The Gift of Fat

Day 3

2012-02-09T19:57:00.001-06:00

And I am about to commit murder.

I gave up pop.

I drank my last Coke Zero on Monday evening.

I hid it in my bedroom so none of my kids could mooch any.

It was my last can of pop and I was NOT going to share.

I didn't give up caffeine. I gave up pop. Not just for lent. I gave it up For Evah.

I don't drink pop for the caffeine. I drink it for that fizzy burn that quiets some secret need like a forbidden lover.

I have a lifelong relationship with pop. I started drinking diet pop when I was about 5. That's when diet pop first began to emerge. My mother assumed diet pop was good for us, as it didn't have any sugar. The ads for diet pop showed beautiful girls in bathing suits enjoying a guilt-free treat.

Tab. My first love. One of the biggest treats we could have as kids was to drink a WHOLE BOTTLE OF POP. That's 16 ounces. In a glass bottle. With saccharine. In those days, the Coca-cola company collected empty bottles, sterilized them, then refilled them with the nectar of the gods.

By high school, I drank Tab out of a can. My friend Dana and I would each have a can of Tab and a diet pill for lunch. Those were the days.

In College, I loved Diet Pepsi. Then I moved to Diet Coke. A few years ago, I found Coke Zero.

I found my soul mate.

Or so I thought.

I knew pop wasn't good for me. I knew that the phosphorous was slowly dissolving my teeth and bones. I knew that the artificial sweetener was fucking with my neurons and my metabolism.

I didn't care. It had zero calories.

Why did I give it up?

I gave it up because we have 2 weeks left in the Tri-Mary Challenge, and I have been stuck on 244 like glue.

I need to get over this plateau.

What happens once the challenge is over (and another Mary wins)?

I'm not going back. I know pop is bad for me. It's an abusive relationship. And I have to end it.

Me & pop are over. No diet coke. No regular coke. No Sprite, Diet 7Up, no Diet Rite, no Coke Zero. Nothing.

No "occasional" treat. No "only on weekends". No walking slowly down the pop aisle, no googling it, no stalking mutual friends on Facebook.

I don't drink, I don't smoke, and I don't cheat on my husband. Now that pop is gone, what vices are left to me?

I guess I still have swearing.

Fuckin' A!

Phone Hex

2012-02-04T16:13:00.000-06:00

Reading this great post at one of my favorite blogs -- Hair Raising Hell -- reminded me of one of my own pet peeves. Let me elaborate:

Ring Ring

"Good Afternoon, this is Mary A."

"Hi Mary! How are you?"

"Doing well, thanks! How are you?"

"I'm Good."

"Great. How can I help you?"

"Do you know who this is?"

Sigh.
The "guess who I am" game. At work.

Do you think this is charming? It's not.

If you're calling me at home and ask "Do you know who this is?", I will generally hang up. Because I once got an obscene phone call that started with "Do you know who this is?". So that question kinda freaks me out anyway.

But if you're calling me at work I will give you the benefit of the doubt.

I don't know who you are, OK?

I have no fucking clue.

I know you aren't my mother. My mother has been smoking for 63 years. Her voice is rather distinct. Plus, she's too much of a lady to jerk me around like that. And she ALWAYS identifies herself. I know it's you, Mom, but I appreciate you having enough courtesy to identify yourself anyway.

When I call her, I always identify myself. She has 2 daughters. We probably sound similar on the phone.

When you call me -- at home, at work, or on the cell -- please identify yourself. Please.

Also, as long as we're on the subject: if your name is Mary, Mark, Mike, Dave, Joe, Kathy, Lori, Tom, Rick, Jose, Manuel, Cynthia, or Debbie, and if we don't speak on the phone very often, do me a favor and gimme your last name too. I have lots of Marys, Marks, Mikes, Daves, Joes, Kathys, Loris, Toms, Ricks, Joses, Manuels, Cynthias and Debbies who might call me at work for whatever reason. I love talking to each of them. Truly. But I prefer knowing which one I'm chatting with.

And one more thing: sign your texts. I don't know your number by sight (except for Vic & Gabe). I have a cheap phone. Just gimme some quick initials, 'kay?

Thanks.

Love,

Mary A

If Jillian Can Do It. . .

2012-01-31T23:05:00.000-06:00

When you think of Jillian Michaels, I'm betting the image that comes to mind is one of her dressed something like this:

Put a blouse on, wouldja?

You know that top is really just a sports bra, right?

When you hear the name Mia Hamm, doesn't this inspiring image come to mind?

Mia is SO MUCH COOLER than Jillian

While one of these women is an inspiring athlete and the other is a horsefaced bully, both are wearing sports bras. Without a top.

I point this out to prove precedence.

It's not that I wear sports bras as a top. Usually.

There is that one time -- days after my second child was born -- I spent10 minutes chatting with a visitor before noticing that I had forgotten to put a blouse on. Fortunately, my visitor was the mother of 3 and she totally understood.

But as a rule, I wear a tee shirt over my sports bra.

Honestly, I hope Jillian wears a tee when she works out. Your abs might be great, Horseface, but that doesn't mean other people in the gym care to come in contact with your back sweat.

But sports bras are SPORTS bras. Not sports BRAs.

So when I finished my 10K on January 7th, and was soaking wet with sweat, and didn't want to walk ALL THE WAY to the ladies room to change into a dry shirt, I felt comfortable doing a quick switch in the lobby of the Ortiz Center.

No one else was there.

Except Mary. And Megan. And Mary. And Dee. And Amy. But only girls. Girls don't care.

Ok. .. one young man did happen to walk by, but I almost had the other shirt on and I am sure he didn't see me without a top. He was looking very intently at the floor. For some reason.

Today I had to rush to class after my workout.

It was all girls. Mary. And Laurie. And Biby. And Clarissa.

So I just changed my top real quick.

Oh yeah -- and Victor.

But I made him turn around.

It's not like I would change my top in front of any of the guys I usually work out with. Except Victor -- he's totally safe. And Omar. Probably Lee. Maybe Scott.

But not Gabe, Robert, Kirby or Bill. Especially not Bill.

So yes, for a few seconds Vic saw my sports bra. The thing is, it's a SPORTS bra.

And it's not like I was wearing it as a top.

Words

2012-01-27T16:46:00.000-06:00

Found this in my e-mail. I sent it to a well meaning friend a few months ago:

I am learning, that as a writer, I have to use my own voice.

Sometimes I use blue language. I use it on facebook, on my blog and in real life.

Not everyone cares for it.

This blog is my story. My perspective. My opinions.

If my language offends you, then I encourage you to read other writers. There are many out there. Good writers who share your values, your point of view.

If you are going to continue reading, I ask that you respect my voice.

Obviously, my well meaning friend recommended that I stop swearing so much.

Obviously, I didn't.

To the Casual Observer. . .

2012-01-23T19:41:00.000-06:00

Because Vic and Gabe are SO AWESOME at what they do, V-Fit expanded to 2 locations.

I love working out there, but it's SO far away, so I don't go very often.

It's actually not that far away. Those of you who live in cities like Boston (hi Nicki!!!!), or LA (Hi Annabelle M!), or Chicago (Hi David!) would make fun of me if you saw how easy the commute actually is.

The thing is, my whole life is within five miles from my house. Church, work, school (mine & kids'), and of course V-Fit. All a quick few minutes from the house.

The Island location, on the other hand, is 15 miles away from my house. That's FAR.

But Gabe is there, so it's WORTH IT.

The Island is a full service gym, not just a studio like in town. It's really nice -- all new equipment, lots of room, and a special room with this awesome flooring that makes doing suicides suck way less than they suck in town.

Because it's full service, lots of people go there who aren't there for personal training. They go to do the bikes, or the treadmill, or whatever self-disciplined people do at gyms.

I lack discipline, so I need Gabe to tell me what to do and when to do it.

The self-motivated people watch Gabe put me through my paces. I watch them watch Gabe put me through my paces. I watch their eyes get bigger and bigger as they see what he has me do. I can see the wheels turning in their heads . . . wondering why Gabe is torturing the chubby pink lady. The wonder if they should call an ambulance, or maybe the police.

They get scared, thinking that what will Gabe do if THEY sign up for personal training. Will he make them do 25 pushups from their toes? Will he make them run suicides after each set? What about those burpees?

I want to reassure them, to tell them how far I've come. I want to let them know that I enjoy working out with Gabe and that I love how I feel afterwards.

At the studio, everyone knows me. They know my story and they know what I can do.

But to a casual observer . . .

Sunday Mornings

2012-01-22T12:09:00.000-06:00

Sunday is family time for us.

If #1 son serves mass, then he & I get up early so we can make it there before 8am.

If he's NOT serving mass, then I sleep.

I love Sunday morning sleep.

I will usually sleep until 9:30 or so. Then I will sip coffee and get ready to go to mass at 10:30. Or 12:15. Depends. Sometimes I am even so lazy that I wait to go to the 6PM mass.

I love being Catholic. What other tribe gives you so many scheduling options?

THIS morning I had other plans.

EXCITING plans.

I was gonna go out to the Island and do a Mimosa Run. (For those of you not from South Texas -- HI NICKI! -- North Padre Island is part of the Corpus Christi city limits. We have to cross a bridge to get there. Vic has a new facility there)

V-Fit put on a Mimosa Fun Run this morning.

I love fun runs! They are so fun!

This time we had a choice of running 5 miles or 10 miles. (MILES? WTF? What happened to 5Ks?). The run started at 7:15. AM. On a Sunday.

I had every intention of participating. After all, I ran over 6 miles just 2 short weeks ago.

I planned to get up at 6am, on a Sunday, head to the Island, run 5 miles, be done by 10am, go home, take a shower and get to mass by 12:15. Fun!

That was the plan.

Unfortunately. . .

I didn't get up at 6. I didn't get up at 6:30. I wasn't awake by 7. I didn't get up until almost 10am.

I hope there are enough Mimosas at that fun run to make Vic & Gabe forget that I wasn't there.

My Date

2012-01-20T22:28:00.000-06:00

We got to go on a date tonight!

A real date. No kids. No other couples. Just us.

Dinner & a movie.

It was the kind of movie that we love.

You might love it too.

Or, you will think it's stupid.

If you liked Cinema Paradiso, Sunset Boulevard, Life is Beautiful, Singing in the Rain, O Brother Where Art Thou, Rushmore and Barton Fink; then you will love this movie.

If you lean more towards Gladiator, Far & Away, You've Got Mail, Pirates of the Caribbean (I), Ghost Busters, and any of the National Lampoons; then you will hate it.

Some of us are Group A kind of people. Some of us are Group B. Some of us, like Greg & I, like A and B.

But if you are a Group B only, you won't like The Artist.

But we LOVED IT!

Eva's Final Gifts

2012-01-16T12:15:00.000-06:00

This was the saddest week I've had in like. . . .ever.

The funeral is over, the family is trying to get back to a routine, and Facebook is still ringing with "Eva" memories.

I wasn't going to blog about it anymore. You've all been with me, and I know it makes you sad too. It's time for me to be funny again.

But I just had to do ONE MORE.

As you know, "Eva" and I have been friends since 2000.

She's given me many gifts -- a Diaper Genie (that we used for 2 children), a decent maternity skirt, a Christmas ornament, and some pretty stationary. Mostly, she's given me the gift of honesty, which I wrote about here and here. (In the second one, I used "Eva's" real name. Because it was years ago. Her real name is Erika. I think she's OK that I tell you that now)

As she fought her illness, she gave us all the gift of perspective, because every post she put on Facebook was an affirming post. EVERY ONE.

And, in the end, she gave me something I will cherish forever.

New friends.

The thing about Erika is that she has a million friends. Maybe a million and 10. Everybody loves her. I'm not just saying that because she's gone. . . everyone does love her. The Corpus Christi Cathedral was PACKED for 2 days to honor this woman and her family.

Of all the people she loves, it's always been obvious who she loves the most: Todd, her husband, and her kiddos. OK - that's a given. And to see Todd so strong and tall (and handsome -- seriously. Erika married a hottie) -- my heart swelled in gratitude that such a great man was by her side.

But she also loves -- and LIKES -- her family. Her sister and her Mom were her very best friends. She loved and admired her Dad and was so proud to work in the family business. I always felt like I knew Leslie because even though she lives in another city, Erika was always talking about Leslie this and Leslie that. She was so proud of her little sister.

I do know her mom and her dad, and I can totally understand why they are so close.

I am already friends with her cousin Roland. He and I were in leadership together and he is one of those wonderful guys that you put on your Men-I-Would-Marry-If-I-Weren't-Already-Married list. (What? Don't you have one of those lists??)

Roland kept me abreast of everything that was going on, and I took it upon myself to tell everyone else.

Erika and I have some friends in common, and keeping the prayer vigil made us closer. Sonja, Carmen, Lisa, Robbie -- I love you guys! I'm sorry it took THIS to reconnect. I appreciate that we were together in our grief.

Through the dark days, I realized that Erika and I had some other friends in common. Amy, Linda, Emily. . . now we're closer because we connected through Erika.

And at the end, we came together with some other wonderful people. Leslie -- the sister Erika adored. Even though her grief was incredible, she made sure to comfort me. I am inspired by how selfless this family is. Melissa, Rene, and all the cousins who allowed me to enter in the circle of their grief. To cry with them, the laugh with them -- it's a blessing I won't forget. I've even made "Facebook Friends" with some people I haven't yet met, but because we both loved Erika, we connected.

In the end, Erika -- "Eva" -- gave me new friends.

Thanks Erika. I love you!

See how beautiful????

The Ten

2012-01-12T20:03:00.000-06:00

I guess it's time to talk about the 10K I did on Saturday.

It actually wasn't a 10 K, it was half of a half marathon.

A half marathon is 13.1094 miles. I ran half of that: 6.5547 miles.

A 10K is only 6.2 miles.

I ran an extra 0.3547 miles. That's way more.

When I ran my first 5K, this really hot guy named Tim helped me run the last quarter mile. Tim looks like a much fitter, much taller, and much better looking Seth Green.

Tim was there to cheer me on during my first 10K. Thank you, Tim!

I remember that my first 5K I was huffing and puffing. My legs were sore. I was bright red.

The 10K is pretty much the same, except I wasn't huffing and puffing. My heart and lungs are strong now -- "running" for 2 hours doesn't kill me. I can talk and joke with people along the way.

My legs, on the other hand. . .er. .foot, are a different story. I am still 100 lbs overweight and my knees don't like it. Screw you, knees, I'm still doing this.

When I did the 5K, I was amazed at how incredibly affirming and supportive people are. When I finished the 10K, my friends made an archway for me to run through.

You guys are the best.

I did this for you, "Eva" -- I miss you sister!

For Eva

2012-01-07T17:57:00.000-06:00

In a day or two I will write about my first 10K.

I finished it. Yeay.

I dedicated it to my friend "Eva", who has been going through hell.

Every step I took I thought of her fighting to breathe.

Every little pain I thought of the skin rash that started this whole nightmare.

When I finished, I texted her cousin -- who is another incredible friend and the one who has been keeping me up to date.

He texted back.

She went to Heaven this morning about 11 am.

Praise God. She is where she belongs.

Thank you "Eva" - for inspiring me to do something I couldn't have done otherwise. I love you sister.

First

2012-01-06T21:26:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is my first run of the year.

It's also my first 10K.

I am dedicating it to "Eva" who is still struggling, still on a ventilator and still fighting hard.

"Eva" - we love you. SO much.

Tomorrow is for you.

Two Surprising Facts About Me

2012-01-05T20:37:00.000-06:00

I am going to share two facts about myself that seem to surprise people:

1. I don't drink alcohol
2. I'm not into "adult" items.

For some reason, both these facts seem to surprise the hell out of people.

I get the booze confusion. I used to drink, and there are lots of hysterical stories about my antics. Like the time I was on a crowded dance floor at the Company Christmas Party and decided it would be fun to pull my dress over my head. That was in 1996 and they are STILL talking about it.

I started drinking when I was about 15. I stopped drinking when I had kids. After #2 was born, I started having massive anxiety attacks. They put me on meds and I am afraid to mix them with alcohol. Also, alcoholism runs in my family and I choose not to expose my children to an alcoholic mom. Besides, after 20+ years of drinking, what new experiences are there? Everybody's already seen my underwear.

I am not bothered to be around other people who drink. If anything, I am surprised at how much fun I still have at parties. I'm happy to be the designated driver.

As far as not being into ahem. . . "adult" items: I guess I deserve your skepticism.

I swear a lot. I am the queen of the double entendre. I swoon over dreamy men. I flirt with priests. I know some dirty jokes. Lots of 'em. If you ask me the secret to a happy marriage, I will gargle.

But show me a dirty picture and I will cover my eyes.

If there is a stripper at a bachelorette party, I will leave.

The only toys at my house are the ones my kids play with.

It's just not my thing.

Maybe if I started drinking again. . . .

Nah.

Wordless Wednesday

2012-01-04T06:38:00.002-06:00

Remember This?

2012-01-02T12:55:00.000-06:00

"By 2/1/12, I will be down to at least 229 by working out 5 or more times a week and eating at least 7 servings of fruits and vegetables a day."

Posted on 11/19/11.

Ahem. Yeah. About that. . ..

I didn't quite make the progress I hoped.

In November, I squeaked by losing one more lb to a new low of 243. Yahfuckinghoo.

I got on the scale today, and. . . .

I gained 2 lbs.

I should say I gained AT LEAST 2 lbs, because I stepped on the scale after Vic's 2012 Inaugural Bootcamp which made me sweat the equivalent of an Olympic swimming pool.

I'm not surprised.

I feel like I have rug burn on my ass from December's backslide.

I finished the year at a party, where I enjoyed smokies wrapped in biscuit dough, creamy potatoes spiked with bacon and cheese, caramel popcorn, a few more smokies, a bite of salad and a cupcake.

The night before, we went to Cracker Barrel for dinner. . .pancakes, eggs, pancakes and a bite of chicken fried steak.

It's not that gaining 2 lbs over Christmas and new years is a big deal. It's not.

It's just that I have spent the last year and a half doing good things for my health, and then rushing to the computer so I can brag about it like a 2 year old who made her first poo-poo in the potty.

I swear I tried to think of a better analogy.

Anyway, you guys are all VERY supportive of me, so I feel I need to be accountable to you.

New Year, new start.

I will not be derailed by 2 stupid lbs.

Remember that I said that. 'Kay?

A Cute Story that gets told WAY too Often

2011-12-31T12:46:00.000-06:00

It's New Year's Eve!

Time to tell the story. The story I tell all the time. The story that will embarrass Paul & "Lianne" someday.

I have 2 very close girlfriends. I am going to call them Samantha and Lisa.

We have babies together.

First Lisa had a baby girl. Then Sam had a baby boy. Then Lisa had a baby boy, then I had a baby boy. Then Sam had a baby girl and I had a baby boy. All within the space of about 5 years.

