Tuesday, May 31, 2011

It's really gone.

Last week we came home after a visit with my mom and the answering machine was blinking. A single message that changed everything. A couple of words that I’ll never forget.


It was Rambo’s Dad and he said:

“Tell your wife that her childhood home is no longer there. They bulldozed it over today. It is gone.”


I stopped dead in mid-stride and literally sucked in air. I might as well have been punched in the gut. I kind of feel like I was – by the hand of God.

I never expected my reaction. I think I never really expected for the house to be gone if I’m being honest. The house was proof we existed. Proof I grew up there. Just proof.

And though a flood came and the world strapped the words “condemned and abandoned” on it – yet the house remained. It stayed.

While I proclaimed to the world that I had said my last goodbye and that I wanted it gone because it was an eyesore – I was lying to myself.

Rambo left shortly after I got that message that night to go run an errand and because I told him I was fine. Before he was out of the driveway I was bent over the sink, white-knuckling the edge, praying to God I wouldn’t lose it in front of my kids. I willed the sobs not to come – but they did. I couldn’t stop the pain from coming out in tears.

My 5 year old Banana said, “Mommy, I’ll miss that house too. It was a good house.”

I kept telling her I’d be fine. I knew that I had to warn my parents so they wouldn’t be surprised the next time they drove by so I called and told my mom it was gone. I could hardly talk. I think even my mom was shocked at my reaction and I kept saying, “I’m fine – I have no idea why I’m crying – I wanted it gone…but now it’s like it’s really over. It’s done.”

I hung up and kept crying. I just kept seeing that land without our house…..like we never existed….and I picked up the phone again and stared at it. I wanted and needed to call Jenny BUT I don’t reach out. I don’t let people in. I don’t admit weakness and I was so ashamed to be so sad after so long for something so stupid…..but I’m also a different person now.

Now I know friends need to help other. Friends need to feel needed and wanted. Friends want to help – but they can’t if you won’t let them. And I also knew if this was Jenny – I’d want her to call me.

I dialed her number and got her voicemail and I decided right then to leave a message. I told her I was hurting and I was confused by my hurt and 10 minutes later I texted her and told her to not worry about me, that I was fine. Jenny called back that day and we talked and calling her was the right thing to do. For her and for me. (thank you Jenny)

It has been close to two weeks since I got the call that my childhood home is gone. I have driven by it nearly every day. I cannot and have not looked at the site. I just can’t.

I suppose that makes me weak but for some reason – I just can’t. I have purposefully avoided that road when and if I can. I have turned my head and even shielded my view with my hands so as not to see it.

And I’ll keep doing that – until I can look and not want to throw up and curse God and fall to my knees.

You see, when the flood happened – everyone fell apart. Everyone. Except me and Rambo. We picked up the pieces and stayed strong and made our home ready and did whatever was needed to in every moment. I never grieved or cried or let myself actually see what was happening.

I have images of my father literally on his knees wrapped around my sister as she sobbed and shook….and images of my mother standing in her newly remodeled kitchen wracked with her own sobs as she desperately tried to wipe the mud from her new floor she spent weeks picking out.

I never let a single tear fall during that time. I was 3 days out from tummy tuck surgery and the physical pain was as bad as the mental pain. My surgeon was pissed off I wasn’t resting and pissed off I was in dirty flood water and mud but she hugged me and said, “I know it’s where you have to be.”

Rambo would see me working in the mud next to Red Cross workers wearing masks and boots and gloves knowing my stomach had an end to end open wound in it and he’d beg me to sit down and stay away – knowing the whole time I wouldn’t – I couldn’t.

In my head I did everything right and I stayed strong…and now three years later when the house is finally torn down…I can see I did a lot of things wrong.

I never let go and I never let myself feel the pain of my loss. I never cried.

Strong isn’t always better. You can pretend you’re fine and that you’re over something until one day you get a message and you find yourself on your knees again.

So instead of just feeling the pain and sadness now….today I also get to mix in guilt and anger at myself for not allowing myself to feel it back then.

Just like the scar on my stomach remains…so does the one on my heart.

The house is gone. It’s really gone.

I hope some day I’m strong enough to look at the spot where it once stood….

