saw at that moment was Fucktard Sister 1 (the one that smacked me in the face) struggling through the crowd trying to get up to the left of the stage, and Fucktard Sister 2 (I had sort of forgot about her) struggling through the crowd to get up to the right of the stage. The band was still playing.
That’s when I saw Keely.
I honestly don’t know what has come over me with the Fucktard Sister trilogy. I just can’t seem to stop writing it. Aside from a few minor creative liberties here and there, it's a true story, but I had no idea it would take on a life of it's own. Odd, considering I really haven’t thought about that incident much in the subsequent years. Whatever, I’m really enjoying writing it for some reason and it’s my blog, so there. I guess fucking with the fucktards never gets old. I'm wrapping it up this week though, for sure. Honest.
My daughter has to go to summer school because she failed grade ten Science. That kind of blows, especially considering I either have to (a) go on holidays without her and leave her with her grandparents for a week or (b) postpone my vacation. Neither scenario is really appealing to me. Dumbass. You know, I’d feel better about it if she actually was a dumbass, because then she couldn’t help flunking. But she’s not a dumbass, she just only attends the classes she likes (and gets 80’s in those). As it turns out if you don’t attend class and never hand in assignments, you fail. Funny that.
Shut up Keely. I wasn’t hanging out at A&W alone you know.
I have to get my son’s teacher a kick-ass present for the end of the year, but I can’t think of a good one that doesn’t cost a fortune. My boy is a complicated soul, and this woman gets him. She is awesome and I love her to bits. Suggestions are welcome.
I wonder what’s for dinner? I think I’m going to hide all the mushroom soup cans the Hubby keeps buying.
We had an outdoor cinema night on the weekend and it was awesome! The Hubby found an old LCD projector at a garage sale, hooked it up to the stereo and DVD player, hung a white sheet off the deck as a screen and voila! We grabbed lots of blankets, pillows, snacks and drinks and had a little movie night on the lawn in the backyard. It was totally cool and we’re going to make it a regular thing. As long as I get to pick the next movie. The boy and the Hubby came back from the video store with Mall Cop for crying out loud.
I have no concerts planned for this summer. Last year I saw Lenny Kravitz, Stone Temple Pilots, the Tragically Hip, Rush (I am Canadian, eh), Elton John and Neil Young. This year, nada. AC/DC is coming here in August, but I hate them. Where the hell are all the other good bands this year? Maybe I’ll just rent a DVD concert and watch it in my backyard. Do you think the Hubby will let me sit on his shoulders and flash my boobs at the neighbours?
I'm very upset Jon and Kate are getting divorced. I'm very VERY upset that I give a shit that Jon and Kate are getting divorced. Hopefully Brangelina can hang in there.
Alright, that’s enough. It’s my first Tuesday back in a while; I don’t want to over do it. Today’s post was brought to you by the Un Mom. Thanks for the purge, Keely. And I don’t even have to go brush my teeth.