It was so fun to get together, to scrapbook, to play.

Then Lisa got pregnant with number 3.

So Sam and I made fun of her.

Because we're assholes sometimes.

Lisa had a baby girl and I gottta admit, she had a pretty sweet baby girl.

Life went on, Greg & I were so happy with our complete family. Sam and Todd were so happy with their complete family. Lisa and Jared admitted that they were not yet done. So we made fun of them some more.

One day, we all went to a baseball game. Someone got box seats and we had an awesome time.

Not long after, I felt strange. It was a familiar strange.

No. Oh no. No no no no no no no. No.

Yes. The pregnancy test confirmed it.

Dammit. I just started a new job. I was over 40 for Chrissake.

The first person I call was Lisa. I was in tears.

She was ecstatic. Not in a "nyah nyah" way, in a "I'm so thrilled for you guys" way. She rushed right over to give me a big hug because she could tell I needed one.

The second person I called was Sam. I left a message that went something like this:

"Sam. I'm pregnant. Call me"

Sam laughed her head off and then called me. As we were chatting she casually mentioned that she wasn't feeling quite herself either.

"No", she said, "Oh no. No no no no no no no. No."

"Dude", I said, "Take a test and call me back"

She called within an hour.

Pregnant.

I laughed and jeered, Lisa laughed and celebrated and we waited for the arrival of our two new kiddos.

Did I mention that we had the same obstetrician?

Did I mention that Sam is also our accountant?

Lisa has her babies on nature's time, but Sam and I set appointments. I have to have C Sections, and Sam is just a scheduler.

The OB said we could have the babies on December 31, so we could get the tax benefit. That was a Stimulus year too.

On December 31, 2007, Paul Zentaro A was born. An hour later, Lianne Rachel M was born. The hospital put Sam and I in adjacent rooms and we celebrated the new year holding our precious miracle babies.

When Lisa announced that her fourth was on the way, Sam and I hugged her and celebrated with her.

And kept our mouths SHUT.

Happy Birthday Paul and Lianne. We love you very much!

Yes, you have to go to Prom together

All About "Eva"

2011-12-28T13:27:00.000-06:00

In my last post, I told you about my friend "Eva" who is going through her own personal nightmare.

She has something called dermatomyositis. You can google it to see the symptoms. Web MD describes it as "a rare inflammatory disease that causes muscle weakness and a violet-colored or dusky red skin rash." I describe it as Living Fucking Hell.

Web MD doesn't tell you that the muscle weakness also means that you are too weak to walk. . . or to breathe. It doesn't mention that the violet or dusky red skin rash feels like an acid burn.

I'm really pissed at dermatomyositis.

As I mentioned last post, "Eva" has counted her blessings through this whole thing. As far as I know, she hasn't said FUCK THIS even once. She isn't really a "Fuck This" kind of person. So I am saying it for her.

A week ago last Thursday, she & I chatted on the phone for about 45 minutes. We laughed and shared stories. We planned on me taking her to lunch and a movie for the following Tuesday. I was psyched. She is always so fun to have lunch with.

I bought her a journal as a Christmas present. It's chocolate brown with purple, violet and pink circles on it. I figured she could write down everything she is going through and then use it to write a book which will sell a million copies. Or she could use it for grocery lists -- either way.

We didn't make it to lunch on Tuesday. Instead, she went to Houston to receive a chemo treatment at M.D. Anderson. She really hoped that getting chemo would help get rid of this fucking disease. Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough for the chemo.

She had an awesome Christmas with her family. She and "Tom" have 2 incredible kiddos -- "Molly" and "Evan". "Molly" is about 9 and "Evan" is 7. These kids have been so great with their mom -- helping around the house without being asked, and cuddling on her when she needs it. "Eva" spent her Christmas with them and by all accounts, it was awesome.

December 26th she was in ICU on a ventilator. As of this writing, she is still on it.

In my last post, I told you that she & I met when we were in the Junior League (JLCC). Neither of us had kids yet. The first year of JLCC, the provisional class spends each meeting at a different community resource, learning about areas where we might want to serve our community. It's really cool.

One meeting we were meeting with nutritionists who were explaining the problem of childhood obesity.

The Junior League tends to be composed of women who range from a size zero to a size 10. I am not picking on them --they are nice people and they are my friends. It's just that "Eva" and I were hovering around the 22-24 mark.

When you are a size 22-24 in a room full of size 6s, you tend to be self conscious when discussing childhood obesity. At least I was. I was a fat kid. A really fat kid. The kind of kid who gets sent to nutritionists to deal with my "problem". All of those memories flooded back to me as I listened with my petite friends. I felt gawky and morbid as hell.

During her presentation, one of the nutritionists affectionately referred to her patients as "Chubbos". The other ladies tittered.

"Eva" looked at me and said "How insulting".

Here I was feeling like a circus freak and feeling guilty for being fat. Eva had the presence of mind to be insulted.

Because insulting is the perfect word.

This nutritionist is trying to help these kids. But she didn't respect them enough to keep from calling them names behind their backs. She didn't mean to be hurtful. She just didn't think. She didn't know what it is like to be a fat kid and to be called names.

I know what that is like. And so does "Eva".

Instead of being self conscious and uncomfortable, "Eva" brought the insult to the nutritionist's attention. She did it gently and kindly, instead of angrily and defensively. She used it as a teachable moment.

That was in the year 2000.

"Eva" is handling this illness with class and courage, but she's always had guts. She's always had self respect and she's always seen the best in people.

In the year 2000, "Eva" gave me the courage to start standing up for myself.

I never told her that.

As soon as she is able to have visitors, I am going to go tell her.

Pray for her, OK?

Christmas Wishes

2011-12-24T12:22:00.000-06:00

I am feeling so grateful this Christmas.

Hubby got a great new job. It's filled with promise and new challenges.

I'm in the best shape of my life.

My boys are wonderful -- funny, smart, and truly kind.

I have wonderful friends. You know how you spend time with someone, and when they leave you think to yourself "I am so blessed to have her/him/them in my life? I feel that way about dozens of people.

We are all healthy and happy.

Thank you God.

I have one wish.

It's for one of my dear friends. I'm going to call her Eva, because I don't know if she wants me to share her struggles with everyone.

Eva & I have been friends for about 12 years. We met through a service sorority. OK, I'll admit it -- it was the Junior League. Yes, I am a bow head. I actually am no longer involved with the League, but I think it's an awesome group of women and I really enjoyed my my time there. Plus, I made amazing friends. Like Eva.

Eva is going through hell right now.

Hell is not the right word for it. Pretend that you have been dipped repeatedly into scalding water and then are forced to walk barefoot over broken glass. Oh yeah -- and your nose has been sealed shut and you are forced to breathe through a straw. Your muscles are so weak you have to use a wheelchair. And you have to go through this for a year.

Plus you have a two small children, a husband and a business to run.

That's Eva's life right now. Only worse.

Her husband, Tom, gets my vote for Husband of the Year. He is absolutely devoted to Eva and he is making sure that the kids still have a somewhat normal life. Eva's parents -- Beto & Sara -- are great too. Together, they are pulling together to get the family through this.

Here is a typical Eva Facebook post: Went to doctor today. Decided to undergo chemo. So grateful to the wonderful professionals here who are working so hard for me.

Here's another: Tom came by with a huge bouquet of flowers. How did I deserve such an awesome husband?

This one made me break down and cry: So proud of you Mary! You inspire me!

I inspire her? I inspire her????

Eva is undergoing the most harrowing experience of her life, but she is reminding us of the good in our lives.

I wish she didn't have to go through this.

I wish they could find a wonder drug, give it to her once and have her life go back to normal.

My Christmas wish -- actually, my daily prayer -- is that Eva & Tom and their family continue to have the strength to endure this. I pray that this suffering leads to untold blessings. God blessed Job, I know he will bless Eva.

I love you Eva! I am so grateful to have you in my life. Merry Christmas my beautiful, strong friend.

Deck the Halls with OW OW OW OW. . .

2011-12-20T15:24:00.000-06:00

Because I work for a college, I get TWO WEEKS OFF AT CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!

I Snoopy Dance every time I think of it.

Because 2 weeks off is AWESOME.

Because I am OFF, I have time to drive all the way to the Island to work out with Gabe!

Let me explain something to those of you who do not live in South Texas.

One of the nice things about living here is that everything is 30 minutes away. We have virtually no traffic.

Having lived in Los Angeles, San Francisco and Phoenix, I can tell you that the short commute is awesome.

Until you live here a few years.

Then you realize that everything important is only 5 minutes away.

Five minutes to church.

Five minutes to work.

Five minutes to the grocery store.

Five minutes to V-Fit.

So going ALL THE WAY to the Island feels far. Really, really far. Hell, I pack a lunch to travel to the other side of the freeway.

Today I went to work out with Gabe.

Good ol' Gabe.

Quiet, gentle Gabe.

First thing he makes me do? Walk outs. Then burpees. Then more walkouts. Then suicides, push ups, and more walkouts. Oh yeah -- they have this big rope. I think it's for mooring ships in hurricane force winds. It's about 5 inches thick. I have to take one rope in each hand, squat, and then whip the rope as hard as I can. So fun. For about 30 seconds. Then it's pure agony.

Basically, Gabe hasn't changed a bit.

I can't wait to go to the Island tomorrow!

Playground Justice

2011-12-18T13:27:00.000-06:00

I took my boys to the mall playground yesterday.

They love that stupid place.

For one thing, it's inside. For another, it's got a cookie store and a candy store right around the corner.

The area is really designed for littles 5 & under. I figured we were OK because #2 is 6 and #3 is almost 4. (#1 is on a camping trip with his dad).

I warned the kids that they had to be careful of little kids. I reminded them that I would be watching.

Then I watched.

I watched them jump. I watched them run. I watched them climb.

I watched the other kids too. For some reason, every boy in there was named Luke & every girl was Nevaeh. (Plus Paul.)

I know that because every time I told Luke to be careful, six or seven little boys looked at me for a minute before determining that I was not admonishing them.

Also, one mom spent her time between sucking on her grande moacchino, checking her iPhone and occasionally screeching "Nevaeh! Stop it! Nevaeh. Niv-E-YAH!"

All the other Nevaehs looked up, while the targeted Nevaeh continued to pound on the fish tank or pull on some Luke's hoodie or climb on the potted plants.

She was a little hyper. Whaddya gonna do? Kids are hyper.

I try not to be Judgy McJudgermom. I try SO HARD.

Because my kids aren't perfect.

But the more I watched Nevaeh, the judgier I got.

She was wearing a spaghetti strap top. It's Texas, and pretty warm here, but not spaghetti-strap top warm. Yes, my son was in shorts, but that's completely different. Nevaeh is starting to develop, and spaghetti strap tops are not her friend.

She was mean to the other kids. Not just pushy - she was mean. She frequently pushed her way to the front of the slide line, and knocked kids out of the way at the fish tank. She stuck her tongue out at one of the Lukes.

Every now & then, she ran to her mother to get a pull off the grande moacchino.

I wouldn't have been surprised to see her mother give her a drag off a cigarette.

I noticed another mom eyeing Nevaeh as well. Every time Nevaeh did something obnoxious, other mom & I would exchange eye rolls.

Finally, Nevaeh pushed Paul.

PUSHED him.

As he tearfully came to me for comfort, I looked at Nevaeh's mom to see if she noticed. She was too involved in her pinterest account to notice that her kid was being a bully.

I hugged and consoled Paul and looked for Luke. It was time to go.

Luke -- my Luke, not the other Lukes -- was chasing Nevaeh.

"Hey!" he yelled "Hey! You PUSHED my brother!". He maneuvered himself in front of her and forced her to acknowledge him.

"You PUSHED him" Luke reiterated.

"Sorry" said Nevaeh.

"You need to tell him," insisted Luke, and he steered Nevaeh over to us.

"Sorry," said Nevaeh to Paul. She patted him on the shoulder and then tore off to do more terror.

I didn't say anything to Nevaeh or to her mother. Nothing I said was going to make any difference, and I am pretty sure that had I said something, I would have gotten a very aggressive retort. I didn't need to get into a mom-brawl in front of my kids.

I figured Luke did a pretty good job of handling it.

Playground Justice was served.

Tight Spot

2011-12-13T21:03:00.001-06:00

When I was little, my mom dressed me up for the holidays in a Christmas (or Easter) dress, white tights and black Mary Janes. Occasionally, she would try to clip a bow in my baby-fine pixie cut hair.

I didn’t mind the dress so much, it was the tights I hated.

They bagged. And sagged. And the crotch usually lurked around my knees.

This season, tights are in style.

Textured tights! Colored tights! Patterned tights!

They are so cute I want to buy a pair in every style color and texture.

I have been wearing my tights with my boots. So cute! So wintery! So warm!

Yesterday, I wore my boots with pants. Also cute, wintery and warm. I love my boots. For one thing, they come to my knees. Anyone over a size 12 knows how hard it is to find knee boots that actually fit over your calves. I love my boots. Plus, they look awesome with tights.

But I wore boots yesterday. I didn’t wanna wear 'em again today.

So in my mind, I planned my outfit:

Black turtleneck, black skirt, black patterned tights & ropy pearl accessories.

But instead of wearing my boots, I would wear my grey herringbone mary janes.

How chic! How Vogue! How classic!

In my mind, I resembled a Talbots ad.

About 10 am, I realized that my boots had pilled the tights. So they looked fine from my hem to my knee, but the knee down looked as if I had waded through Styrofoam.

About 11 am, the ankles were sagging.

By 3pm, the crotch started creeping towards my knees.

In my mind I just stepped out of Talbots.

In reality, I looked more like “Real People of Walmart.”

My Mind's Eye

Closer to the truth

The Giving Tree - a repost

2011-12-11T19:02:00.000-06:00

I posted this on December 5, 2011. Feel exactly the same way this year.

Fair warning -- this post is going to be sappy as hell. Sentimental. Cloying.

I am in that kind of mood.

When I went to mass this morning, I was so grateful to Greg for staying home with the boys so I could go to mass on my own. No one pulled off my pants, stuck their hands down my blouse or repeated "Look Mama! It's Father Roger!" all through mass.

The mass was beautiful. I love the advent colors -- purple with gold. I love the candles, I love the symbolism, I love the prayers. Mostly, I love the people at Mass.

The Giving Tree was up -- this is our way to provide The Ark with gifts and needed items for the year. We select an ornament off the tree. The ornament has a child's age and gender on it, with an item that needs to be purchased. These kids need toys, but more than that, they need toiletries, clothes, medicine. What they really need is a safe and loving home, but unfortunately, the Giving Tree isn't much help there.

The Ark is an emergency shelter for kids who have to be removed from their homes. Usually, they have to be removed because of violence, neglect and abuse. Frequently children are removed in the dead of night, when drinking and drugs bring out the worst in those who are supposed to protect them. These kiddos come from all ages, races, religions and income levels. Most of them come from poverty -- if only because the poor have fewer mechanisms to control the damage done by the violence.

As soon as mass was over, families descended upon the tree -- taking one, two or three ornaments. People where waiting four and five deep. I know many of the families clamoring for the ornaments. When you know people, you learn their struggles. I saw people who suffered layoffs this year. People who have suffered miscarriages and other medical emergencies. People who have several small children at home. People who are caring for terminally ill parents. I saw people who struggle with addictions of their own. I saw single parent families and even a family that lost a child. Struggling families who couldn't wait to help the kids at The Ark.

We're going to do what we can too. We'll give. It will be nothing compared to what we have received. I am grateful for the chance to attend mass on my own. More than that, I am grateful for the chance to be a part of this Parish family.

Mary Christmas!

2011-12-05T21:16:00.000-06:00

You know how much I LOVE fitness challenges!

They REALLY motivate me. I'm not competitive or anything, I just wanna reach new personal bests.

And also win.

Because Victor knows that I LOVE challenges, and because he knows that I MUST get down to 229 by 2/1/12 and because he knows that I love Christmas cookies almost as much as my children, Victor has set up a new challenge for me.

And Mary.

And Mary.

It's the Tri-Mary Challenge.

See, there are three Marys who work out at V-Fit.

We all happen to be alumna of the University of Wisconsin. (One of us received her Doctorate from UW. One of us just drank a lot of beer and kissed as many boys as I . . .I mean she could get her hands on. I don't know about Mary.)

Mary & I also have the same birthday.

Wild, huh?

Victor's stated goal is to foster a spirit of competition while improving the overall fitness of three of his most dedicated clients. We all know he secretly wants us to get into a cat fight. (What is it about guys and cat fights? Seriously.)

We aren't going to get into a cat fight. We are going to have some competition, yes. Mostly though, we have a sisterly collaboration to reach our individual goals. We are going to rejoice in each others' triumphs and fortify each other when times get hard.

We are going to run towards the prize with arms linked!

I just hope the prize isn't a portkey.

Mary says it's OK if it's a portkey as long as it takes us to the Bahamas.

I'm just really, really glad my name is Mary!

Go Mary!

Go Mary!

Go Mary!

In The Can

2011-12-03T14:16:00.000-06:00

~~RUN 1 5K EVERY MONTH FOR A YEAR~~

Done 12/3/11

I cried a little bit on my way home.

I love you guys.

Brotherly Love

2011-11-28T20:26:00.000-06:00

I don't often tell stories on my siblings because. . . .

They would be pissed.

Let's just say that I am the oldest of 4 kids. Let's just say that we were all close. So close that sometimes we bugged the crap out of each other.

Because I am the oldest, wisest, and the biggest, occasionally I would strike one of my siblings.

I hit like a girl, it can't have hurt that much.

Except for the red hand print that I left on my sisters bare back. Or the apple that hit my brother right between the shoulder blades. Big crybaby.

I remember one day vividly. My family was at Sears. Mom was looking at washer/dryer combos. It was a Saturday. In June.

I was lovingly correcting my younger brother. We'll call him Tim.

Tim had enough of my helpful suggestions and decided to belt me one.

Right in the solar plexus.

As hard as he could.

It still hurts.

Because I had been struck for no good reason, I took the tack that always seemed to work for my siblings.

"MOM! Tim hit me!"

My experience was that once Mom found out someone (usually me) was hitting her precious child (usually him), that the perpetrator (me) would be punished. Naturally I expected similar retribution in this case.

Instead, Mom said:

"Good. It's about time he started standing up for himself".

The reason I share this with you today is because I now have three boys.

Two of the boys are being chased by their brother who is shouting vaugue but convincing threats about pending injury.

I gotta admit, they asked for it.

I would call my mom for sympathy.

But I know better.

Karma's a bitch.

Thanksgiving 2011

2011-11-25T13:46:00.001-06:00

Before I talk about Thanksgiving, I want to let everyone know that there is a Giftoffat page on Facebook! I am supposed to be able to put a button on my page to link you to it, but I can't figger it out. So "Like" me. OK?

Back to Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving was YUM.