Friday, May 27, 2011

BYOC Friday!!!!! ♥♪ Bring Your Own Crazy ♥♪

Let’s do BYOCBring Your Own Crazy! Every Friday a bunch of us answer a couple questions – some serious, some funny – in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blog brains a break. Copy and paste to your blog if you want to participate and ENJOY!


1. When is the last time you gave and got a compliment?

• I gave a compliment about 10 minutes ago. I told a co-worker she looked cute because she was wearing a hat.

• I got a compliment last night in the weirdest way. I had on my new cheetah heels and kind of felt like they weren’t all that and a bag of chips because NOT a single person said anything about them (oh except my boss who called them cow shoes cuz they are spotted. I told himI felt like he just called me a heifer.) ...and then I was walking into Walmart and a cute little old lady was sitting outside waiting for a taxi.

She watched me walk all the way from my car to the front doors and looked at me and smiled and said, “Honey, I just love your shoes.” And then there was an older guy behind me who I didn’t realize I had passed in my walk and he said, “Well I like her fancy toe polish…how do you like that?” All three of us had a good laugh. So there – my heels rock and my blue toe nail paint with designs on it does too!

2. What do you wear to bed?

• I’m a non-consistent bed dresser. It depends how tired I am. Sometimes I’m too exhausted to get undressed so I just leave what I have on and lay down. Other nights I’m completely naked. Other nights – like last night I do the half and half. That would be naked on top – dressed up like an Eskimo on the bottom. I’m just weird that way.

3. I’ve asked this before but we have some newbies doing this so I’m going to ask it again. If you could pick your dream job – with no worries of shifts or money or bosses or commute – what would it be and where?

• Ah this is so easy – because I dream of it all the time. And yet – it’s reedick. There ain’t no way it’s ever happening and no – you are NOT allowed to laugh, roll your eyes or point.

I want to be a life coach or therapist – in my own home. Probably because I can’t shut up or something. I imagine an office with huge puffy couches and a beautiful desk and light streaming in from the huge windows and my clients coming in crying and leaving laughing and renewed and overjoyed. I’ve always wanted to change lives – and know I did something for someone just with my words or presence. I have a need to help people and let’s face it – though Accounting is orgasmic to me – it ain’t helping no one. I could hand out gumdrops when the session is done. Fresh ones – not farted ones. I do have some boundaries.

4. Okay – I’m not trying to start some huge controversy with this question but I have to put it out there. If you’re being honest – do you think staying at home or working outside the home is harder? Can you honestly recognize they are both equally hard? Even if you don’t have kids – have you heard others talk about the two professions judgementally?

• Sigh. I ask this because there was a moment last weekend when I let a comment go by when I should have stood up for myself. A lot of women came to my jewelry party and many of them left their kids at home and enjoyed wine because they said it was “so good to have a few hours without their kids”.

I was commenting to my fellow co-host about how so many women said that and enjoyed the time that day without kids. She said, “Well yes, of course. You don’t understand. We’re with our kids all day every day and it’s exhausting. I am envious of people like you that get to go out and have real interaction and adult conversation. Some days I would kill for that.”

I said nothing. And now I can’t stop thinking about that comment. First of all – she has ONE kid that is home with her. Her others are in school. That one is three. Same with the other moms. My daughter that isn’t in school is five and she’s not a handful. I can do pretty much anything I want even when I’m with her because she isn’t an infant. 

The thing that bothers me is that I was supposed to feel some sort of pity for her – like her life was so much harder than mine. And I beg to differ. She goes where she wants when she wants. I see her FB page filled with play dates and shopping trips and sleeping in and not having to put on makeup or go out if it’s raining or snowing or she just doesn’t feel like it. And yes – beyond that – I do understand and know that her job is harder than almost any job out there. I acknowledge that. But it’s also a choice. She could certainly work – she chooses not to.

What I want from her is to acknowledge that my job isn’t just “adult interaction and conversation” all day. Is that really all she thinks my leaving my precious kids is? It is hard to work three jobs – that’s all I’m going to say. Every moment I’m working those three jobs – I’m also a mother…so some days my stress feels double. To only have to worry about my kids – nothing else…well, I don’t know what that would be like.