I got up early and went downtown to run in the turkey trot. You could choose to walk 2 miles or run 4 miles.

I chose to run 4 miles.

They do the 2 mile/4 mile thing so that the walkers and the runners can be done about the same time.

Except this runner.

I came in last. Everybody was waiting for me.

Sorry to all of you off-duty officers who came to work the race, hoping you would get home in time to watch the game before the family started to show up.

But it wasn't about winning or losing. It was about finishing.

Finishing and guilt free Thanksgiving dinner.

SO YUM.

Turkey, asparagus, salad, a bit of corn, a dab of mashed potatoes, a touch of cornbread stuffing. More salad, another helping of asparagus. Then a big piece of pumpkin pie. A BIG one.

The crust was gross, so I just ate the pumpkin. And the fresh whipped cream.

And it was AWESOME!

How was yours?

Thanks Luisa for shooting this pic!

Giving out my number. . . .

2011-11-19T19:17:00.000-06:00

I have a new goal.

Well, it's actually about a month old, but I've been too chickenshit to write it on the blog.

See, with the Challenge over, I need something to keep me moving.

I need something to keep me progressing.

I worked out a whole year before this last challenge. I saw some pretty good results. Slowly but surely, the weight was coming off. Six months after my last baby was born -- June, 2008 --I went to the doctor and stepped on the scale.

It said X98.

I am going to pretend that you have no idea which integer the X represents. I know that you know that it's a whole number between 1 and 3, but you are too polite to notice. Thanks. I appreciate it. You know how Kirstie Alley lost a bunch of weight after dancing with the stars and told everyone she was 105 when she was really more like 140? I totally get that.

When I started working out with V Fit in July 2010 I was at X77. In 2 years, I dropped 21 lbs.

By the time the last challenge started, I was down to X59. In 1 year of working out harder than I ever have in my life, I was down 18 lbs.

More importantly, of course, I had dropped blood pressure significantly, stabilized my blood sugar and was no longer considered pre-diabetic. I was also very strong and people started telling me how great I looked.

To some people, 18 lbs sounds like a lot of weight. For me, it was less than 10% of my total body weight.

When we started 2011's challenge, I wanted to have an impact. I wanted to win dammit!

So I went to weightfuckingwatchers and worked out harder than before.

Ninety days after the challenge, I was at X44. I had lost 15 lbs.

Amazing the difference those annoying little 15 lbs made.

My clothes, which were getting baggy, simply did not fit anymore. People who hadn't seen me in a long time really noticed a difference. One friend thought I lost 100 lbs. He wasn't trying to flatter me -- he's not that great a friend.

The fact is, since I'd seen him almost 4 years ago, I had lost 54 lbs.

But now the challenge is over.

And I want to keep it up.

Not the weightfuckingwatchers part. I'll be honest -- I quit WFW about a month after I started. Because I hate it. (Have I mentioned that before?). I hated giving them $13 every week just so I could step on their fucking scales. So I decided to step on my OWN fucking scale and pay myself $10. I call it Date Watchers because when I meet my goal, we're getting a babysitter.

I do like the concept of losing 15 lbs though.

I like it kinda a lot.

But the thing is, I don't have a very public competition to motivate me.

Until now.

Here is the new goal:

By 2/1/12, I will be down to at least 229 by working out 5 or more times a week and eating at least 7 servings of fruits and vegetables a day.

I did it. I said the number.

Now everyone knows what I weigh.

I know you knew it already, but jeez. Seeing it in writing, it looks so. . . .big.

Big in that 229 is still a big number.

But 15 lbs is even bigger.

Grocery List

2011-11-16T18:30:00.000-06:00

This year, we are having fresh food for Thanksgiving.

Plus canned cranberry sauce.

No boxes of stuffing. No instant potatoes. No jars of gravy. No cool-whip.

Fresh.

My son wants to try a turducken.

I am sure you all see enough Food Network to know what a turducken is.

Instead of turkey, some people are now enjoying turducken as part of their holiday experience.

It's a duck, inside a chicken, inside a turkey. Or a chicken inside a duck inside a turkey. I am pretty sure the turkey is not inside the duck. Whatever it is, it is a freak of nature and we will have no part of it.

I'm not even eating cool-whip this year. Turducken?

Forget it.

Repost: O to be a child again. . . .

2011-11-12T11:47:00.001-06:00

Because I can't think of anything new to say, I looked through old posts to see if I felt like re-posting anything. This one was posted on August 28, 2010. Funny how some things have changed and some remain the same.

Yesterday my 2 older boys stayed home from school. They weren't sick or anything -- Joseph's pet jellyfish were being delivered yesterday, and they wanted to make sure to be home for delivery.

Yeah, we have jellyfish for pets. (They're dead now.)

After the pets made it into their tank safely, I wanted to work out.

I actually wanted to. Weird, right?

We packed a bag full of toys & books and headed out to V-Fit.

The toys and books amused the boys for 25 seconds.

Hardly anyone was there, so it was OK for them to walk around a bit. I was doing jump squats. Jump squats aren't my favorite. Especially when I have to do 4 sets of 25. Especially when the boys thought the squats looked like fun, so they decided to do it too. (4 setsof 25???? Bwahahahhahahah)

When I do jump squats, I jump-squat-grunt. Sometimes I jump-grunt-squat. (yeah. still do that)

When my boys do jump squats, they jump-say WHEE-squat-giggle.Then they say "Look, I can go fast!" and do about 30 in quick succession with perfect form and don't sweat.

Then it was time to do these horrible things where I sit on the floor, balance on my butt, keep my feet 6 inches off the floor, and take a 4 lb medicine ball and weave it in a figure 8 around my legs. When you do it right, it looks really, really smooth. When you've had 3 C-Sections, it doesn't look quite so pretty. (still not pretty)

Plus, it's hard to keep everything in. In other words, I go grunt-weave-pfft-grunt-weave-repeat. The "pfft" part made my boys laugh hysterically. Especially because I have always told them that going pfft is very rude.

Only Daddies go "pfft".

Never mommies. (no comment)

Next I did leg presses on the machine. Luke wanted to sit on my lap, but I said no.

"Is it because it will make you fart again?"

"No! Just go play for 5 minutes, willya?"

Finally it was time to do the pit. My boys love the pit. They run down, say "Chase me Mama!" and scoot back up. Over and over. Laughing and giggling while I wheeze and huff.

"Mama - remember when you were playing with that ball and you farted? That was funny!" said Joe, as if it happened years ago and not just 30 minutes ago.

Finally it was time to leave.

We see Victor on the way out. Victor cut his hair short, which really brings out his big brown eyes, his lantern jaw and shows the sinewy muscles of his neck. Sigh.

Victor says "Hey! How was the work out?!"

Luke says "Mama farted!"

That kid is lucky to still be alive

My First Time With A Girl. . .

2011-11-07T10:29:00.000-06:00

I admit it, I was nervous.

Self conscious.

I mean -- she's incredible. Her name is Clarissa, and she is gorgeous.

Don't believe me? She produced this video:

I asked if I was her first, but I'm not.

I'm glad. Because I needed someone with experience.

By the end of our first time together, I was panting, sweaty and exhausted -- but strangely exhilarated.

She was cool and confident.

Each time I returned, she coaxed me into doing more. She showed me how to do it right.

I never thought I would like it with a girl, but honestly, Clarissa has shattered my defenses. If I can't have Gabe, I'm glad I have her.

She's the new trainer at V-Fit.

What did you think I was talking about?

Wants, Needs, and What We're Getting For Christmas

2011-11-02T10:47:00.000-05:00

Christmas is around the corner.

The lists are starting to come in.

"Mom -- I want a DS" ($149).

"Me too!" ($149)

"Mom -- we need a new portable DVD player" ($99)

"Honey -- we really should replace that computer." ($500) "What we really need for Christmas is for #3 to have his own bed" ($300) "I need new school shoes" ($50) "Air Conditioner needs to be replaced!" ($3000) "Tuition is due for the big kids" ($605) "Also, the after care bill" ($140) "Also #3's daycare" ($460) "I'm taking Management 5311 next semester. The university wants $1100 by November if I'm going to get the good rate." ($1100) "School Fundraising is due!" ($350) "The Saturn needs new tires!" ($600) "What do you mean our portion of the MRI cost $350?!"($350). . . . .

"They cut my hours again"

Sigh.

I know we are not alone here. The "I wants" are part of the season. The "I needs" are part of life.

Funny enough, I am not worried.

Stressed, yes. Worried, no.

Greg & I have been following Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University since 2006. If you don't know about Dave, check him out here.

Dave is all about getting out of debt and building wealth. I hate debt. I love wealth.

When I first started listening to him, we had about $3,000.00 in credit card debt. That's a lot. But I thought that was all the debt we really had. I couldn't figure out why with both of us working full time, professional jobs, we could never find any "extra" money.

Imagine my surprise when I added up all of our debt and discovered that we actually owed about $96,000.

Can you believe we owed NINETY SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS and DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT?

We had credit card debt, car loans, and student loans. Oh yeah -- and we have a mortgage -- but that's on top of the $96K.

Gulp.

That was 2006.

As we head into 2012, We owe less than $20K on the student loan, and we still owe about $40K on our house. That's pretty good progress. We aren't handling it perfectly. Honestly, if we cut everything to the bone, we could pay off that $60K by 2013. But that would mean public schools for the kids, no school for me, no scouts, no sports, no workouts, no eating in restaurants all year, no nothing.

We could do that. We will do that -- if we have to.

We don't have credit cards anymore. We don't have car payments. We bought our last car with cash. I am paying cash for grad school. I used to drive a BMW. Now I drive a Saturn.

We simply don't borrow money.

That's why I am not worried.

We have a plan.

We have a backup plan too.

Funny enough, when we were $96,000 in debt, we barely gave any money to charity. Now we are tithers. That means that 10% of our income goes to our church.

It might seem like giving 10% of your income away is a stupid thing when you are trying to get out of debt. Turns out that it is the smartest thing we could have done.

Once we started tithing, weird things started happening.

Like --I got a better job. I mean a REALLY better job. We got pregnant with #3 and he was perfectly healthy despite the fact that the doctors told me I was too old and too fat to have another baby. Greg got a better job. The debt started shrinking, even though we weren't following the plan perfectly. Weird. It gave us. . .peace.

We know that by the time #1 son finishes high school, we will have ZERO debt including the house. We'll be in our early 50's. Young enough to build enough wealth to secure retirement. Young enough to save enough money to take a big trip to Europe. Or Asia. Or Africa. Or wherever we want to go.

That's the light at the end of the tunnel that makes me say "no" to things like a DS for a 6 year old.

We'll have a very merry Christmas anyway.

Busted

2011-11-01T09:45:00.000-05:00

#3 Sneaking Candy. Just like his mom.

Halloween Past

2011-10-31T09:12:00.000-05:00

I dropped Buzz Lightyear off to school this morning.

He was enthusiastically greeted by Spiderman, Batman, about 6 princesses and a zombie.

Really? A Zombie? He's 3 years old for chrissake.

The sad thing is, I KNOW the Zombie idea was not Caden's. It was Caden's Daddy. Or Caden's Mommy's Boyfriend. Whatever.

The thing is, I was feeling sorta sorry for myself as I loaded Buzz into the car this morning.

Not sorry -- that's not the right word. Wistful maybe?

What do you call it when you see your kids growing and making decisions on their own and not asking or wanting your opinion? That's the feeling I had this morning.

He's only 3. Shouldn't I still have SOME influence on his choice of costume?

OK -- we would definitely NOT do Zombies. Or Vampires. We still have Veto power.

But the truth is, the choice is his.

He gets to decide what to be.

That's kinda hard on me.

Because I miss the puppy years.

This is #2 son, not Buzz Lightyear. But all 3 have been this puppy.

Wish I Had a Better Solution

2011-10-27T14:26:00.001-05:00

Georgia thinks that this will help end Childhood Obesity.

Maybe it will.

I admit that I may be a wee sensitive on this issue.

I was a fat kid. But unlike Bobby's Mom, my mom isn't fat.

Oddly enough, I am fat like Bobby's mom but my kids aren't fat.

There is no question that being fat increases your children's chances of being fat.

I am aware of that EVERY DAY, which is a big reason why my family is so focused on my workout and weight*fucking*watchers regimen.

I'm all about celebrating the gifts of fat, but fat is one gift I'd rather not pass to my kids.

When I watch the above video, and I see the mom's dejected sigh, my heart breaks for her.

And then there is that charming tag line: Stop Sugar Coating it Georgia.

Oh I get it. Sugar. Because fat people like Sugar. And High Fructose Corn Syrup. And Molasses. mmmmmm.

When I watch that video, I don't hear Bobby's cute voice asking "Mom, why am I fat?"

I hear a mean kid saying "Hey Fatty! Your kids are fat because you're so fat, Fatty. So stop being so fat you big fat Fatso!"

I kinda think that's what Bobby's mom heard too. Because she sure looks like someone hurt her. It hurts Bobby's mom that he is fat too. She didn't want that for him.

But she doesn't know what to do about it.

She knows he needs to be more active. She knows he needs to get a lot more exercise.

She just doesn't know how to make that happen.

She buys healthy food, but she also has snacks in the house. Sometimes she doesn't buy snacks. But if there is nothing snacky in the house, she seems to drive through McDonald's a lot more.

Bobby is at school most of the day, then after care. She picks him up at 5:30 or 6:00, which is the earliest she can get away from the office. Her husband has started dinner, but he just got back from the office, so he makes a pan of frozen lasagna. They eat it with a salad. But Bobby won't eat his lettuce. They argue, and finally he eats some of his salad. Bobby is still hungry after dinner, so they let him have another piece of lasagna. They figure it's better than giving him dessert. They don't always eat dessert at their house. Weekends usually.

By the time dinner is over, dishes are washed, homework is done. . . it's dark. Too dark to go out to play. Plus, dad is so tired. So he and Bobby play a couple of video games before bath and bed.

Bobby's mom knows the family needs to do SOMETHING about their health.

She knows.

And then the State of Georgia calls her son a big fat fatty and tells her that Bobby is a fatso because she is a fat ugly whale. At least, that's what I heard. And then they say "Oh, we don't mean to be unkind, but you are fat and so is your kid and we don't like it. Fatso."

Hope it helps, Georgia.

You fucking inbred rednecks.

This Halloween

2011-10-24T17:02:00.000-05:00

I hope I see a lot of Harry Potters this Halloween. And Cinderellas. And Storm Troopers.

I hope to find a Barack Obama and maybe even a Nancy Pelosi. (Scary!)

I hope to see bumblebees and fairy princesses. I hope to see dinosaurs and pumpkins.

Buzz. Woody. Jesse.

Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker.

Snow White. Maybe a witch. A ghost or two would be good.

I can even stand Bella, Edward & Jacob, although I am not generally a fan.

Skeletons, vampires and even a devil.

That would be a great Halloween.

So far, however, I've seen some costumes I never want to see again.

Like 8 year olds dressed as bloody zombies and Freddy Kruger.

Or 13 year olds dressed as Stripper versions of Bo-Peep.

A tween dressed as a "hippie" wearing a micro-mini skirt, thigh high stockings and high heeled go go boots. Hippies didn't dress like that. I looked it up.

I am sick of Sexy Nurse costumes, sexy maid costumes, sexy anything. Tired of bloody, violent, angry monsters and other nightmares.

To me, those are costumes for grownups.

Not for kids who are barely in high school.

Or younger.

Happy Halloween

Like a Virgin

2011-10-19T15:08:00.001-05:00

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I work out at V-Fit Studio. You know that Gabe "The Silent Assassin" is my primary trainer and the studio is owned by Victor.

Handsome Victor. Dreamy Victor. Victor the Giver.

Vic the Basterd.

Last week, Gabe wasn't feeling well, so I did my workout with Vic. Vic, true to form, came up with a deceptively simple workout, then made me do 10 sets. With suicides in between. TEN sets.

Gabe only makes me do 5.

What the hell, it was only for a day. Besides, Victor is funny, and he flirts, and he laughs at all my jokes. It didn't hurt that bad.

Then on Tuesday, Gabe is still not in, so Victor helps me again. He gives me 10 lb weights and tells me what to do.

I say "Actually, Gabe has me use 12 lbs on this one".

Victor smiles and says "trust me".

Uh oh.

Victor has an interesting new regimen.

Low weight, high reps, no rest, many many many sets.

Many many MANY sets.

And no rest in between.

Whimper.

My arms are sore. Not the pang of muscles pushed hard for a long time. Not the sore that I get after Gabe puts me through my paces.

My arms are sore as in I-have-never-worked-out-my-whole-life-and-I-think-I-overdid-it-my-first-time sore. My muscles burned so much you could have lit a cigar with my shoulder.

Haven't I been working out for OVER A YEAR?

Haven't I been doing things I could NEVER do before? Like push ups from my toes, dips, walkouts and don't forget the Around-the-Fucking-Worlds. Haven't I participated in TWELVE 5Ks? Didn't I just WIN the CHALLENGE??????????????

Apparently, all that is behind me.

It would be OK if it was just for a day or two, while Gabe is out.

Apparently, Gabe is going to open the new facility on the Island.

Gabe got promoted.

Dammit.

I mean, good for Gabe! He deserves it!

So I get Victor. Dreamy, Handsome, Sadistic Victor.

And I'm starting all over again.

Vic. And Gabe. I know they are good looking, but DAMMIT!

Put the FUN back in Fundraising!

2011-10-18T12:42:00.000-05:00

Who wants Popcorn? Wrapping Paper? Scentsy candles? Bar-B-Q? Car Wash?

How about children's books? School photos? Pie? Cookie Dough?

Christmas Ornaments? Waffles? Jewelry?

Cookbooks? Candy? Coupon Books?

Raffle tickets? Magazines? Donuts? Tupperware?

Fundraising season is upon us.

I am not opposed to fundraising. I sit on several boards and I see budgets. I know that the funds being raised are needed. It's frustrating, because costs are so high. We pay a lot of money for our older kids to go to Catholic School. We pay a lot of money for #3 son to attend a decent daycare. We also want to participate in Scouts, Karate, Soccer and other fun activities.

The fact is, if these organizations charged what it cost to run the operation, most people couldn't afford it.

We already had to cut music lessons and school lunches for our kids. We just can't afford it any more.

I was going to make this a witty post about selling schmaltzy stuff.

But then I realized how much the organizations that I count on need the money.

Now I'm depressed.

Wonder if it's too late to buy more popcorn.

Lustful Dreams

2011-10-13T16:59:00.000-05:00

Dreamy:

zappos.com

also zappos.com

Zap again. And drool.

But the platforms in my price range all look like stripper shoes.

shoe carnival

also shoe carnival.

Anyone know where I can find cute, non-slutty platforms for less than $75?

Anyone?

The Envelope Please. . .

2011-10-12T15:16:00.000-05:00

As you may know, I recently competed in a friendly competition with some other community leaders to help bring about increased fitness awareness in our community.