And no – I don’t want pity or sympathy because there is no need for that. I choose this. I can fully acknowledge I could never be a stay at home mom. I’d eat my young after about three days. I thrive on deadlines and stress and jobs and balancing things and being respected outside of being a mother.

THAT is what I should have said to her when she wanted my sympathy. In that moment, I actually felt guilty for having the “luxury” of having an outside job….and that’s insane. We all make choices. They are all hard. Don’t say you’d kill for a moment in my shoes when you’ve never walked in them.

They’re five inch heels baby – and not just anybody can do it.

(me and my five inch heels are getting off my soapbox now)5. Repeat question. Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

Blogland has been a bit quirky with the whole commenting issue thing. I keep finding new bloggers and that’s been super fun! People are so creative and I have blog envy big time.

In real life – guess what? Today is my bestie’s birthday!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENNY….I love you more every day.

Nothing up for the long weekend since Rambo works but we hope to get out on the Harley today after he gets off. My jewelry party ended with $1507 in sales so I got a lot of free jewelry and my brother was in a magazine for being one of the top 20 hottest single men in his city so that was kinda cool. I got new shoes and am getting hair highlights today…but my new purse hasn’t come yet!

Love to you all!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Pregnant with a side order of the fashion police.

I emailed Jenny last week to tell her Aunt Flo never came to town last month and that I was probably pregnant. Who emails stuff like that anyway?


I expected gasping for air. Sucking in huge gulps of terror. Screaming “Wwwhhyyyyy?” A river of tears. Snot dripping in her Pepsi.

THAT is what I expected from my best friend who knows damn well pregnancy is not in my future plans.

What did I get instead? Here it is. Are you ready?

Jenny replied with: “YAY! How fun is that? Oh what should we name it? We must start thinking of names.”

How about we name it “I’m going to come over there and beat you and your happiness with a stick?”

I emailed her this week and told her to get her panties out of a bunch because yours truly wasn’t pregnant.

Her response? “Aww…who am I going to give this blanket I started knitting to?”

I’m kidding. She didn’t say that. Duh – Jenny doesn’t knit. She designs blogs and right now is featuring a makeover blog contest where you can vote for someone to get a makeover for free! Nice segway huh? I thought it was pretty good myself. Click on her link on my side bar if you’re interested in voting…it’s Just Foolin’ Blog Designs…and it has nothing to do with knitting.

Or being pregnant – which again – I would like to say and type out and have notarized on a piece of paper – that I am NOT.

I would also like to say that while I am an accountant every day of my life and have obsessive OCD about numbers and pennies and have things like our family budget done out into next year – occasionally I make a mistake. An error. A mixup.

I know – calm down. No need to hyperventilate. I know it’s shocking that I’m not perfect but listen – dry your tears – it’s going to be okay. Like I said, I made an error in the budget this month….and normally knowing I made an error in our checking account is about as much fun as having a doctor call you personally to tell you that itch in your nether regions is NOT just a yeast infection. But this time – the error is in my favor – to the tune of $500!

Shitwads of goat turds! Do you know how many shoes that will buy?

Lastly – have you guys seen that “People of Walmart” video or website? It’s where real people take pictures of other real people shopping in Walmart – cuz they are wearing um….unique stuff on their bodies in public. Well, I’m here to say I could have my own People of Walmart right here where I work.

I shall explain.

Today – I saw a co-worker at the copier. I nearly stopped in my tracks to pull him aside and say, “Hey buddy – I think you got dressed in the dark today. You might wanna go home and try again.”

He is a big balding guy – looks a lot like Elmer Fudd. He had on a PEACH polo. Not orange people – light, pastel, PEACH. Which is fine except when you pair it with brand new crisp camo pants with drawstrings at the bottom…AND brown crocks with white socks showing through.

Help. Me. Jesus.

I almost took off my leopard heels and punctured his neck vein to put him out of my misery. And yes people this man has a WIFE. A fashionable, beautiful, well-dressed, business owning wife. I’m guessing today she was away on business travel.

I kept walking only to see another co-worker. We are all convinced this woman was once a man. Not in a mean way – I mean it’s totally acceptable and she is super nice but she tries WAY too hard to show everyone she is feminine so she can cover up that she was once a man. She has huge, linebacker hands – with really long fake nails. She has the deepest voice you’ve ever heard and a military tattoo on her bicep and quads of steel – oh and HUGE fake boobs.