Friendly my ass. I wanted to win.

It was tough.

For one thing, Victor and Gabe are sadistic basterds who think up exercises like around the world and make me do things like dips. I love those sadistic basterds, but still. Dips.

For another, my competitors included people like Tony. And Mary. And Robert. And Kirby. And Megan.

It was tough.

My partner was Julia. Julia is a dark haired beauty who works with children. She is gentle and kind. She is friendly and smiling. Fortunately, she is also focused and unstoppable.

Julia jogged to the bootcamp, worked out as hard as she could, then jogged back home. Julia worked out 6 or 7 days a week, and then in her spare time played kickball. Julia was the best partner ever.

At the end of the challenge, I lost 14 lbs, a percentage of body fat and several inches off my waist, hips, thighs, arms and most of all -- boobs. At the end of the challenge, Julia had arms like Michelle Obama's.

Between the two of us, we lost 30lbs, 17inches & 6.9% body fat. Overall the V Fit Challenge Teams lost 84 lbs, 66 inches and an average of 6.7% Body Fat.

This is one contest where everyone who finishes is a winner.

I'm not being trite -- I mean it. I didn't take top prize last year, but participating in the 2010 challenge was one of the highlights of my year. It started me on a path I never expected to follow. It made me strong and healthy and gained me lots of friends.

So I am not lying when I say that Tony emerged a winner just for competing. And Mary. And Robert. And Kirby. And Megan. And everyone else that participated. All of them are winners.

As for me & Julia, we both felt it was an honor just to compete.

Vic announced the winners on October 8th.

Drumroll please. . . . . .

JULIA AND I WON

WE FUCKING WON!!!!!!
WHOOOO HOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Kirby, Julia, Caitlin & me. It was a 70's workout. Shaddap.

Blocked

2011-10-04T11:10:00.000-05:00

Hi!

I love writing this blog and I love that so many people read and comment on it. So cool.

Ideally, I would blog 3-4 times a week.

Lately, I got nuthin'.

NUTHIN'.

Nothing inspiring, nothing bitchy, nothing tacky and worst of all -- nothing funny.

I hate that.

Ah well. I'll try again tomorrow.

In the meantime, if you have an idea for me to blog about, feel free to post your idea. I need a creative nudge!

Subtracting Ads

2011-09-26T15:24:00.000-05:00

Blogger has this feature called Ad Sense where bloggers can agree to have ads posted on their blogs. That way, blog readers can learn about great products and features and bloggers can earn millions of dollars. And since there is nothing wrong with my life that a million bucks can't fix, I signed up.

I'm still about $999,998.21 shy of a million bucks.

After having Ad Sense on my blog for about 6 months, I only accrued about a buck and some change in ad revenue.

Why?

It could be because I don't have enough readers.

Or it could be that all my readers are too ~~cheap~~ smart to buy things from blog ads.

It's probably because Ad Sense notes key words on your blog and posts ads that seem to be related to your topics. Consequently, the only ads I seemed to attract were ads for Weight Watchers (who I hate) and Jillian Michaels (who I also hate). Telling my readers how much I hate these products is not the most effective way to earn ad revenue.

Know who I love? V-Fit.

If you want to spend money to get fit, don't spend it at Weight-Fucking-Watchers or Jillian-Horseface-Michaels. Spend it at V-Fit. Skype workouts are available. And really, really, hard. And really, really effective.

I won't earn any ad revenue, but at least I know that all of my 81 wonderful readers will have access to the best.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

2011-09-21T14:34:00.000-05:00

OMG! I am so excited!

Read THIS.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Isn't Nicki awesome???!!!!!!!

Commenting

2011-09-17T19:27:00.000-05:00

I am a blog writer, but mostly I am a blog reader.

There are some amazingly talented writers out there. Some don't even mean to be great writers -- they just are. Case in point: Andi at Bitchy Pants. Andi's writing touches your heart.

Some are writers IRL and share their talent FOR FREE on the blogosphere. Niki at The Loaded Handbag is a writer and photographer and all-around creative renaissance woman. (God bless you Spell Check.) Nicki's writing touches your soul.

Some are just regular folks who like to make me laugh. At least I think that is their goal in life. Like Al at Penwasser Place. The more I read Al the more I wish he lived next door. Maybe Al would actually mow his lawn, which would be a double benefit.

The thing is, as wonderful as these blogs are, I can't always comment on them.

Not that I don't always HAVE comments on them. I just can't do it. Blogger won't let me.

It's probably because I am reading at home. When I comment at work, I rarely have problems. Not that I read blogs while I am at WORK you understand. I don't. Much.

As a blogger, I know how valuable comments are. I live for comments. When I write something I think is funny, I check it over and over to see if someone left a comment.

I read two great posts today. I really need to comment, but the settings won't let me. So I am going to comment here:

Penwasser Place
You think THOSE are man boobs? I need to introduce you to my dad.

The Loaded Handbag
First of all. . . .I LUV YOU NICKI! Your summer photos make me want to pack up and move to Boston today. I can taste the cucumbers and smell the flowers. Summer in South Texas is like winter in Chicago. There comes a time when you have to get inside and stay there for weeks.

Finally, I love you a little bit more today because of the red beads with the Cat in the Hat top. Accessories are what separates us from the lesser animals.

So Al, Nicki, Grams, Scout, Miss Sweet Tea and all my other blogpals - - I am reading. Please keep writing!

Dr. Phil Pissed Me Off

2011-09-14T11:03:00.000-05:00

I don't normally care about Dr. Phil.

But he really made me mad yesterday.

I was actually kinda liking him, because my favorite fave-fave waiter-blogger, The Bitchy Waiter was on his show Monday. That was cool.

I don't think BW got any money for his appearance. I know they flew him to LA. Coach.

But yesterday?

Yesterday Dr. Phil's guests were the Anthony's.

Remember them? The people who didn't love their daughter well enough to teach her that she shouldn't neglect her baby? The ones who didn't love their daughter well enough to help her be a good mom? The ones who perjured themselves?

Remember how we weren't going to support them making millions off of the story of their horrible parenting?

Remember how we all posted on our facebook and blogs and other media how we weren't going to support that?

Dr. Phil had them on his show yesterday. And I'm betting he gave them more than airfare on Southwest to appear.

Shame on you Dr. Phil!

Need a New Bucket

2011-09-13T10:31:00.000-05:00

I have 3 more 5Ks to run before I finish my goal of 1 5K every month for the year.

Yeay.

I like 5Ks. They are fun. They are hard for me. I feel like I've accomplished something when I finish one.

I don't LOVE 5Ks.

I haven't gotten much faster since I started. Hell -- I haven't gotten any faster.

In 2012, I am not going to run a 5K every month.

I AM going to run Beach to Bay, because B2B is the ultimate. I will run anything that my guys at V-Fit put on.

But 1 a month? Nah.

Which begs the question: what is my fitness goal next year?

Don't tell me to do a 10K, 1/2 Marathon or Marathon. No thanks.

I do need to accomplish something though.

Something hard for me.

Something that I have to work on all year long.

Something I can blog about.

Ideas??????

Today We Mourn.

2011-09-11T14:10:00.000-05:00

I got no words for today.

So please read The Bitchy Waiter.

God Bless America.

Big Mouth

2011-09-10T11:57:00.000-05:00

When I was 5 my neighbor Mike was being mean to me.

In order to get back at him, I said in my sternest Olive Oyl voice: "You. . .you. . you . . .BRUTE!"

"Shut up Big Mouth" was his reply.

My mother heard us fussing and told me to be kind to Mike.

"Shut up Big Mouth" was my reply. (Hey -- it worked for Mike).

Of course, I got a spanking. A spanking I remember 40 years later. Don't ever tell my mom to shut up. Also, don't call her a bitch. . .but that's a story from the teen files.

Here's the thing. Mike was right.

I am a Big Mouth.

I have no inner filter. If it comes in my head, I say it.

I am the person who says what everyone else is thinking but has the good sense to keep it to themselves.

When my leadership group used a cartoon of 6 kids in a spaceship as a "symbol" of our team, I pointed to the redhead & said "This is me". I pointed to the cute black girl & said "This one is [Black friend's name]!". Everyone else looked embarrassed. I don't know why they were embarrassed. [Black friend] knows she's black. She also knows she's cute.

I guess it wasn't polite.

Yesterday I was at a "town hall" meeting of sorts. The goal of the meeting was to openly discuss issues at work. The meeting was run by the President of the College. The President of the College is the most awesomest awesome guy in the world next to Greg A. I love this guy like a brother. He is an incredible friend and leader and mentor.

He also has had a really tough year. If you've read the newspapers at all last year, you know that FY 2010/2011 was a tough year for higher ed. It was a horrible year, but at least we had him at the helm. He made the hard decisions that needed to be made. He protected the staff as much as he could. When someone needed to take the fire, he took it.

The last thing I want to do is make his life harder.

The meeting was attended by lots of people. All of them care about our organization. Some of them don't like the decisions that have been made. They haven't been shy about venting their spleens via the organization-wide e-mail system. They have a right to make themselves heard. Open and candid discussion is important. I truly believe this.

I also believe that words are powerful and that the words one chooses to use have an impact.

In other words, there is a way to complain without whining.

Unfortunately, group e-mails at our organization tend to be less about constructive criticism and more about anger.

When I mentioned something along those lines in the town hall meeting, I should have chosen my words more carefully.

Or maybe I should have just kept it to myself.

I'm sorry Dr. E! I didn't mean to open the can of worms. I didn't mean to make things harder on you.

I'm such a Big Mouth.

The winner is:

2011-09-09T12:27:00.000-05:00

"Anonymous said...

Yeah...stoopid skype! hahahahaha!!! We live in a world were big brother is always watching and as it turns out, can make you work out too. The guys a VFit are kinda scarey on the occasion but danggit, I look past that cause they are so cute! I know you do too!!!! Thanks so much for being a cheerleader for everyone all the time. I read your blogs because I can relate, I get what you are talking about and I feel like you do. You just let EVERYONE know....so thanks for everything. Now...let's go get some Mexican food...we can Skype it off later."

If you left me this comment, e-mail me here by 9/18/11 & I will get you your FREE SKYPE SESSION!

True Random Number Generator

Min: 1

Max: 6

Result: 1

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Time Management

2011-09-07T13:11:00.002-05:00

I am busy.

I have a husband & 3 kids.
I work full time (where I take occasional blog breaks.).
I am in graduate school.
I workout.
I teach CCD.

and now. . .

I am a Scout Mom.

I am a big believer in Scouting. I think the Eagle Scout program is an incredible leadership experience and will benefit my boys for life. I really, really, really, really want them to be Eagle Scouts.

I won't FORCE them to be Eagles. That would be counter productive.

But I will do anything I can to help them be Eagles.

It's gonna take some time.

Sometimes, I am so busy, I feel sorry for myself.

Oh poor me.

Then I invariably meet someone who puts my schedule to shame.

Like Pam.

Pam (not her real name) also has boys in Scouts. She is also working on her Ph.D, works full time, and -- get this -- she is a ROOM MOTHER.

Pam -- WHAT ARE YOU DOING BEING A ROOM MOTHER?

Don't you know that the only thing keeping me from being a room mother is my BUSY SCHEDULE?

I truly appreciate room mothers. I just don't ever want to be one.

Don't forget to enter the SKYPE-WORKOUT GIVEAWAY!

The Miracle of the Internet. . .(and the coolest GOF giveaway EVER)

2011-09-03T17:11:00.000-05:00

I was in Austin last week.

For work.

So I couldn't work out.

Or so I thought.

I thought that since I was in Austin for work, I would have to get together with my colleagues, eat rich Mexican food and order dessert. Because it is a BUSINESS trip. And also, I would not be able to work out.

Business.

It's important.

So when I told Gabe that I couldn't come to the gym on Monday, I had on my very saddest sad face. Poor me. Have to work. With Mexican food and dessert. (Flan. Yum). Or maybe Italian and tiramisu. But it's for WORK.

Gabe saw through my saddest sad face and said "I can Skype you".

Blink blink.

Skype.

I love Skype. It allows me to talk to my friends and family far away and Gabe knows this. I love Skype almost as much as Facebook, and that's a lot.

Apparently Skype can also be used to schedule a one on one appointment with your trainer for anywhere in the world.

Stoopid Skype.

Then I thought -- how hard can a Skype workout be? I won't have any weights with me. I won't have any equipment. A few jumping jacks and that should do it, right?

Ummmm.. . no.

We started our workout with Leg Cranks. (24 squats, 24 lunges, 24 jump squats, 24 jump lunges). Five sets. Then 5 sets of walk-outs. . . I may have mentioned those before. Lots and lots of sets of bicycle crunches. (don't ask).

After 30 minutes, I was just as out of breath and soaking wet as I always am after working with Gabe. Only this time, all I had to drink was the $10 of bottled water they put in the room.

And. . .since I did a brutal and sweaty workout, when I went for my Mexican feast, I ordered carne asada tacos on corn tortillas and charro beans. No cheese. No enchiladas. No flan. I looked it up on Weight-fucking-Watchers. The whole meal was only 10 points. I only had about 6 chips before dinner too.

I didn't mean to make sensible food choices, I swear.

Stoopid Skype.

Here's my giveaway:

Because of stoopid Skype, you too can workout with my friends at V-Fit. Even if you live in Pakistan! (Hi Mariam!)

For my give away, I will give the winner one 30 minute Skype workout with V-Fit. All you have to do is leave a comment on the blog. Not on facebook, not on my e-mail.

I will announce the winner next Friday (September 9, 2011).

You should totally enter.

A Repost: Tenacity

2011-09-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

Originally posted June 2010:

For some reason, I hate to be told I can't do something.

It's childish, really.

But it has worked to my advantage.

My mom used to tell me "not to feel bad" if I tried something & failed. "Don't feel bad if you don't get picked for the team", "Don't feel bad if you don't get asked to the dance", "Don't feel bad if you don't win the election". . . .When I tried & failed, she usually would say "You didn't want to do that anyway", or "He'll never amount to anything anyway", or "They are all stuck up."

But when I tried & succeeded, she was always excited . . . . and surprised.

Because Mom thought that fat girls couldn't do everything thin girls could do. She never said so, and I am sure she would deny it even now. My mom loves me. When I hurt, she hurt. It's not that she didn't believe in me, she was just trying to spare me pain & humiliation.

But for some reason, pain & humiliation never bothered me much. I guess I was used to it.

I knew I would never get anywhere by relying on my looks, my brains, or my connections. I'm attractive, but not beautiful; bright, but not brilliant; and I'm not exactly an A-lister.

But I'm funny. And I don't give up.

One of my favorite quotes is something I found in a sales journal years ago:

Don't Quit.

Is that what you want to do? Quit?

It takes no talent, it takes no guts.

It is exactly what your adversaries want you to do.

So get your facts straight.

Know what you are talking about.

And keep going.

I don't know who wrote it, but I have never forgotten it.

My other favorite quote is from Theodore Roosevelt:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

So, I don't quit.

When I was 16, I worked for Osco Drugs. It was supposed to be a great job. I made more than minimum wage, I was inside, didn't have to mop floors or serve food. But I hated that job. The management was vile. There was one little man who made it his personal mission to belittle & insult the teenagers who worked there.

I hated it so much, that I used to wish I'd get hit by a car on my way to work so I wouldn't have to go in. (psycho, right?). For some reason, I felt I couldn't quit until I worked there at least six months.

As soon as I hit six months, I quit and went to work at Showbiz Pizza Place. (It was a precursor to Chuck E. Cheese). I worked at Showbiz for about 3 years, making pizzas, mopping floors, dressing up like Billy Bob Bear for the birthday parties.

It was WAY better than working at Osco.

Seriously -- About Irene. . .

2011-08-26T21:41:00.000-05:00

Hurricanes SUCK.

I have lived in Texas since 1997.

Every year, a hurricane threatens our shores. Every year, we evacuate. Every year, we come back to boarded up windows, a few downed tree branches and no damage.

Every year, we've been lucky.

If you are in the "cone of uncertainty" get out. Head inland. Take your kids, your photos and your pets. Leave.

I hope nothing gets damaged but your wallet.

I hope in a couple of days I can post about how "the media" LOVES to prep for hurricanes. They love the 24 hour coverage, the dire warnings, the duh duh DUMMMMM music.

I'm going to wait until after tho.

God bless.

Jealous of Irene

2011-08-25T11:23:00.000-05:00

Hurricane Irene is threatening the East Coast.

It is frightening and potentially damaging.

I pray that there are no lives lost and that the property damage is minimal.

I also pray that Irene decides that the east coast isn't what it's cracked up to be and decides to come to Texas.

How effed up is that?

We are SO DRY here that I am praying for a hurricane.

I HATE hurricanes.

At least I did.

Now I hate droughts.

My Intervention

2011-08-22T15:07:00.000-05:00

After a killer-owie Leadership Workout on Saturday, a couple of fellow sufferers joined me for breakfast.

We spent much of the time gloating about how well we did on our stats that morning. Victor did a mid-challenge weigh in. As a group we lost over 50 lbs! That's as much as last year's group did FOR THE WHOLE CHALLENGE!

We're a little excited about it.

Excited enough to go to breakfast.

Not excited enough to get french toast though. My breakfast had spinach in it. Yeah. I still wanna win.

One of my companions complimented me on my journey. She also gave to to me straight.

"You have to get rid of the skort".

The other girls nodded silently in agreement.

"But I love my skort! I can exercise without looking as if I've peed my pants!"

"I know", she said gently. "I know you like it. But it doesn't look good on you. It's time to let it go."

I wanted to scream and cry and tell her she was wrong! wrong! wrong! wrong! There is nothing wrong with the skort! I can put it away anytime I want to.

But in my heart, I knew she was right.

The skort was a crutch.

How can I criticise other people's unfortunate fashion choices if I am going to continue to wear the skort?

I would be living a lie.

Thanks to my good friends Mary, Rachel & Megan, I got the courage I needed to put the skorts -- all three of them -- in the Goodwill bag.

Goodbye dear friend! *Sniff!*

And thank you!

The skort saw me through tire tosses

Suicides. And burpees.

70's day

I'll never forget the day we danced

Fun and Pains

2011-08-15T20:24:00.000-05:00

I never shoulda told Gabe I could do push ups from my toes.

When you can do push ups from your toes, you are eligible for lots of other fun exercises.

Like "walk-outs". Walk-outs start from a standing position. Then you bend down, touch the floor, walk your hands out to a push-up position, do a goddam push up, then walk your hands back to your toes, then stand up. I get to do 4 sets of 10. Or 15, depending on what else Gabe has for me.

You also get to do planks. A plank is a push up position held in place for a period of time. Gabe says it's only 60 seconds but I think he meant 60 MINUTES. Because that's how it feels. Sometimes, just for fun, Gabe puts a 25lb weight on my back as I plank. I am not lying.

Today we did a fun one.