Yesterday I saw her. Black spandex pants – and a cropped shirt….yes folks, I said cropped as in short as in you can see the top of the spandex pants. The shirt is not only cropped but it is plaid with a cropped blazer over top. To finish off the look – we have black high top sneakers with bright RED shoe strings and to top it off? A little lapel pin of Tinkerbell from Disney. And a Sherlock Holmes hat. What the what?

Can you imagine waking up in the morning and saying to yourself….”Yes, these spandex skin tight look like I painted them on pants look great with these red shoelaces and oh….even better with my Tinkerbell pin and old man hat.”

I don’t make this stuff up. I mean you just can’t.

And yes – we’ve already established I’m going to hell. No - I am not the fashion police. Yes – I look like a pile of donkey dung some days too. These people probably think I dress and look like a maniac so to each his own right? It just makes me chuckle sometimes. I love how we are all so different …and so alike really.

Oh and did I mention I am NOT pregnant?  Just wanted to be sure that was clear.

Skin and scars...and the journey.

I have a question. How the heck are you guys able to comment on my blog when I can’t comment on yours? Not being able to comment feels like I’ve lost my left arm! Whenever the commenting thing is fixed – I’m so going back and commenting and I wanted you all to know that.


Now – onto the good stuff. I’m so “worked up” about this – I can’t even type fast enough. Remember how I said I read Dr. Phil’s show every day online? OMG – do any of you do that? (Just go to his website and click on shows and videos and then click on shows this week and go to today’s show)

Today there is a woman on there who had gastric bypass surgery and lost over 150 pounds. She was originally 300 lbs.

She’s in love with her best friend and he was in love with her UNTIL they were going to have sex and he saw her naked and then he outright told her he can’t be in love with her, can’t have sex with her and will date other women who he is not disgusted by. He says if not for her skin she’d be almost perfect for him…that he’s never connected with another woman mentally like he does her.

Of course, she has looked into plastic surgery and the cost is high but this guy is worried about giving her the money for it. (Big surprise) Why? Oh because once the skin is gone – he’s afraid he’ll find the scars disgusting. OR – he’s afraid the surgery will work too good and she’ll leave him for someone hotter.

Wowser. Now let me say this. I do appreciate his honesty and his ability to outright tell her the truth about how he feels BUT I do not appreciate the fact that even with the skin gone – he’d still not love her like she deserves. He already is finding something else to not love her about – BEFORE the surgery is even done.

I can’t really say how bad scars are from plastic surgery because the scars from my breast reduction and tummy tuck are pretty much nonexistent. My tummy tuck cut was right along my c-section cut so no matter what I had a tiny line there. My breast reduction scars are barely visible and you’d never know I had surgery.

What I want to ask this guy is what if he falls in love with a Barbie and they have kids and she has a c-section and a scar from that? Will he leave her because his eyes find that disgusting? What if she cuts her leg open in an accident and gets a nasty scar? Or God forbid was burned in some type of accident?

How about if the tables turned and he got burned or had an operation that scarred him? Oh I want to wring his little shallow neck….though I know he’s just being honest – I hate his feelings. And it’s not like he’s some supermodel himself.

I get it – I do. I get that she hates looking at herself – but isn’t that enough pain to bear for one person? I mean I hated my ginormous boobs and I hated the skin that hung on my stomach that I could pick up by handfuls BUT the one consolation I had was a man who stood behind me when I was crying about how hideous I looked – who would stand there and put my face in his hands and tell me he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life and he wouldn’t change a thing. And even if I wanted to – I couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his words…I could see he meant it – even when I couldn’t see that about myself.

Underneath the clothing – there was still the same love and support and lust – and I can’t imagine carrying the burden of feeling like a prisoner in my own skin AND knowing the man I loved hated my body too.

When I had my surgeries – I knew with 100% certainty I was doing it for ME. Only me. Something I rarely did. Rambo didn’t need me to have surgery. I didn’t need it to improve our love or marriage or sex life. I needed it because it was the finish line in the marathon I had been running for years. It was the like a lawyer going to school for years – and then finally passing the bar.

I mean - can you imagine that someone going to school to be that lawyer and then finishing school with no intention of taking the bar? Can you imagine training and running a marathon and stopping right before the finish line and never crossing it? That’s how keeping my stomach skin felt to me….like an unfinished journey.

The skin on me wasn’t me any longer. That was the old me – someone I barely knew now. And for me – I had to get it gone. It was a constant reminder of how badly I had treated my health and body…and my tiny scar is a reminder to never do that again.

I know the man on the show cannot help that his eyes find hanging skin disgusting. I get that. But for me – I think it’s his excuse. I think it’s his ticket out of never having to marry her or love her or commit. That’s the part I wish she never had to hear – him blaming her skin as the reason he can’t love her properly.

Her surgery will not be easy. My tummy tuck was in the top 5 of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Harder than both of my 24 hour long childbirth labors – one without drugs and one ending in a c-section. A full body lift and a thigh lift is 10x the recovery and pain and I guarantee you at some point in her recovery she will regret it. There’s a time when the swelling, recovery, loss of stamina, inability to exercise, and pain get to be too much and you regret and you secretly think, “My God – I could have lived with the skin”.

But even with that fleeting regret – that’s all it was – fleeting….because I was confident in my decision and I had made peace with doing it for me and I knew the regret was temporary. When she’s in that regret stage – she’s going to also feel like he made her do this and she did this for him and I bet he won’t be there to help her during recovery like she thought and she’ll slowly begin to wonder if he was worth it.

All I know is I could have come out of my surgery with additional skin sewed onto my body and Rambo wouldn’t have given a damn. Knowing that I could come out of there botched up to the high heavens – and he’d still hold my hand as I walked out of there – was just another reason I knew I wasn’t doing this for him.

The journey. This surgery. The recovery. The money. The pain. The fleeting regret. All of it. Was mine.

And I’m proud of that.

I hope this woman finds peace once her skin is off….and I hope she finds love. Real honest to goodness love.

300 lbs, 150 lbs, taut skin, hanging skin, scars or no scars – it doesn’t matter. Every person on this Earth should get to feel they are beautiful and get to feel unconditional love.

Even the guy on Dr. Phil today who I want to punch in the face.  I hope I'm wrong about him.  I hope he is there for her in her recovery and finally accepts her and finds her beautiful and tells her that. 

Mostly I just hope he can finally admit that he wants to play the field, he's not into marriage and it's never been about her skin....

Hear ye, hear ye...the shoes have arrived!!!!

Finally.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph!!  I was about to whip out the St. Peter too because I was so anxious to get my shoes!  It's not necessary though because they arrived!!!

First off - let's start with the pair I'm returning.  The leopard ones.  They don't fit and so my search for the perfect leopard shoes continues.  But they are cute huh?


I'm also returning a pair of wedges...the pic got deleted cuz my batteries ran out and I already boxed them up so you'll just have to imagine them!

Now on to the ones I'm keeping!

I wanted a pair of nude shoes....and I love these!  They are peep toes!



These are my new cheetah sandals.  I like them because normally everything leopard and cheetah is against a dark black or brown color and these have a white base!  Perfect for summer!


And lastly - my FAVE!  Now these shoes are definitely not going to appeal to everyone and they are a little wild but that's why I love them.  They are even sort of jerseylicious aren't they?


Dudes - these shoes even have pattern on the heels!  Rounded purple toe - pink zebra - gold accents.  To die for!  Yes??

I'd have to look for sure but I don't think I paid over $25 for any of these!  Love that!

Now if only my new purse would come!!!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

I confess.....with a side order of "extra fun"....

I confess that last Wednesday’s confessional booth was so much fun to be in that I’m doing it again this Wednesday! Feel free to “confess” your transgressions on your own blog today – it’s seriously addicting (almost as much as bathing in Skittles is).


I confess that last night at the spaghetti supper I saw Rose (the girl bullying my daughter) and I secretly wanted to shake the mean-ness out of her. Do you wanna know that little girl had the nerve to stare me down? I’ve never spoken to her but she obviously knows I’m Watermelon’s mother. Apparently, she apologized to Watermelon yesterday. That’s it. Another incident done with a talk and "I’m sorry". Apparently there’s no escalation of consequences whether it’s the first time you get caught bullying or the 16th. The Principal never talked to Watermelon at all.