Around the World!

Doesn't that sound cute? Doesn't it evoke images of happy children in national costume holding hands and dancing in a circle? Doesn't it make you think of exotic places with women in colorful fabrics handing you glasses of the local refreshment? It makes one think of fun drinking games and nights of hilarity. Around the World. How delightful.

I think a more appropriate name would be "Circle of Agony".

To do an Around the World, you begin in a plank position. Then you do a push up. Then you walk your hands a few degrees to the left - or right, depending on which hemisphere Gabe is working on -- and do another push up. The you move your hands a few more degrees, push up, walk hands, push up and so it goes until you have turned a full 360 degrees.

You may have heard the expression "Horses sweat, Men perspire and Ladies glisten." My glistening left a perfectly round mark in the carpet that won't dry for a few more days.

I bet next week Gabe makes me do a variation he'll call "Mary-Go-Round". An "Around the World" with Victor standing on my ass.

I just hope he takes his shoes off first.

Not His Fault

2011-08-12T10:37:00.000-05:00

Ever since I started working out in July 2010, the team at V-Fit has challenged me.

Every day it's harder.

Every day I am stronger.

Gabe, known as "The Silent Assassin", has a knack for getting me to try things I NEVER would have considered on my own.

So when I got home from my workout on Monday, I wasn't surprised that I was a little sore. Nothing major -- I could just tell that I had worked out.

Tuesday morning, however, I was really sore.

My back was stiff and painful.

Nevertheless, I had kids to get to school and a job to get to.

When I got to work, I had my morning coffee, laughing to my coworkers that Gabe had once again kicked my butt.

The coffee made my stomach a little bubbly. That happens sometimes.

But my back was really really sore. Owie and sore and hurty.

And my arms were stiff too. Gabe had me do several push ups with one hand on a medicine ball. Very good for the chest. I stretched, joked to my friends that I shoulda worn Bengay instead of Chanel No. 5.

My coffee tummy was worse. It made me break a rule. (Technically, I didn't break the rule because no one was in there. But still.)

I spent my busy day attending meetings and whining to anyone about how hard my workout was. Because my back hurt. My arms were sore. My chest was owie! My legs were stiff and achy. My hair hurt.

Wait. Gabe didn't workout my hair.

When I got home, my head was aching. My stomach still bubbly. I didn't want dinner. Everything hurt -- including my hair and my fake nails.

I went to bed.

I stayed there for 18 hours.

Then I felt LOTS better!

No more back pain. Arms, chest & legs - fine. Hair - messy, but pain free. Tummy -- hungry.

So it wasn't Gabe's fault that I felt so miserable.

I had the flu.

Hmmmm. . . kinda scary that I didn't know the difference, doncha think?

A Week With My Boys

2011-08-09T16:20:00.001-05:00

Since school started this week, I decided to take last week off and just spend it with my kids.

It didn't hurt that keeping them home saved us $250 in camp fees.

We went to the Aquarium, the water park, the arcade, the beach and got raspas almost every day. (Raspa is Tex-Mex for Snow-Cone). We went to the movies, and hosted a small dinner party where the guest of honor was one of our beloved priests.

We also got haircuts, bought school shoes, and had the pre-school physical.

Two observations:

1. SAHMs are rock-stars. I haven't been so tired in I don't know when.

2. The mundane was as fun -- or more fun -- than the "events".

There is just something cool about watching a 6 year old put on a new pair of tennies. (Sneakers, gym shoes, I don't know whachacallem. Tennies.) Remember when new tennies made you jump higher, run faster and stop on a dime?

I had to giggle when the 3 year old looked at his new haircut and exclaimed "I'm handsome! Right, Mama?"

I was proud of my 10 year old for helping his brothers navigate public restrooms, crowded aquariums and kept them entertained while I did my (almost) daily workouts.

All in all, it was a great week.

God, I need a nap.

The boys with our guests -- Father Pat, Declan & John.

The Competition Intensifies

2011-08-03T14:29:00.000-05:00

We're already in week 4 for this year's Leadership Fitness Challenge.

Last year's challenge was amazing. Humbling. Eye opening. Enriching. My favorite part of last year's challenge was the people it brought into my life. Vic. Gabe. Ricky. Scott. Mary. So many others.

Mary is the leader for Spohn Hospital. She, Scott & I are the only three of the original LFC that worked out with Vic all year. We are the only 3 back in this year's LFC. Mary's team won the challenge last year. They earned it -- I gotta give her that.

Mary and I have a lot more in common than first names. We both went to University of Wisconsin and we have the same birthday. Weird, right? Mary is funny and beautiful and smart and successful and she works out so hard. Apparently she also was a size 24 not too long ago, although you'd never know it to look at her now. Mary and I are now friends. Real friends. Let's-grab-lunch friends.

Mary and her awesome husband Ron have a beautiful daughter named Rachel who works out with us, and who is also one of my kiddos' favorite babysitters. (They also love a beautiful blond girl named Natasha. I think my boys already love blonds. Should I worry?) Anyway - I love Mary to pieces.

I really, really, really want to beat Mary in this year's challenge.

I have a good start. For one thing, my partner this year is AWESOME. Her name is Julia and she is SO committed. Julia works for a part of the college that I rarely get to see -- our Early Childhood Development department. Julia is just the kind of person you would want working with your kids -- smiling, gentle, kind. Beneath that glowing exterior, however, beats the heat of a tiger. She works out almost every day -- and get this: she RUNS to the studio and then she RUNS home. I can already tell that her arms are defining, her waist has whittled and she is glowing strength and fitness. With a partner like that, don't I have it in the bag?

I'm not counting my chickens.

For one thing, this year we have A LOT of really committed people. Kirby. Megan. Luisa. Caitlin. Jason. Robert. Yoli. Any of these incredible people have a chance of bringing it home.

But Mary is playing dirty. Mary has Tony.

Sigh.

Tony will not be easy to beat.

Not easy to beat at all.

Tony is big. Tony is strong. Tony is funny and smart and likable. Dammit.

Tony is like many of us who have hit our forties -- he put on a bit of weight (which is rapidly coming off), his joints are a little creaky, and working out was pretty foreign to him until Mary enlisted him as her partner.

But Mary knew what she was doing. Tony isn't your run of the mill work-out-for-a-few-weeks-lose-some-weight-and-call-it-a-day kind of guy. Tony is a I-am-going-to-win-even-if-it-kills-me kind of guy.

Tony works out until it hurts and then he works out some more. Tony keeps us laughing throughout the workout -- I think it's a strategy to weaken our focus. Tony has been sticking to the diet plan religiously and already has lost over 10 lbs. He is getting smaller and stronger by the day.

Tony has become my buddy. How could I not like him? He's from Chicago for Chrissake. He's like a brother to me. Tony reminds me of where I started a year ago. In spite of myself, I really, really want Tony to do well.

That's what scares me.

If I am going to beat Mary, I hafta beat Tony.

It won't be easy.

Another Stupid Article About Why We're All So Fat. . .

2011-07-28T17:05:00.000-05:00

A friend sent me this article by Zinczenko & Goulding on the habits that make people fat. Kinda like it. Kinda hate it. Mostly hate it.

Habits 1-4 are pretty standard. Nothing too controversial. Get enough sleep, don't eat the free chips at Mexican restaurants.

I was excited to see that habit # 5 - Drinking pop -- even diet pop -- is a fat-producing habit. O.M.G. This is so me I can't even believe it. I have said this for ages. I drink WAY too much pop. I drink pop like my mom smokes cigarettes. It's definitely a bad habit!

Habits 6,7,8. . .yada yada yada.

But then we get to habit 9 - Ordering Combo Meals. This is the Happy Meal Debate all over again. Ordering combo meals does not make you fat. Eating combo meals makes you fat. There is a difference.

Habit 10 - Facing the buffet. Sigh. Look -- I know that most buffets are filled with fat people.   But most fat people DO NOT GO TO BUFFETS. Seriously. We don't. You are beginning to piss me off.

Habits 11-15. Nothing notable.

Then we get to Habit 16.

Having fat friends makes you fat.

Wait -- WHAT?

So. . . my friend is fat because I am fat? Or I am fat because she is fat? What if she was fat when I met her? Is it our other friend's fault? WHAT?

Zinczenko & Goulding suggest "Rather than ditch a friend who starts to put on a few extra pounds though, suggest healthy activities that you can do together, and avoid letting him or her dictate the meal (“Let’s split the cheesecake!”)

Nothing says "I'm your friend!" like judging someones eating.

What, exactly is "dictating the meal"? "Hmmmmm. . .gee Michelle, I know you wanted the Buddha's Feast, but get the Kung Pao Chicken instead, OK? I'll be your best friend!"

I notice that in order to give credence to this premise, they quote research in the New England Journal of Medicine. Prestigious. I went to the New England Journal of Medicine to read the research for myself.

I found a synopsis of an article that I think they're using as data.  The NEJoM synopsis does not list friends as a contributing factor, but the full text might. The full text of the article costs $15. I didn't buy it since $15 is roughly the cost of 12 Coke Zeros (which are keeping me fat, damn them!).  If Zinczenko & Goulding used a different piece to justify their claim, I hope they will let me know.

I took stats last semester. Zinczenko & Goulding claim that having fat friends "ups your chance of obesity by 57 percent."   If you look at the data in the NEJoM article, however, "other lifestyle factors associated with weight gain" are P<0.001.  That is a very very small number. So my question is, 57% of what?

Could Zinczenko & Goulding be using the NEJoM's prestigious data to shock, amaze or enrage their readers? Look, I get it.  You sell diet books and you want to sell more of them. By hurting and insulting fat people with your prestigious "research", you might be able to sell a few more.

Yawn.

Enough "Flair" Already. . .

2011-07-26T14:56:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine is retiring at the end of this week, so we took her out to lunch.

She is one of those people who enrich your life because she is so one of a kind. She is funny. And creative. Kind of a spaz. She was at Woodstock -- yes the Woodstock. She's vegetarian, and she doesn't eat gluten. In South Texas, being a gluten-free vegetarian is difficult. In South Texas, chicken is considered a vegetable.

Since she is the retiree, we let her pick the restaurant.

I thought maybe she would pick a patchouli scented cafe where we could sip soy lattes with our falafel. I love falafel.

She picked P.F. Chang's.

We had a lovely lunch.

We laughed, we told stories, we listened to her plans for the future. The food was good -- she had brown rice with garlic spinach & some cucumber dish. I had Buddha's Feast ("feast" my ass -- it was brown rice and steamed veggies.), our dining companion had almond chicken. (Looked much feastier than my feast.). We drank flavored tea. We had teeny-tiny tiramisu shots for dessert. (Which made the whole thing worth it!)

The only problem?

The waiter.

I appreciate waiters. Two of my very very favorite bloggers are The Bitchy Waiter and FMT. Because of these wonderful writers, I try to be a good patron. I tip well and discipline my children. If my discipline is ineffective, I tip even better. I understand that waiting tables is hard, dirty work.

But this guy?

He wasn't incompetent. He was actually very considerate, polite and charming. He mixed special gluten-free sauces for my friend. He kept our drinks filled, he kept us up to date on the specials, he was pretty textbook "good waiter".

The problem?

He wouldn't leave us alone.

I know that P.F. Chang's is a corporate conglomerate where they refer to customers as "guests" and have very exacting standards for their waitstaff. If someone from Corporate was visiting, he would have gotten high marks.

But not from us.

When my friend said she needed gluten free, he grilled her about whether she had an allergy or simply a sensitivity. I finally had to say "She doesn't eat gluten. That's all that's important, ok?" (Now that I think about it, one of my mushrooms looked suspiciously like a loogie. . ) He interrupted our conversation three times to see if we needed more tea. (Our glasses were 3/4 full). He asked us several times if we had any questions on the sauces, and then did a presentation on the heat, the salt and the cooling effects of each sauce.

Because he was relatively charming and seemed to be "just doing his job", I didn't complain. I tipped 15%. I smiled, said thank you and didn't leave a mess. But P.F. Chang's? Your corporate needs to back off on your "guest services". And add a little soy sauce to the Buddha's Feast.

Don't be this guy. .

WHY I hate Weight Watchers

2011-07-22T13:12:00.000-05:00

I am on Weight Watchers.

I hate it.

Everyone knows I am on Weight Watchers and everyone knows I hate it.

Everyone also thinks that I should just shut my big mouth and quit whining about it, even though everyone is too nice to actually say that to me.

I need to explain WHY I hate Weight Watchers.

I hate WW because it is SO gimmicky. Points. Power Foods.  Stickers, charms, ribbons. Lifetime memberships. GAG.

Also, they treat everyone the same. My cousin recently lost 20 lbs in 3 months with WW. His wife lost 40 lbs in 13 months using another system. Know why he lost so much so fast? Because he is a man & they metabolize fat differently.

They do.

I get that there are lots of men who need to lose weight and WW might be a place where they can lose it. But do you know how much it sucks to be next to a guy who dropped 20 lbs in 3 months when it took me 6 months to do it? The way WW works, they don't really distinguish between men & women. Men get lots of "oh wows" and women get "keep trying!".

In addition, there is a HUGE difference between someone like me -- who has been fat my whole life and has been over 100 lbs overweight -- and someone who gained 30 lbs after she hit 30.  We both need to lose weight, but I have a different health history, a different emotional experience, a different everything. WW does not recognize those differences.

Can I tell you how much it annoys me to hear "What worked for me was keeping my fruit cut up in the fridge." I am happy to hear that the little fruit trick works for you. But I did not gain 100 lbs because my fucking fruit wasn't cut up.

WW is all about sitting thru stupid meetings to "learn" about how to eat (puhleeze) and then clapping for every lb lost as if it were an achievement.

Weight loss is not an achievement.

It is a metabolic result.

I bet if you polled every fat person you see, each of them would tell you they tried weight watchers at least once. So why are they still fat?

Because WW is not a long term solution. It only works as long as you work it.  It is not sustainable. I've said it before, but I have a real problem with a health care system that treats obesity as a character or vanity issue.

Weight loss is not covered by insurance unless you get a major organ removed. The US health insurance industry has left treatment of a major health crisis to a group of for-profit companies that are in the business of selling frozen foods, calorie calculators, water bottles and other paraphernalia.

I have been to weight watchers off & on for 40 years. I went to my first WW meeting when I was 5. They made me eat liver, and my mom had to make a different ketchup that I was supposed to eat. It tasted terrible.   My mom felt bad that I had to eat liver & no one else did, so she made everyone eat what I was supposed to eat.

Mom tried to disguise the disgusting organ meat, so she chopped it in little pieces and mixed it in with spaghetti. We all cried.

Then my dad yelled at her for forcing his kids to eat liver.

All because my mom was looking out for me, and trying to get me to do what WW said was right.

I love you mom.

I hate you Weight Watchers.

I was most successful on WW before I got married. I lost about 30 lbs and went from a size 16 to a size 12. (Of course, my wedding dress was a size 20 but that's another blog.)

We went to Hawaii for our honeymoon. I gained 5lbs. When I got back to WW, the meeting leader made me feel as if I had slept with her husband.

I haven't had much success with WW since then -- partly because they moved to this "points" bullshit. I've joined and quit about 4 or 5 times since I got married. So why am I back?

Because I know that WW is as effective as anything else out there, and it's pretty affordable. I am cussing my way through it, but I am going to go thru it. Goddamit.

I hope to have success. I just won't give WW the satisfaction of thinking THEY had anything to do with it.

Because they didn't.

Gotta Share This

2011-07-21T11:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I read something that makes me think that everyone in the world needs to read it too.

Like today.

I started by reading one of my favorite bloggers ChiTownGirl. Best name ever, yes?

Read this post: http://iteachkdg.blogspot.com/2011/07/i-have-no-words.html

Of course, that post sent me to this post: http://www.mouthyhousewives.com/wtf/mouthing-off-the-racist-vaginas/comment-page-1#comment-307140

I have nothing to add, really. Just OMG.

O.M.G.

Good Thing It's Not About Looks. . .

2011-07-18T16:34:00.001-05:00

Many people work out so they can look fitter, skinnier, prettier.

I have said all along that my goal is NOT about how I look, but how healthy I am.

What is important is good blood, fit joints and strength.

Not looks.

Good thing. 'Cause this ain't pretty.

Dips. I am balancing on one heel and dipping my fat ass then pulling it back up. Couldn't do these in High School.

Starving Scorpion

2011-07-15T10:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Weight Watchers:

Today is day four of the new Points Plus! for me. With all the fruit at Zero Points! I'm eating my Power Foods! And I'm Fucking Starving!

Your website says "Try adding more fiber to fill you up!" and "Don't forget to drink your water!"

I say "I'm still Fucking Starving!"

I hate you. See you on Tuesday.

From,

The Starving Scorpion

Dear Vic:

Last night was my 3rd Leadership Fitness Challenge!

Ricky made us do the Scorpion. That was a new one. We had to plank from our elbows, then lift our right leg and bring it over our left leg. We had to do that 20 fucking times, then we had to switch legs.

This morning, I figured out why it's called the Scorpion. It stings your ass like crazy.

Sorry for being cranky, I am starving and my ass hurts.

See you tomorrow.

Love,

The Starving Scorpion

I Don't WANNA!

2011-07-12T14:47:00.000-05:00

"The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not. "

Mark Twain

And so I grudgingly went to weight watchers today. Or, as I like to call it, weight-fucking-watchers.

I don't want to.

I don't like it.

But I am.

Last year, when I participated in the fitness challenge, my goal was healthy blood. Previously, I had high blood pressure and my bloodwork came back dangerously close to diabetic. I have 3 young children. Avoiding diabetes is a priority.

Today, my blood is great. Exercise has made an awesome difference.

This year, my goal is really good joints.

Kinda makes me sound like a stoner, don't it? I've never been much of a pot smoker, but if it is good for my knees, maybe I should try it.

Or maybe, I will just go to weight-fucking-watchers to help me drop the weight that I haven't dropped with exercise.

Have I mentioned that I HATE weight watchers?

Maybe once. Or twice.

But weight watchers, with all it's stupid gimmicks, meetings, and products, happens to be very effective. Which just pisses me off even more.

So I went to a meeting today.

They have a "new" system. It's another stupid program where you calculate how many points you have to eat in a day and then figure out how many points are in everything you eat, and then write everything down.

It's gimmicky. It's stupid. It's corny.

But having a target and writing things down is effective. That part isn't stupid.

The leader - a little old lady who lost 15 pounds on weight watchers 40 years ago -- took me through a chart where she cheerfully said things like "We're going to teach you how to eat healthfully!" and "You can eat anything you want, as long as you calculate the points!" I restrained myself from announcing that I already know how to eat healthfully, but knowing and doing are two different things. Instead, I rolled my eyes like a thirteen-year-old through the whole thing.

Then she said "And with the new system, all fruits and vegetables are ZERO points! Isn't that great?!"