I confess that although this sounds like bragging – it is not. But without Rambo and I at the supper last night – it wouldn’t have happened. We were the set up crew, the serving crew, the dishwashing crew and yup – the clean-up after crew. Other people came and went through the whole thing but we were there from start to finish and let me just say – we pulled our weight and then some. While it was good to help out – and we will do it again as we belong to the club that put it on…it left us feeling exhausted and a little annoyed. It’s a once a year fundraiser – and some in the club didn’t even show. It was frustrating – but successful...and that's what matters.

I confess that though it is totally and completely unnecessary…I am having another tattoo consult today for another tattoo on my left calf. Rambo’s back piece if finally finished after more than 6 sittings and 15 hours so now it is MY turn.

I confess that I am addicted to reading Dr. Phil’s shows every day online in the same way that I am addicted to Jerseylicious. Dudes – I’m not kidding. I want to dress like that and do my hair that high and use that much AquaNet and relive my glory days in neon clothing.

I confess that today I stayed in bed an extra half hour and it still wasn’t enough. It was raining. Windows open. Chilly. And Rambo is home so I was wrapped up in his arms and I refused to get up. I just said the hell with it. Life is short and that moment was perfect. I could have stayed in that spot all day and been one content woman. Funny thing is – I got to work the same time as always. I may be high maintenance but this girl can get ready in a hurry I tell you.

I confess that I bought a fake Co@ch purse online the other night. It’s not even because I don’t want to spend the money on a real Co@ch purse – it’s just that I really love this fake one’s design AND I don’t think Co@ch makes it for real. It’s coming from China – big surprise. I confess I’m secretly scared that any minute now my card company will call and say there’s $10,000.00 worth of fraudulent charges for rice and chopsticks on my Visa from some little guy in China who was restocking his store inventory.

I confess that I’m secretly pissed my new shoes have NOT arrived yet.

I confess that my evil-ness has backfired on me and I’m not nearly as smart as I think I am. The other night when Rambo wouldn’t shut up about wanting dessert later I stupidly said, “I’m going to work out now. If you work out too, then we can have dessert later.” Um yes. He worked out.

And me thinking that this was just a fluke win on my part said I’ll make you that deal daily – you work out and I’m in for dessert. How about we see if you can work out 7 days in a row and if you do you can have extra fun dessert on the 8th day? Talk about motivation right? (and NO – I have no idea what “extra” fun dessert means – I was bluffing people) Rambo is a busy guy with his three jobs and overtime and working at spaghetti suppers and all and working out every day is not in his schedule…until you dangle something extra fun in front of him.

I momentarily forget that his penis is the part of his body that enters into deals his stupid wife makes off the cuff without thinking. Let’s just say I’m in trouble. And I’ve got about 5 days to come up with a definition for “extra fun”. I have figured out the key to motivating him to work out. But I’m pretty sure I was the loser in this deal. Extra fun?

What the holy hell is that?

So yes – I confess – I am a whore. I have used my “wiles” to make a bargain. You can’t call me a slut though because no money is being exchanged. Yes, let’s go with that mmkkaayy?

Oh and I would ask for suggestions on what some "extra fun" could be but I have to admit I'm scared of what your "suggestions" might be.  LOL

Lastly, I confess that in the time it took me to write this – Explosive Man has gone to the bathroom twice. By now I realize he could have a medical condition but the evil twin inside of me that is named Satan – doesn’t give a damn. It remains G with a side order of ROSS (that spells gross for those of you who haven’t had your morning coffee yet). Ack and double ack.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Botox, camel toes and bullies.

Let me just say that anything following a “shoe picture post” – seems dull. Mundane. Lifeless and almost pointless. (hmm…one would think I’m talking about Martha Stewart’s love life)


But I must continue on with my ramblings. Much to my disbelief – everything in my life isn’t about shoes. (though I am expecting the 6 pair I ordered last week to come today…prepare yourself for some major screen licking when I post more pictures)

Moving on. Okay – let’s see. Yesterday marked 15 weeks until my ½ marathon. Training officially begins at 12 weeks so we’re getting there folks. I did the treadmill for an hour Sunday night and walked around town with friends last night. I plan to do the treadmill again tonight after a school function I have to work at.

I am officially on track in my “lose 1 lb a week” competition with myself. And yes – while we’ve already ascertained that losing a pound a week is something even Buddha could do by just blowing his nose….it feels like rocket science for this girl.

Oh get this? I might be getting Botox. Now before you go all into giving me the “isn’t two plastic surgeries in a lifetime enough?” speech….calm down. The botox isn’t out of vanity and it’s not about my skin at all. I’m looking into it for my migraines. Botox has helped a ton of people deal with them when nothing else works. I just got my last ER bill for my migraine and the bill was $900. I go to the ER at least a few times a year. If one Botox treatment helped me I’m telling you - the insurance company would make money.

I’m also looking into Botox for my armpits. Yup – you read that right. While I sweat like a mo-fo because I’m a nervous anxiety-ridden freak who is also hot most of the time – the fact is – my glands are way more active than most people. I mean I have sweaty pit marks on shirts and such. It’s annoying and it can ruin shorts and it’s embarrassing. I do take a pill that can completely stop this – it essentially dries up all my glands. However, it dries up everything – meaning I’m basically dehydrated – which causes more migraines. It sucks little monkey balls.

I’ll let you know if insurance covers either procedure….keep your fingers crossed for me!

I hosted my jewelry party Saturday. Everything went swimmingly (look, look – I got to use that word again)….well except for that one thing. That one thing being that I was washing wine glasses and suddenly felt my foot getting warm. Odd right? Yes…until I realized my sink was leaking onto the floor into my socks. Shitballs. 30 minutes before I have a houseful of people and my sink leaks?

Karma hates my chubby ass. So we called my friend’s husband (Rambo was at work) and he came over to fix it. Later on we had to call the same guy to bring us a wine bottle opener. When we called him that second time – the husband said, “You better be naked, drunk and having a pillow fight this time”. Seriously – men really believe that happens, don’t they?

The party was good. I finished my not-$2000 calendar in time to hang it up and everyone loved it. I managed to sweat buckets but did not get hives. I ate copius amounts of chocolate covered strawberries and Rambo rewarded me later with an ice cream M&M blizzard. Good times.

Explosive Man is back in the office this week. Suffice it to say I will not be peeing at work at all this week. I may ask Martha Stewart across the hall how I can replicate her super tight camel toe feature. I figured that out – she does it as a way to hold her pee in so she doesn’t have to use the bathroom here. I mean a gumdrop farting Skittle bathing hick from the sticks can certainly suck it up and pee in a poop infested toxic air bathroom BUT Martha Stewart’s fine expensive lotioned ass can NOT….hence the pee-holding camel toe feature. She’s not as dumb as I thought she was. And now I want to be her.

Oh and lastly – Rose – the bully…..God – I don’t even know what to say. I can say I’m a horrible mother – like you can write it in stone. I guess yesterday Rambo picked up Watermelon from school and she was crying. She told Rambo why and they walked to the car. Rambo sat in the car for about a minute and decided – nope – I’m not going to go home and call back and ask for a meeting and deal with this later – I’m going back in there now. By the way – last week was “anti-bullying week” at school.

Rambo walked into the Principal’s office and said, “I guess your anti-bullying week didn’t work worth a shit.” He proceeded to tell the P what happened and even had Watermelon go in and relate why she was crying. The P said Rose was in study hall right now and he’d go have a chat with her and he’d talk to them both tomorrow. Watermelon spent a good hour curled up in the fetal position with an upset stomach over this until she finally calmed down.

Another talk. Another non-consequence. Another moment where Rose is a bully and her mother has no idea. It makes me wonder if Watermelon was a bully and in trouble every day – would I know? Would they let me know? Would they call me in?

Back to being a horrible mother. This morning Watermelon was quiet – very quiet. I told her I loved her, told her the plans for the night and told her goodbye. And then? On the way to work I realized today was when she was supposed to meet with the Principal and Rose and deal with Rose getting in trouble because Watermelon told on her……and I missed that.