To which I churlishly replied: "I always knew I didn't get to be a size 24 because I ate too many friggin' bananas". (I said friggin' because even I object to swearing at old ladies.)

On the plus side, I will always have something to kvetch about in my blog.

Even tho I don't wanna.

Another year of AWESOME!

2011-07-09T17:40:00.000-05:00

Today we began the SECOND ANNUAL LEADERSHIP FITNESS CHALLENGE!

The Leadership Fitness Challenge is where it all started for me. One of my biggest pet peeves is people who say "This changed my life!". So I am not going to say that.

I will say that this enriched my life. With fitness, yes, but also with friends, challenges and new kinds of fun.

This time, I am the leader for my College because our president has one of those schedules that makes you tired just to look at it. He would do it, but I decided that I would be the leader this year because I KNOW I can make all the workouts and I really want to beat Spohn Hospital. Not that I am competitive or anything.

I was looking at some shots from the very first LEADERSHIP FITNESS CHALLENGE.

This was after I fell off this damn thing but had to get up and pretend it didn't hurt. Becasue I was embarassed.

Let's just say that I've come a long way.

Here's to a new year of awesome! And to beating Spohn Hospital!

Evil Twin? Just Evil.

2011-07-08T13:23:00.001-05:00

I am not proud of myself for writing this.

I am not proud of myself for thinking it.

It's petty, insecure, catty and downright mean.

I am going to write it anyway. And hope my mom doesn't read it because she would be ashamed of me.

I'm going to criticise someone's clothes.

Not someone famous. In my opinion, if you are a "celeb", your fashion choices are fair game. Don't like it? Then quit your job.

The person I am going to criticize is a normal person. Actually, I wouldn't call her normal. I think she is one of the bitterest, angriest people I have met in a long time. I have been her acquaintance for about 4 years, and she has ALWAYS been bitter and angry. And she has always had horrible taste in clothes.

Let me paint you a picture.

This woman is probably in her 60's. She doesn't color her hair. She wears it in a very severe pageboy, which probably looked fine on her when she was 8. At 60ish, it looks horrible.  She also doesn't wear makeup, but to be fair, she has lovely skin. She's tall, and she's big. I would put her at a size 26.

Normally, I will not criticize a plus size woman's clothes or style because I understand the challenges in buying stylish plus size clothes.  But she is so bitter and angry.  And mean.

Also, she doesn't like me. She thinks I am a Pollyanna. She actually used the word "Pollyanna".

Of course, to someone as negative as her, even Bill O'Reilly is a Pollyanna.

Also, she hates conservatives. She said so.

She was a young woman in the 70's, when going natural was very "in". She obviously doesn't care about being "in" any more. Why should she? She is in her 60's. When I am in my 60's, I will not care about being "in". At least I am assuming that I won't care about it. Who knows, maybe I will. Regardless, I completely accept anyone -- especially someone in their 60's -- who doesn't care about being "in".

I normally don't criticise her clothes because even though she is obnoxious, her lack of style isn't really of interest to me. But yesterday. O. M. G.

Yesterday, I went to a meeting and this big tall woman with the steel-grey pageboy was wearing a frilly (frilly!) pepto-bismol pink top, pepto-pink pants and matching shoes and socks.  Pink. PINK! Really, really, really pink. This on a person that seems to hate the color pink on principle.

She looked like angry cotton candy.

It occurred to me, as I was listening to her vent her spleen for the umpteenth time, that she and I are very alike, but very opposite.

We are both big, strong women. We are both pretty bright. We are both well educated. We are both readers. We are both moms. We are both forceful personalities.

It's just that we are so different:

She hates change. I thrive on it.
She is angry -- on purpose. I'm not -- on purpose.
She is suspicious. I am trusting.
She hates conservatives. I am conservative.
She is a bitter atheist. I am a joyful Catholic.
She doesn't care about style. I do.
She buys something because it fits, regardless that she looks like hell in it. I will go naked rather than buy something unflattering.

I couldn't help but think that my violent reaction to her outfit says more about me than about her.

Why does it bother me so much?

Are we more alike than I want to admit? Are we secretly twins? Am I looking at my future when I see her?

I hope not.

Please, God, anything but pink.

Time to Move On

2011-07-06T10:39:00.000-05:00

July 5th the Verdict came out.

People were pissed.

I'm pissed.

Not because she wasn't convicted by the jury. That doesn't bother me. She's been convicted by the court of public opinion and that is pretty harsh. Good luck getting a job, honey.

I'm pissed because of the profiteers.

There are creeps who are going to offer her ungodly amounts of money to tell her story. They will make her come across as some misunderstood heroine who was simply overwhelmed by a tragedy and behaved badly. Or as a poor, lost soul who is a victim of (insert social pathology here). Or maybe even as a calculating monster. Whatever sells.

Like a lot of people, I posted this on my facebook status:

For those of us who are outraged at this jury verdict, there is something we CAN do. DO NOT buy any book, magazine, or movie ticket for anything that the Anthony family publishes in order to make money off of this whole tragedy. I copied this...pass it on. I sooooo agree don't let them profit please!!!!

But what about those who have been profiting all along?

What about those who have been selling this story to us since the beginning, grisly detail after grisly detail? They have been stirring up the nation's wrath, because it's easy to generate outrage.

I am tired of being outraged.

I don't care that Arnold had a love child.

I don't care about Tiger's divorce.

I am bored of the royal wedding, and cynically waiting for their first fight so that I can be manipulated into siding with one or the other.

Wikileaks, oil spills, global warming & same-sex marriage? Meh. Who cares?

I can pledge never to watch a Kasey Anthony movie, which is no stretch for me because I wouldn't have watched it anyway.

What I can't pledge is to never watch the coverage to begin with.

How many hours have I followed this? How many Papa John's commercials have I seen while waiting for the next sordid details? How many Subaru ads have I seen? Glade Plug ins? AT&T Wireless?

The honest truth is, I am going to keep feeding the beast. I'm blogging about it, aren't I?

Kasey Anthony is not important.

I need to remind myself what is important:

My faith
My family
My country
My city
My friends.

And I need to move on.

I LOVE THIS COUNTRY

2011-07-04T10:02:00.000-05:00

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The 56 signatures on the Declaration appear in the positions indicated:

Column 1

Georgia:

Button Gwinnett

Lyman Hall

George Walton

Column 2

North Carolina:

William Hooper

Joseph Hewes

John Penn

South Carolina:

Edward Rutledge

Thomas Heyward, Jr.

Thomas Lynch, Jr.

Arthur Middleton

Column 3

Massachusetts:

John Hancock

Maryland:

Samuel Chase

William Paca

Thomas Stone

Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia:

George Wythe

Richard Henry Lee

Thomas Jefferson

Benjamin Harrison

Thomas Nelson, Jr.

Francis Lightfoot Lee

Carter Braxton

Column 4

Pennsylvania:

Robert Morris

Benjamin Rush

Benjamin Franklin

John Morton

George Clymer

James Smith

George Taylor

James Wilson

George Ross

Delaware:

Caesar Rodney

George Read

Thomas McKean

Column 5

New York:

William Floyd

Philip Livingston

Francis Lewis

Lewis Morris

New Jersey:

Richard Stockton

John Witherspoon

Francis Hopkinson

John Hart

Abraham Clark

Column 6

New Hampshire:

Josiah Bartlett

William Whipple

Massachusetts:

Samuel Adams

John Adams

Robert Treat Paine

Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island:

Stephen Hopkins

William Ellery

Connecticut:

Roger Sherman

Samuel Huntington

William Williams

Oliver Wolcott

New Hampshire:

Matthew Thornton

I Cry at Weddings

2011-07-03T11:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Greg & I went to a wedding of a dear friend of mine.

I remember when she met her husband. I remember how happy he made (makes) her.

It made me cry.

I cried at the homily. I cried at the Ave Maria. I cried at the vows. I cried at the final blessing.

Then I went to the reception.

I cried at the toast. I cried at the father-daughter dance. I cried at the mother-son dance.

I can't help it. It was beautiful.

I haven't been to a wedding in a very long time. This wedding was really, really great.

The pianist at the mass was world renowned musician Lee Gwodz. This is the guy that the Pope has over to perform at Christmas. And he lives in my town. And he also works out with me. So he usually sees me sweating in a skort. I didn't wear a skort to the wedding.

When I went over to say hello, he told me I looked gorgeous. He meant it. Kinda made the day that much better for me.

Between the wedding and the reception, Greg & I went for a drink. We were all dressed up, in a restaurant with no kids. It was a date. A fun, flirty, fantastic date. We reminisced about our wedding and talked of our future. He did the little things that make me swoon -- held my hand in the street, opened my door, helped me into the truck. . ."boyfriend" stuff. Only we've been married for almost 19 years.

At the reception, we spent time with awesome people. You know how you go someplace like church or the grocery store or someplace and you see people there who you know by sight but you've never actually met? There was a couple there who goes to our church. Their kids are older than our kids, so we aren't in the same circles. We finally introduced ourselves and you know what? We like them. We like them a lot. We are definitely going to be friends with them.

We also saw friends that we just don't get to see enough. They are "our" friends, but in all actuality, they are "my" friends because I am the one who really knows them. They were in my leadership class -- that is how I know the bride -- and they know Greg, but they don't really know Greg. Greg is polite and pleasant but he is not naturally outgoing. Everybody likes him, but not everybody "gets" him.

And that was the best part of the evening. As we talked and joked and laughed, they got to know my Greg.

Then we started dancing. No one is surprised when I dance crazy, but Greg doesn't come across like a party animal.

He totally is.

And the more we danced, and laughed, and danced some more, the more my friends were falling in love with Greg. They got to see him the way I know him -- fun and silly and up for anything. It was so awesome to see that realization on their faces.

I love weddings. They make me cry.

Here's wishing Beth and Bert the same happiness that we've had for 19 years!

Happy Father's Day!

2011-06-19T11:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Dad:

Happy Father's Day!

I tell you pretty often that I love you. I don't tell you often enough WHY I love you.

Of course, I love you because you're my dad. But really, being my dad doesn't have that much to do with it. There are so many other reasons. I am going to list a few, but only a few. The whole list is so long that even you would be bored about halfway through.

I love you because you are a great husband. You love Mom so much and you are not afraid to say so. Because of you, I have a great husband. I didn't settle for some asshole who would treat me like shit because I KNOW how a wife is supposed to be treated.

I love you because you aren't going to get all bent out of shape because I used the words "asshole" and "shit" in my letter to you.

I love you because you really live our faith and don't just go to church because you should. You love Jesus, and it shows. You love the Church, and it shows. You respect others' right to worship as they please -- and it shows.

I love you because you are really really fun to be with. You have such a zest for life. Remember when you came up to Madison to take me to the Ohio-Wisconsin game? Remember how Wisconsin won and no one could believe it? When the fans streamed on to the field, you ran out with them. And we danced the polka and cheered and laughed and then went out on the town and drank beer until midnight. That remains one of my most precious memories.

I love you because you are so resilient. Life has belted you in the chops more than once. But you never let it keep you down. You always keep God and family front and center, so when things get rough, you are able to weather through it. I thank God for your example.

I love you because you never got bent out of shape about things like me burning out the transmission on your new car or me getting the car towed to Cabrini Green in the middle of the night or me promising a friend a ride to Barrington without asking you first.

I love you because you totally supported me moving to LA after college even though it probably wasn't the most prudent thing to do.

I love you because you are a wonderful Grandpa.

I love you because you are wonderful Father in Law.

I love you because you are a wonderful Man.

Happy Father's Day Dad!

Also, because you are handsome. Love you!

June Bug

2011-06-15T10:42:00.000-05:00

I have never hated a June so much.

I should be spending my time playing at the beach with my kids.

Or writing witty blog posts.

Not spending 8 hours a week in Stats class. (6-10pm Monday & Wednesday).

Not moving my office from one room to the other.

On the one hand, I know I am super lucky. I have access to an excellent University just down the road. I have the resources to pay for the class, and my wonderful family carries on while I am in class. (Especially my saintly husband.)

I have a job. A job I like. With people I like. WHO CARES if my computer is sitting on another desk?
WHO CARES if things are chaotic for a few days?

Finally, if this is all I have to complain about, then I am the luckiest friggin' person IN THE WORLD!

Still. I can't wait for July.

The real reason why I love Victor. . ..

2011-06-05T12:38:00.002-05:00

I've written about Vic before.

He owns V-Fit -- the fitness studio where I work out. The place where I was first able to do triceps curls and "real" push ups. The place where I have been able to drop my blood pressure, blood sugar, and bra size. The place where I have met wonderful friends who encourage me to try, fail and try again.

That's not why I love Vic.

Vic assigned me to work out with Gabe. Gentle, kind Gabe who doesn't shout, doesn't sneer and doesn't take excuses. We call Gabe the "Silent Assassin" because he very quietly kills you with his workouts. I call him "Silent but Deadly". Seriously -- he worked my back & shoulders two days ago. I am still sore. Did you know your armpits could hurt? Despite the pain, Gabe has been a wonderful coach, mentor and friend.

That's not why I love Vic.

Vic is slightly hot looking. If you like guys with perfectly tone bodies, chiseled bone structure, shiny black hair and the deepest, dreamiest brown eyes since Greg Afuso. And he's mostly straight! (Just kidding. He's all the way straight.) (He is pretty Metro though. I love Metro guys!) On more than one occasion, friends of mine have seen Victor and come to me drooling. "HE is your trainer! OMG I want to work out with you!" Of course they never show up, the cowards.

That's not why I love Vic.

It was yesterday that I realized exactly why I love him.

Yesterday was the 5K I ran for June. As you may know, I have run one 5K every month since October 2010. Yesterday I finished my 9th. Wow. Nine. That's a lot.

That's not why I love Vic.

It was one of the most enjoyable 5K's I've run. It was at sunrise on the beach. Sounds romantic, right? Sunrise in June is the only time you can run without getting heat stroke. But it was still pretty frigging hot.

I haven't done a lot of running on the beach. It's more challenging that running on the road. For one thing, you have to scoot around to find sand that's not too soft. We were kinda zig-zagging all over the place. I am pretty sure we covered more than 3.1 miles. Felt like 10.

I was proud of myself becasue I ran the whole first half no problem. At the turn around, I was running pretty close to the water. By then my feet were sore and hot, but I still had more than a mile to go. A wave came in and soaked my feet.

I wasn't happy to have my expensive shoes all wet, but lemme tell ya -- that water felt GOOD!

I kept running in & out of the water, until my shoes got so waterlogged it was like running with 15 lb weights on my feet. Gabe makes me run with 15 lbs weights on my feet, so I know what I am talking about.

It was the beach. The water felt good. My shoes were heavy. I was going slow.

I figured "Fuggit -- I'm taking my shoes off". So I did.

Running in bare feet in the soft South Texas surf felt WONDERFUL.

That's not why I love Vic.

I love him because he put on this 5K to help the victims of the Mississippi Floods.

He raised $800.

I realized yesterday that Vic is always doing that. He set up a scholarship for students to attend Del Mar College. He raised money for Tsunami victims. He participated in Toys for Tots. He hosted a run for Metro Ministries. He finds ways to raise money for those in need.

I love Vic because Vic is a giver.

He's not rich yet. He's still building his business. But he's not waiting until he has "extra" money to give. He gives now. I met Vic when he donated his services for the Mayor's Fitness Challenge last summer. The retail cost of that challenge was over $2000, just for me. We had 13 people in that challenge. Vic -- who was just opening his business -- essentially gave us $26,000.00.

So not only did Vic give me a safe and comfortable place to become my best physical self, he gave me and my community thousands of dollars.

Vic's business is growing. He and Gabe are expanding into another location, they are increasing their clientele, and they are bringing new and exciting services to our community. That's not an accident. The great sales and self-actualization guru Zig Ziglar said "You can have everything you want in life as long as you help other people get what they want in life." Vic is helping me get what I want in life. I hope he earns MILLIONS. Billions.

In fact -- if you live in South Texas, check out V-Fit. Take a couple of classes.

You will love Vic too.

My very first day working out with Vic

Just one of many successes since I started working out with V-Fit

I loved this movie so much I could marry it. . ..

2011-06-03T12:12:00.000-05:00

Guess which one is me???

Here We Go Again . . .

2011-05-24T14:56:00.000-05:00

Kirstie is working out hard with DWTS and she's dropped a few dress sizes.

Good for you Kirstie!

She says: ". . . the other thing that’s really more significant to me — I mean, I love the whittling, I like being skinny — I’m really strong and really agile and it gave me a new life.”

How did it give you a new life K?

What exactly is different? Your hair hasn't changed. (You love your highlights, don't you?)

You've been skinny lots of times.

Star Trek.
Cheers
Look Who's Talking
Parker Stevenson
Jenny Craig

You've been fat lots of times too:

Fat Actress
Veronica's Closet
Post Parker Stevenson
Post Jenny Craig

The problem is, when you are fat, you behave as if you are somehow unworthy. You kvetch to Star and People and whoever will talk to you about how "disgusting" you feel and how "ashamed" you are.

Kirstie -- YOU BANGED PARKER STEVENSON. Do you know how many women would have LOVED to be in your shoes? You have a life. A really, really cool life. You have a cool life when you are skinny and you have a cool life when you are fat.

We love you both ways.

Now, in DWTS, you are working out and feeling great. I am so happy for you. But this is not the answer to your happy life! If it is, you will be derailed at your first injury. Then we have to look at more tabloid covers about how miserable you are. Your happiness depends on you, not your dress size.

By all means, stay strong. Stay agile. But for God's sake -- KEEP YOUR LIFE. (It's ok to ditch the highlights tho.)

Looks like I Survived

2011-05-23T14:40:00.000-05:00

Not only did the world not end, but I also finished Beach 2 Bay. And lived.

Wow.

The Beach 2 Bay was an incredible "Bucket List" type of experience. I've run 5Ks before -- that alone is a challenge for me, but the Beach 2 Bay is a big deal. There 2575 teams. Multiply that by 6 people, and you have -- wait, lemme find my calculator -- 15,450 people running in Corpus Christi.

My trainer Gabe was faster than 15,438 of them. His team came in second over all. He is awesome! It took them just 2 hours, 21 minutes and 59 seconds to finish the race.

My friend Reena's team was faster than all but one of the women's teams. She also is awesome. Their team came in at 2 hours, 58 minutes and 23.6 seconds.

That means that two of my friends were done before I even got on the shuttle bus back to my car.

My team, Victor's Grasshoppers, came in 697 out of 981 in our category. That's in the top 71%! Whoot!

The most difficult part of the event was not the running -- although I did walk more than I wanted to. The most difficult part was the logistics. I had to catch the shuttle between 5 & 6 am. That's the middle of the night as far as I am concerned. The race started at 7, I was finished at 8, and then had to wait another 2 hours to get a shuttle back to the car. Then the shuttle was stuck in traffic for another hour and a half. I didn't get home until 12:30pm.

The waiting wouldn't have been so bad if we had access to shade and water. We didn't.

Would I run it again? Yes.

Next year? I'm gonna place in the top 690!

End of the World Tomorrow

2011-05-20T13:12:00.000-05:00

So tomorrow's the end of the world.

Except it's not because Jesus said that it's not for us to know the day or the hour and I totally believe Jesus and not some weirdo who has a radio show.

So it's not tomorrow. Probably. Hell -- it might be in 15 minutes. We don't know the day or the hour.

If it IS tomorrow, I ask Jesus to let it end before I leave to run the Beach to Bay or wait until I get back. I want to be with my kids and not a bunch of sweaty strangers.

I probably should go to confession tonight, just in case.

Because I want to go to Heaven.

I am not kidding -- I really do. I don't want to go now, but when it's time, that's where I want to be.

I don't want to be one of the ones who stays behind to re-populate the world.

For one thing, I am done having kids. I mean it. You really want to see the end of the world? If I get pregnant again I swear to God I will go nuclear.

For another thing, I am pretty sure after Armageddon all the grocery stores will be out of everything, and the a/c will be out all over the city. I have enough of that after hurricane scares, I don't need it for eternity.

Finally, if I stay behind that means I will still have to turn in that damn report that's due next month and honestly? The end of the world is looking pretty good to me if it means I don't have to do that stoooopid report.

Seriously -- I keep hearing this end of the world stuff. People have been unsuccessfully predicting the end times. . .since the beginning of time.

Don't worry about it.

Get yourself right with God.

Plan for your future, but live in the present.

The end will take care of itself.

Did You Know. . .

2011-05-18T14:48:00.000-05:00

That today is http://www.giftoffat.com's/ birthday!

To celebrate, I will eat a cupcake and let someone take a photo of me smashing it in my face.

I originally concieved of The Gift of Fat as a book. A New York Times Bestselling book.

My book will explore a fat girl's life. (yeah -- that's never been done before. *snort*).

I have been fat all of my life. A lot of people think that they are fat. In many cases, it's more of a self-perception than a concrete reality. Not that the fat feelings are any less significant, it's just that . . .well, it's different. In my case, everyone else knew I was fat too. How. . . .validating.

My book will be original because I will explain how I came to realize -- in my 30's -- that while being fat really really sucks, there are gifts associated with being fat. No one ever talks about the gifts.

Gifts like devloping a quick sense of humor. Developing a strong sense of justice. A powerful work ethic and a thirst to prove that I can do anything a thin person can do. Gifts like realizing that I stand out -- and if I wasn't fat, I would look just like everybody else. Friendships. Experiences. Revelations. Advocacy. The book will cover all of those things.

I started the blog to begin chapters of my book. I thought I could just tie up all the blog posts in a shiny package and sell it to Penguin Books, who would publish it with great fanfare and retail it at $29.99 hardcover, $9.99 on Kindle.

Turns out, the blog is not the book.

Not that there won't be a book. There will be. I think. The blog serves different, but important purposes.

I am a sucker for being the center of attention, and I love to make people laugh. Much of this blog has been trying to make you laugh, which guarantees me a spot in the center of attention for a few minutes.

The blog is also about my journey. My journey into fitness. . .and my newfound passion for working out. I never expected to love excercise. In fact, did I just write that I love excercise? WTF?

I don't consider myself a "mommy-blogger", but I am a mom. . . so I write about it.

I never expected the blog to be relational. Who knew you could make friends with people you've never met? Turns out -- I have made cyber friends. Nikki, Lex, Andi, Annabelle, plus my wonderful commenters (Hi Diane!).

Mostly, the blog helps me find my "voice". Writing the blog has been a great experience. I plan to continue.

For at least another year.

Scared Grasshopper

2011-05-16T19:48:00.001-05:00

Remember when I started working out with Vic and I got kinda cocky and I'm all "I am going to run a 5K every month for a year!" ?

And I have *cough* "run" one 5 K a month since October 2010.

It's been great! I've had lots of fun, got lots of T-Shirts and have beat my best more than once.

This month is different.

This month is the 36th Annual Beach to Bay relay marathon.

I heard you gasp. Don't worry -- It's a RELAY marathon. I am not going to run it by myself.

And that's what scares me to DEATH.

I am running with five other people. Five awesome people. Our team is called Victor's Grasshoppers. Isn't that a stooopid name? I couldn't think of any other names. I just kinda think of Victor as Master Po -- only not blind. And we are like David Carradine. . .without the auto-erotic asphyxiation. We're going to wear vivid green shirts. And pink skorts. Well, I am wearing a pink skort. Don't know about the other guys.

I'm running the shortest. . .I mean first leg.

Fear #1: Five other, awesome people are going to have to make up time for me.

It is the largest relay marathon in the US. NO OTHER PLACE in our country has a marathon relay this big.

Fear #2: What if I am SO SLOW that my relay partner gives up and goes home?

It's so big, we have to take a shuttle to the race.

Fear #3: What if I am so slow I miss the shuttle back home?

I am "running" the beach leg.

Fear #4: What if I am so slow that the Sexy Seniors running club kicks sand in my face as they pass me?

The beach leg is short, but it's on sand. So it's challenging.

Fear #5: What if I am SO SLOW that the race is over by the time I pass the baton?

This Saturday, if you see a sweaty, sandy, slow, scared runner wearing a green T-Shirt and a pink skort -- that will be me.

OMG This is so sad!

2011-05-16T10:49:00.000-05:00

Remember the other day, when I posted about Olivia?

THIS is what I was worried about.

http://www.caller.com/news/2011/may/15/swimmer-still-missing-in-the-gulf/

I am so sorry for the boy and his family.

And even more worried about my sweet water baby.

Re-Post - Not all Fat Girls are Self Loathing Hoarders

2011-05-11T16:40:00.000-05:00

Having bloggers block, so I thought I'd re-post an oldie titled Not All Fat Girls are Self Loathing Hoarders:

Yes Jillian Michaels, I am talking to YOU.

I've seen the previews for your new show.

I watched your intense kohl-lined eyes framed by perfectly tousled tresses stare into the pink, sweaty & makeup-free face of your "client". Whatever. I look just like that girl when I work out except I don't cry like an idiot. When I work out (2 miles yesterday thankyouverymuch!), my hair is back in a chongo (which is South Texican for ponytail. Awesome word, right??), I'm wearing glasses instead of contacts, and my face is bright red.

I watched the blonde, composed and beautifully made up doctor chastise the pink-faced crying girl about her weight. I heard her say something like "If you don't do something about this, you are going to have to make arrangements for someone else to take care of your kids!" Excuse me? She IS doing something about it. She's at the doctor. (I'll rant about doctors and weight loss in a minute).

Then I watched Jillian & her tight abs walk through a very cluttered room, while Pinkface sobs in the background.

That's the preview.

Can't wait to see the show.

Know what? I am not going to watch it. And I am going to ask you not to watch it.

Why?

Because as far as I can see, this show is about perpetuating the myth that one can only truly be happy when they are fit, thin and clutter free.

I am sure the pink faced crying girl is going to have a happy ending. I am sure she has real issues. And I know a lot of us feel like you do, Pinky. But you're not helping us by letting Jillian humiliate you publicly.

When Dr. Model chastises you, you need to look her calmly in the eye and say "I understand there are significant health implications. That's why I am here. I don't appreciate your condescending tone. I am not stupid."

I am sure that Dr. Model doesn't berate her other clients with chronic health conditions. I am sure her asthma patients aren't told that they have character issues because of their condition. Does she tell patients with eczema that they need to make arrangements to have someone care for their families? No. She treats them. With respect.

I asked my doctor (who is also beautiful, but not condescending) why she couldn't treat my weight like she would any other chronic illness. Know why? Insurance. So she sent me to Weight Watchers. The only way my weight can be treated by a physician is if I have gastric bypass surgery.

Is it just me, or is there something horribly wrong with a system that expects for-profit companies to treat an illness, and then when it doesn't work, they will pay to have a major organ amputated?

I'm not up for gastric bypass -- at least not now. But it would be better than having Jillian Michaels humiliate me in front of a TV Audience.

*******UPDATE***********

Is that show still on??

Isn't it funny that I obviously DON'T like J.M., but her ads pop up all over my blog?

Great way to sell your shit, Jillian! (You know she has her name google-alerted) Oh, and Jillian? Eat something.

Water Baby

2011-05-10T10:06:00.000-05:00

We go to the beach a lot. We love the beach. This weekend, while at the beach, a little girl came by to play with the boys. I love that about kids. They see another kid & they just start to play together.

And this girl is ADORABLE. She has beautiful cafe-con-leche skin; crazy, happy hair with a tiny blue barrette in it, and a precious pink gingham bikini. This child was friendly and very charming. This is the kind of child that makes me wish (a tiny bit) that I had a little girl.

What she didn't seem to have were parents.

I asked where they were & she said "they are in the white car". . .I looked -- saw the white car, but no parents.

Her name is Olivia, and she is 3.

THREE. Almost 4, apparently, but still. She's 3.

The waves at Bob Hall Pier are not too bad, but it's very easy to get out too far without realizing it. Especially if you are 3.

My son is 3 and I won't let him NEAR the water without me or his dad. I won't let the 6 or 9 year olds near the water without me or their dad.

I have this thing about water safety. I think it is important.

I think that one of the duties a parent has is to ensure that children are safe around water. Pools, lakes and beaches. Beaches with strong undertows that can sweep a child out into the ocean as fast as you can say David Hasselhoff.

We could not see this girl's parents anywhere.

When it was time to go, I said "Olivia honey, we have to go. Let's go find your mommy, OK?"

She said "No -- I am going to find some other kids to play with" and she skipped over to another family playing not far away.

I approached the family and explained: "I don't know who she is, but I am going to call the ranger. Can you keep an eye on her?" The Mom said "I thought she was yours".

I wish.

By the time I got to the car -- Viola! Her mother shows up.

Her mother looks just like you'd think she'd look. 19. Tramp Stamp. Piercings. Gangster Boyfriend who obviously is not Olivia's daddy. (How do I know? Olivia is clearly half white and half black. Gangster Boyfriend is clearly Hispanic. Not Olivia's daddy.)

It's not that I have a problem with moms being 19 with tramp stamps and piercings and Gangster Boyfriends. (well, the 19 & Gangster Boyfriend parts aren't cool). I do have a problem with letting your 3 year old play by the water without proper supervision.

Sigh. Poor Olivia.

Graduation?

2011-05-06T10:54:00.001-05:00

I recently received this e-mail:

Hi K5 parents,
Our babies are about to graduate out of kinder!!! Can you believe it??? I was just wondering if anyone knows if we can or if you all are interested in having them wear cap & gown for the awards ceremony?? i think [the public school] does it & i dont think [our school] has ever done it, but if we provide it for our child, i wonder if they will let us???? is anyone else interested?

Am I interested? No. Hell no.

I know this mom is excited (many punctuation marks!!!). Pesonally, I would rather sit through a timeshare presentation than endure a kindergarten graduation.

That's just me, though. (Me & my husband, actually) I don't want to be unkind or intolerant. I hope the reply I sent wasn't hurtful. I didn't use CAPS or excessive punctuation or swear words. I responded:

"Sorry to be un-fun guys, but L____ is not going to wear a cap & gown for Kinder. It’s not something I can get behind."

I understand being excited for your little one. They are babies. They are cute. They are precious. I get that. I also understand not everyone agrees with me that graduations are for High School and above.

I have high expectations for my boys. I expect them to finish Kindergarten much in the same way I expect them to brush their teeth before bed. Frankly, I also expect them to finish high school and college. I am not going to throw a party for him just because he was promoted to first grade.

Know when I throw a big party??

When my son becomes an Altar Server. When he makes Eagle Scout. When he finishes Boot Camp. When he finishes the Seminary. When he receives his doctorate. I celebrate my sons' achievements, not their milestones.

It's not to say that on the last day of Kinder that I won't take him to McDonald's. (To get a Happy Meal and a toy! Take that Leroy G. Comrie!) We will have a nice family dinner after First Holy Eucharist and I am not opposed to throwing a birthday party every five years or so. But a graduation ceremony for Kindergarten?

Hell no.

Look What I found!

2011-05-03T10:37:00.000-05:00

Searching through my e-mail today, I came across a letter I once wrote to our local newspaper. I wrote it on 5/2/2009.

You can tell by reading the letter that some douche bag named Charles wrote a letter to the paper saying something like: "Fatties are fat. They should just not eat so much. They are stupid fat fatties."

I used to just ignore those mean bullying letters. But then I started fighting back. I actually thought that http://www.giftoffat.com/ would be a lot more about providing a voice for fat people and a lot less about pushups and kids. The fact is, however, I can't keep up the anger 24/7.

Some of my life is about getting angry at stupid, sanctimonious morons who vilify fat people.

Most of my life is about other things.

When I saw this, however, it rang as true as it did the day I wrote it.

So now YOU get to read it!

Sent to Caller Times, May 2009:

In response to Charles C_________'s letter of 5/2 regarding obese people should ELF - Eat Less Food: Duh.

As an obese woman for my entire life, the ELF strategy is used by most of us all the time. With the billion dollar diet industry, ELF takes many forms: the no carb diet, the grapefruit diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the list gets larger every year. The result: metabolic chaos. I am sorry that Mr. C_________ was "horrified recently" to learn that obesity causes a slew of health problems. Fat people have known this forever. Obesity also causes social and psychological problems -- frequently triggered by ignorant individuals who think that the solution to our medical issues is simple: ELF. The letter is made even more insulting by the tacky cartoon above it which shows the US flag cracking under the weight of an obese person.

Obesity is not a character flaw. It is a medical condition that can sometimes -- but not always -- be controlled by various strategies. When I was a girl, I was the only fat kid in class. Now all the kids are fat. The only upside to this sad situation is that the public is finally waking up to the fact that obesity is a chronic medical condition that needs to be addressed at all levels. Hopefully, the insurance industry will follow suit and begin to pay for reasonable medical intervention before the patient resorts to drastic measures such as gastric bypass or lap band.

It's no fun to be fat. I'll bet it's not fun to have asthma either. Chronic medical conditions don't have simple solutions. Let's stop being so condescending.

Mary A.
Corpus Christi

Myth. Busted.

2011-04-29T15:34:00.000-05:00

Since I have been working out at V-Fit, which is the worlds greatest fitness studio, I have come to enjoy -- yes, enjoy -- doing push-ups.

They make me feel strong.

I do the modified pushups. The ones from my knees. I love being on my knees.

(Insert dirty joke here).

I was told many moons ago that the modified pushups are for women. I don't know who told me that. Someone. And I believed them.

I am a woman.

Those are my pushups. I can do a lot of them. Like, 50. In a row.

Women need the modification because of the angle of our hips to our ribcage along with our unique distribution of subcutaneous fat layers and the splay of our child-bearing pelvises.

Or so I was told.

Or so I believed.

Then my workout friends Mary L, Maria D & Laurie L all shot that myth to hell because they can all do pushups from their toes. The kind that men do. The kind that MILITARY men (and women) do.

But Mary, Maria & Laurie are the really strong girls. They are the ones who do things that make me say "No. Fucking. Way. " They are out of my league. Right?

Once again, Gabe coaxed excellence from my mediocrity.

Today I did 15 pushups. FROM MY TOES.

No. Fucking. Way.

So whoever told me that women can't do full pushups?

You're wrong.

Ink

2011-04-28T09:57:00.000-05:00

Because I had my last baby at age 42, it's not a surprise that I am sometimes 20 (or more) years older than the other moms in his class.

One of his best friends has parents much younger than me.

They are intelligent. Educated. Interesting. Tattooed.

They have beautiful children and they are a lovely young family. They are just covered from toenails to eyeballs in colorful, permanent designs. With lots of piercings. Both of them. I don't know what they do for a living, but I am betting neither one of them is a banker.

I don't mean to sound like such an oldster.

I am not anti-tattoo. Not at all. I may get one someday.

I might need it sooner than later.

I was dropping #3 off at daycare. I wore a skirt. His little friend with the colorful mommy gave me a hug. Then he poked me right above the knee and said "My mommy has a picture there too."

I looked at my knee to see what he was talking about.

That's not a picture, honey.

It's a varicose vein.

Sigh.

Annoying Threads

2011-04-26T15:02:00.000-05:00

This post is not about clothes.

I get annoyed at those threads that hang off your hem and tickle the back of your leg but you can never find them when you look. . . . but that's not exactly blog worthy.

E-mail threads aren't blog worthy either, but that's what I am writing about.

I was out of the office last week.

I returned to 276 e-mails.

At first I thought that the high volume of e-mails was due to my critically important job and the fact that I need to be "in the know" on several salient issues.

Then I figured out the high volume of calls was due to a disprortionate amount of dumb-asses who hit "REPLY ALL".

Sometimes REPLY ALL is a valuable tool. REPLY ALL is helpful when you need everyone on the thread to know something.

For example:

Original E-Mail (sent to 30 e-mail addresses): "Can anyone cite the regulation mandating student fees? I can't find it"

REPLY ALL: "It's in the GIPWE, Chapter 3. It also lists exceptions" This is a very good use of REPLY ALL.

Most of my e-mails looked like this:

REPLY ALL: "Thanks" (Poor use of REPLY ALL)

REPLY ALL: "I don't know where it is. Hope someone else does". (Very poor use of REPLY ALL.)

REPLY ALL: "Hey Sender! Did you know that someone parked in your space this morning?" (WTF use of REPLY ALL)

REPLY ALL: "I know -- I totally had to park in the handicapped space this morning! LOL!" (WTF use of REPLY ALL plus one LOL infraction, plus Sender is an asshole for parking in a handicapped space.)

After getting through at least 80 REPLY ALLs, plus the weekday lunch menus, stupid chain jokes and the notice about the Kindergarten's Easter Party, I had about 30 real e-mails.

I am just not that important.

Uuuummmmm. . . .Thanks?

2011-04-22T11:22:00.000-05:00

Hi all --

Back from a four day meeting in Austin!

SO glad to be home.

I really like this particular group in Austin though. The people there are SO affirming. They were nice enough to notice that the white suit I was wearing was really baggy. (Especially my friend Marta. She is my favorite! I mean, she is ONE OF my favorites! Hi Deb! Hi Kathy!)

And Gabe e-mailed me a workout I did in my hotel room. It wasn't like having the REAL Gabe there, but it was better than nothing.

I asked my Austin friends their opinion on a comment made to me a couple of weeks ago. I want to hear your opinion too.

I was at a meeting I attend every week. Typically, I order lunch at this meeting. Sometimes I have soup and a sandwich, but usually I have a cheeseburger and fries. With a coke. Yum.

Yep. You heard me. I eat cheeseburgers.

I like 'em.

As many reps as Gabe makes me do every session? I earned that damn cheeseburger.

So anyway, I am sitting in the meeting, with my cheeseburger, and chatting with some of the other people.

As we are chatting, a woman casually says "I was going to compliment you on how much weight you've lost, but then I saw what you are eating for lunch."

Blink. Blink.

What does one say to that?

Do I apologize for eating a cheeseburger in public? Because people who are losing weight are not supposed to be eating cheeseburgers.

I am not going to apologize for having lunch.

Do I say "Thanks"?

Do I say "Fuck off"?

I really wanted to say "Thanks. Fuck off." But I didn't.

I didn't know what to say.

I just looked at her, stupidly blinking, mouth slightly open, when fortunately, the meeting started and my attention was required elsewhere.

So. .. if I had the moment to live over again. . .or (which is more likely) the next time she judges me for my choice of lunch. . .what do I say?

What would you say?

Nine (9) Months

2011-04-14T14:21:00.002-05:00

I have been working out since July 10, 2010.

That's nine (9) months of Vic. Nine (9) months of sweating. Grunting. Swearing. Nine (9) months of making a fool out of myself and then running to my keyboard so I could tell you about it.

Nine (9) months ago, I couldn't have carried my 34 lb child almost a mile. Saturday, I did just that -- at the Naval Air Station Corpus Christi Airshow.

Nine (9) months ago, I couldn't buy a sports bra anywhere but the plus size section of Lane Bryant. Yesterday I bought an XL off the rack at Kohl's. (Still can't buy belts, but bras? Oh yeah. My girls are shrinking)

Nine (9) months ago, an afternoon of pruning trees would render me useless for three days. Sunday, I didn't even break a sweat.

Nine (9) months ago I didn't know Vic. Or Gabe. Or Ricky (sigh). Or Mary L or Laurie L or the Other Laurie or Maria or Dana or Dee-Ann or Jesse or Liz or Lee or Rene or Tim or any of the awesome people that are now my V-Fit friends. That's the best part.

I'm still fat. I'm just not as fat as I was nine (9) months ago. And I am a whole lot fitter.

Nine (9) months.

Unbelievable. That's all I got.

2011-04-12T14:15:00.000-05:00

You know how a couple of years ago, people used to say "Oh no you DIH-INT" and snake their head from side to side? You know how they acted all "New Jersey Ghetto" even though most of the people who said it were middle-aged white women from the suburbs?

I always hated that expression. I never (rarely) used it.

I used it today.

I had to.

Read this.

I'll wait.

Now. Tell me I am not justified in using that tired, culturally inappropriate cliche.

Oh. No. They. DIH-INT!

Hey Councilman Leroy G. Comrie Jr.! LEAVE HAPPY MEALS ALONE!

2011-04-06T16:25:00.000-05:00

They are doing it again.

Taking a Stand against Happy Meals.

Because New York doesn't have other things to TAKE A STAND on. Like violence against women (hello??? -- Girlz Gone Wild??? ), or drug addiction, or fiscal issues.

Let's get the fat people. Today my blog idol The Bitchy Waiter posted a well thought out (and funny) piece on this issue. Read it, OK?

I posted a well thought out (and funny) piece three months ago.

So, to reaffirm my position on this issue, I am re-posting The Happy Meal Debate, originally published on Thursday, January 6, 2011.

Enjoy.

I wasn't going to make a statement about the whole Banning Happy Meals issue. Because you KNOW I wouldn't support that even if they gave me free fries for life.

First of all, I love McDonald's. Worked there for a summer in college -- had a blast. I grew up very near Hamburger U & believe me, I support their corporate culture.

Also, anyone who thinks Happy Meals promote childhood obesity has obviously never sat near a kid with a Happy Meal.

A few weeks ago, we went to the beach. (We live in South Texas and the beach in November is AWESOME!). Afterwards, we picked up lunch. A Quarter Pound of yummy for me, Greg & Joe (with fries and a real coke. MMMMMM), happy meals for the littles. Quality family time. With fries. But we were at the beach first. Running, swimming and playing. Very active.

Here is an example of my end of the conversation:

Me: Look, a Bakugan Toy! Good. Let's put it away until after lunch.

Me: I said AFTER lunch.

Me: AFTER.

Me: I will throw that damn thing in the trash if you don't take a bite of your sandwich right now.

Me: Just eat three fries.

Me: Three.

Me. You asked for the nuggets, now eat them.

Me: He gets the cheeseburger because he asked for it. You asked for chicken, now eat it.

Me: No -- he cannot have your cheeseburger. You eat it.

Me: You don't have to eat all the fries. Just a few.

Me: I will eat the rest of the fries. Don't worry. Just take a few bites of chicken.

Me: Can't you eat the whole nugget?

Me: I told you AFTER lunch. You have to eat it. You can't just wait until we're done.

Me: Fine. But if you're hungry later, too bad.

See, kids don't eat Happy Meals. Some moms (like me) finish Happy Meals. So Happy Meals do not promote childhood obesity. They just make moms fatter.

THIS is what kids want to do with Happy Meals.

I rest my case.

Jan A WINS!

2011-04-04T19:03:00.000-05:00

Using the trusty Random Number Generator, Jan A wins the not-even-close-to-$100-gift-card from Starbucks!

Jan A -- e-mail me your contact info here!

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

6

Timestamp: 2011-04-04 23:57:54 UTC

Thanks for playing!

Give Away Day!

2011-04-01T12:18:00.000-05:00

We haven't done a giveaway lately, so let's do one now!

Winner will get a $100 gift card!

Wooot!

APRIL FOOLS.

You ain't getting no $100 gift card.

Winner will get a gift card to Starbucks. For much less than $100.

To win, simply comment below.

I want to hear your favorite April Fool's joke.

As usual, only comments on the blog will count. Facebook & personal e-mails will not be counted.

Winner announced 4/4.

Make me laugh!

A Success. . . I Think

2011-03-29T09:49:00.000-05:00

Kate Spade - adorable- from $298. I don't have a pair of these. I wish I did.

Sometimes working on fitness has unexpected successes. Like being able to tackle three flights of stairs without wheezing at the top.

Yesterday I was wearing a dress and a new pair of pumps. Cute pumps. They are like a Mary Jane-Spectator Pump hybrid. So adorable. I bought them slightly smaller than I usually wear because they didn't have my size. In my book, cute shoes are cute shoes and if your toes pinch a little, suck it up.

I stopped to chat with the custodian of our building. His name is Jesse and he is really nice. Another man who works in our building was standing near by. I am going to call him Tony. I am not going to say his real name because I don't want to embarrass him. And if I misconstrued what happened, I don't want to embarrass me.

I noticed that Tony was looking at something. He had a look on his face. . . .you know the one. The look that a man gives an attractive girl when she walks by. Not a leer -- he wasn't being a lech. It was just the look. And it was just for a second.

I looked around to see who he was looking at. No one was there but me & Jesse.

He seemed to be looking down a little bit. I followed his gaze and. . . .I think. . . .I think he . . . . .

I think he was looking at my legs.

Of course I checked to see if I had a piece of toilet paper stuck to them or something.

I didn't.

Then he said "I like your stilettos".

Stilettos? Well, that proves Tony is not gay. If he were gay he would know that my shoes are Mary Jane-Spectator hybrids.

I didn't have any toilet paper stuck to them and my skirt was not tucked into my underwear.

There was only one logical explanation.

He checked me out.

Just for a second.

I don't know if I can count that as a "success". .. . but it kinda feels like one.

She Answered Me!

2011-03-28T10:14:00.001-05:00

Check out this wonderful, well thought out, gracious response to my De-Facebooking quandry!

Annabel Manners is the BEST!

Click HERE to read her answer!

Thank you Miss Annabel!

Dear Annabel Manners. . . .

2011-03-25T13:44:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite bloggers is Annabel Manners. She's awesome.

I have an etiquette problem that may be a problem for some of you as well, so I am writing my Dear Annabel letter here.

Dear Annabel:

I love Facebook and tend to be somewhat of a . .. . you know. Rhymes with "door".

This week I noticed that I had over 450 Facebook friends.

They are my friends. Really. Each of them.

The thing is, some of them are people who are never on facebook, so we rarely connect. Some of them are people I see ALL THE TIME, so we over connect.

So I un-facebooked a few. I un-facebooked 142 to be exact. I didn't say I un-FRIENDED them. They are all still my friends -- I hope, anyway. I meant them to still be friends. Some people are better friends in person than on line. In fact, I sent an e-mail to the 142 people explaining that I was limiting my Facebook connections, but I still value their friendship.

Of the 142 people, 140 didn't care. Hell, they might not have even noticed. But 2 got offended.

Both of the 2 who were offended were people I see ALL THE TIME. It's not like I severed contact. I didn't disown them. I didn't delete their e-mails. I just didn't feel like Facebook added anything to our friendship.

Please, Miss Annabel, tell me what I should do to remedy the situation? I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

Sincerely,

Mary A

I'll let you know what Miss Annabel says!

Enjoy Heaven, Jiji

2011-03-21T19:55:00.001-05:00

One of the things I love about my husband is his family.

His sisters are the greatest girls -- smart, witty and just plain fun to be around. They each married great guys and when we get together there is always a ton of laughing and story telling.

His parents have always been wonderful to me. They have been kind, generous and supportive of us from day one. When people kvetch about in-laws? I got nothing. Mine are wonderful. I hope I can be as good a Mother in Law as Greg's mom is to me.

I call them Mom & Dad, even though no one would ever confuse them for my biological parents. It must be kind of funny watching our family get out of a car -- first come all these dark headed kids, then Greg's petite Asian sisters, then small white haired mom, little wiry dad, dark Greg & then here comes the big red Irish girl. Who cares? I love them like my own parents.

My boys love their grandparents. They call his dad Jiji, which is Japanese for "Gramps". They call his mom Gramma, which is English for "Grandma".

Jiji went to heaven on Friday.

I'm happy for him.

Jiji loved Jesus, his wife, his grandkids, his garden and his kids. In that order.

Jiji was gentle.

Every time I hear the Beatitudes, I think of him.

Jiji was simple.

Christ said to have the Faith of a Child, and Jiji had the Faith of a Child.

Jiji was humble.

He never let you know any of his accomplishments, but Jiji spoke three languages, was an avid baseball player, a WWII vet and travelled the world.

Jiji was industrious.

He was a gardener by trade. He was a gardener by passion. His yard was so beautifully maintained it should have been featured on HGTV. He used his trade to make sure all three of his kids got good college educations so they wouldn't have to work as gardeners.

Jiji was grateful.

He would say things like "So lucky my wife married me". "So lucky the kids so healthy". "So lucky have 5 grandchildren". So lucky.

Jiji -- we are the lucky ones.

Enjoy heaven, Jiji. Enjoy heaven, Dad.

May the Road Rise to Greet You. . .

2011-03-17T12:50:00.000-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

My maiden name is German, but most of my ancestors are Irish. I was blessed with Blarney, child bearing hips and ruddy skin.

I love St. Patrick's Day!

When I was in my drinking years (1980-2001), I used to belittle anyone who drank green beer instead of real Irish beer like Guinness. Unless they gave me some green beer. Then I would drink it and loudly tell anyone within ear shot that I prefer "real" Irish beer. I've always been an arse. (That's how the Irish say "ass", isn't it cute?)

In 1990, two of my also Irish girlfriends and I wanted to go out on St. Patrick's day. They are sisters. I will call them Peggy and Sheila.   We wanted boys to buy us drinks. Actually, I wanted them to buy us drinks. Sheila was engaged already and just wanted to dance. Peggy wanted to find a husband.

Poor Peggy. She was a pretty girl - cute figure, pretty face and thick, long hair. But she had NO LUCK with men. Peggy would do things like talk about children on her first date. No quicker way to get a boy to dump you than to start naming kids on the first 30 dates. I know this.

Also, Peggy waited for boys to talk to her.

Peggy was pretty, but she was pretty in the same way I was pretty back then. Forgettably pretty. (One of the bonuses to being a plus size girl? I get noticed.)

I wasn't in the market for a husband. Frankly, I was at a stage where I could pretty much pick the boy I wanted and unless he was gay or engaged, I would get asked out. I'm an arse, but I'm a charming arse.

Sheila, Peggy and I went out on St. Patrick's day to find Peggy a husband.

I wore a green top, a black mini, footless tights and flats. (Don't judge me. It was 1990. I was 24. I was cute.) Sheila wore a green top, a black mini, black hose and 4 inch stilettos. (Don't judge her. It was 1990. She was 24. She was cute.) Peggy wore a tight back mini dress, nude hose and 4 inch stilettos. It was a man eater outfit. (You can judge her. She wasn't wearing green. It was St. Patrick's day.)

We went to an Irish Pub in West LA. Couldn't get in. We went to an Irish Pub in Santa Monica. Couldn't get in. We went to an Irish Pub in Culver City. Couldn't get in. All the Irish places were so packed that you couldn't even park, much less get in.

Peggy said "I know a place in El Segundo. It's called CJ Barrymore's. Let's try there."

I knew full well that CJ Barrymore's was full of Japanese and Korean men. I knew that because Japanese and Korean men were my very favorite flavors. I also knew that Peggy didn't particularly care for Asian men, as she wanted to meet a redhead named Kevin, marry him and name their children Siobhan and Seamus.   For once in my life, I kept my mouth shut.

CJ Barrymore's was full, but not packed. We paid a cover. We got in.

Once Peggy got a look at all the hot. . .I mean Asian men in the place, she gave me a really dirty look.
"You were the one who wanted to come here," I reminded her.

We bought drinks and sat down. Peggy sat in her man eater outfit and waited for men to come to her.

Sheila and I went to dance.

I was ready to use my Irish Charm on these cute Asian boys.

"Happy St. Patrick's Day!" I would say to a dark haired cutie. "Are you Irish?"

I thought I was really, really funny.

They all thought I was a retard.

Except the cutest one.

He was sitting at the table next to Peggy. He was just hanging out, not on the prowl, not looking to dance. He was CUTE. Big dark eyes. Thick black hair. Broad shoulders. His shirt was rolled up to reveal smooth brown skin over muscular forearms.

Then he smiled at me.

Swoon.

I had to try it one more time.

"Happy St. Patrick's day" I said. "Are you Irish?"

He laughed.  "Yes! My name is Greg O'Rourke and I am from County Clare"

"Really?" I asked.

"No", he laughed.  "My name is Greg A____ and I am from LA. Are you Irish?"

And that is how I met the love of my life.

Lucky. We've been married for 18 years.

Peggy is still single.  She says she is happily single. I think that's all Blarney.

Mind Your Business

2011-03-16T20:18:00.000-05:00

It's spring break!

Yeay!

I thought being with the littles 24/7 would be a nightmare, but we are having a really good time.

You know what I have noticed? When you are with children, people feel it's OK to get in your business.

I was in a ladies room with the 3 year old and the 6 year old. We were taking care of business when the lady in the next stall felt she needed to shout directions. At first I thought she must be on her phone, but then I realized she was talking to us.

I told 3 year old he'd have to sit down to pee and she yelled "It's OK honey, it's just this one time".

I told 6 year old not to open the door until I was finished and she said "Mommy doesn't want people to see her undressed, sweetie".

Then my 3 year old made an observation about me. . .I won't go into specifics as it was very personal. Let's just say it's a "Special Time" at my house (if you get the code, good. If you don't, too friggin bad). She shouted out "Don't worry honey, Mommy is going to be OK"

WTF lady?

Then as we were washing hands, she came up behind 3 year old to lift him to the sink. Umm. .. I've got it, thanks.

Later, we were at a restaurant ordering lunch. The waitress was one of those Flo types -- huge beehive hairdo, pen behind her ear, the whole deal. I ordered grilled cheese and a side of steamed broccoli for the kids. My kids LIKE steamed broccoli. I swear.

She said "Honey, they will never eat it. Get the fries."

"No, we'll get the broccoli, thanks."

"But they won't eat it"

"They'll eat some of it"

Then she ROLLED HER EYES at me and submitted my order.

She also gave my 9 year old a kid's drink, when I ordered a regular. "I don't want him to spill it" she said.

He won't spill it. He's nine. He's nine going on thirty if you want to know the truth. I might spill, but he won't. Who is paying for this anyway?

The kids ate some of their sandwich and some of their broccoli.

"I told you they wouldn't eat it" she said.

That's not the way to get big tips lady.

Then today I got it again.

I was at Home Depot & referred to my oldest son as Jojo. He prefers going by Joseph, but he's my kid and we (sometimes) call him Jojo at home. This old guy in the paint aisle said "Don't call him Jojo -- that's a sissy name".

Oh yeah? I bet your grandson's name is Jordyn. THAT'S a sissy name Grampa.

If you see me out & about with my kiddos, feel free to say hello. But do me a favor & mind your business.

I Knew It. . .

2011-03-10T09:26:00.000-06:00

3-9-2011

1-18-2011

Cameron Diaz reads my blog.

Vic -- you are a trendsetter!

True Colors

2011-03-08T10:21:00.000-06:00

I love red.

I wear it a lot.

I also wear a lot of black, camel and navy.

Red, Black, Camel & Navy are classics. Audrey Hepburn wore these colors. So did Jackie Kennedy and Coco Chanel.

Stopping by my local Macy's the other day, I perused the business wear section. I always start with the sale racks. Know what's in the size 20 section at Macy's?

Yellow suits.

Green suits.

Pink suits.

PINK SUITS. Shell pink. Not Rose. Not Magenta. Not even Carnation Pink. Shell Pink. Exactly the color of my skin. I should say, exactly the color of the skin that has never been exposed to the sun. Shell Pink sounds so much nicer than "Mary's Ass Pink", don't you agree?

Were I to don one of these suits, I would appear to be naked. And not a good naked, either.

Could I find anything in black? No.

Navy? No.

Camel? No.

Red? No. Oh wait -- here's something.

It has sequins on it.

Since I am not a Vegas performer, I rarely wear sequins to work. I looked at the label half expecting it to be from the Liberace line. Sequins.

I found suits with lots of embroidery. Us plus size girls LOVE to look like couch cushions, lemme tell ya! We also like clothes with anchors embroidered on them. It makes us feel nautical.

It's not that the suits weren't nice. They would be lovely on a 70 year old African American woman headed to church.

The problem is, I need something for a 45 year old Irish American woman headed to work.

I have purchased these suits before.

One year, I found a very conservative skirt suit. The cut was good -- shawl collar and straight skirt. The skirt was black, the jacket was. . .Kelly green. With a black collar and cuffs. It was about $30, which is a good price for a fully lined suit.

So I bought it.

I wore it.

I felt like Janet Reno.

I looked like Janet Reno (without the wash & wear hair).

I gave the suit to Goodwill.

Some designers do create attractive, classic plus size clothes. Talbot's has a gorgeous plus size line. So does Jones of New York. The problem is, I have Talbot's taste and a Target budget.

So if you see me tooling around in a pink suit?

Shaddap. I got it on sale.

matching shoes & clutch. Oh yeah.