How could I have done that? How could I have not given her extra encouragement and support this morning? I made this worse without even knowing it. And I feel terrible about it. I completely missed my job description this morning as supportive mom. Instead I was career professional getting ready for work and mother getting her kids and their bags in the car on time. Tonight I’ll tell her I’m sorry. But that won’t help her today……….so if you could – say a prayer or two. For Watermelon. And for Rose.

Monday, May 23, 2011

My shoe post!

Alright - as promised - it's my shoe post!  Are you ready?  And yes - though I was only going to take a before and after post - I accidentally slipped and took pictures of some of my favorite shoes for your viewing pleasure!  I didn't think you'd mind.

If you get time - take a pic of your shoe closet and a few of your faves so you can join in the fun!

Here is my BEFORE:

And now AFTER:



Never mind that the shoes are stacked three and four deep - it's the best I can do!

And now - the DURING!


My newest "short" boots!
My fave "tall" boots!

Ruffles amuck!  And these are peep-toe!

Can there ever be enough wedges?

Zebra shoes!

Aren't these flats cute?

Furry boots!

Stiletto boots!
The snakeskin boots!

Okay - I'm done...that's enough right? 

Your turn!!!  Lemme see those shoes!

Saturday, May 21, 2011

It's been a while...

...since I did a shout out.  I just found a new blogger and she's cute as pie and she needs some followers so you can all realize she's cute as pie too!

If you get a sec, check her out and let her know I sent you!  Her link is below:

http://fairdalediaries.blogspot.com/

Thank you Skittles!

Friday, May 20, 2011

B B B B - BYOC!!!!!!

Let's get this thing started!!  It's Friday which means around these parts it's BYOC day (Bring Your Own Crazy).  We answer a few questions to get to know each other better and to give our blog brains a break!

Copy and paste to your own blog and most of all ENJOY!

1.  What kind of laundry detergent do you use?

* Ha!  Dumb question kind of...I wanted to start out easy.  (um that sounded terrible, didn't it?) 

Okay - since the theme of my week is confessions - I should confess I had to go look.  Um...I don't do laundry.  Rambo does it all.  I don't even know how to run the damn washer since we got a new one.  Or the dryer for that matter.  I do, however, put laundry away - well mine and my little girl's anyway...he puts his own away.

So yes - it is Tide.  Thank you very much.

2.  If you had the ability, strength and moment to tell one person on this Earth something that you've never said before - what would it be and to whom would you say it?

This is actually a scary question - because the fact is - I have the ability, strength and moments every day to man up and do this - but I don't.

Anywhoozle - I'd pick my Dad.  If I knew he could handle it, I'd tell him what I needed as a little girl that I didn't get even though I know it wasn't his fault.  And I'd tell him I love him...in spite of it all.  And that I'm working on letting go of the pain.  But mostly - yes - I'd say "I love you" - because I'm not sure in all of my life I've ever said those words out loud to him. 

3.  Picture question!  Take a picture of a pair of shoes you wore this week!

Okay - just try to tell me these aren't the cutest wedges you've ever seen!  I wore them twice this week!


4.  Repeat question.  Summarize your week in blog world and in real life this week!

Blog world was good - I LOVED doing confessions this week and a bunch of other comical crap happened and that's always fun to write about!  I've been following a bunch of new bloggers so that's been fun getting to know new people!

In real life - I'm off today - to clean.  I'm hoping to find my kids underneath the tornado of a mess that my house is.  It's ree-dick.  Like I could take before and after pictures - for realz.  Jewelry party tomorrow!  Had soccer and board meetings and lots of season finales for my fave shows this week.  Yes, yes...again - my life is grand.

Love you all - I'm off to fart gumdrops!

Thursday, May 19, 2011

So what - now what?

So I have another confession – like a real, honest to goodness confession.


I suck a fat baby’s azz. In regards to my social anxieties and fears – I am nowhere near healed. It’s like one step forward – and sixteen back. Or at least that’s how it feels. I do well for a while but then it creeps up and slaps me in the face.

For example:

I was at Walmart getting a few groceries and I was done and turned down a lane which had very few people. When I turned the corner I saw a little old lady…who I knew. I used to work with her…and I loved her. She’s like Paula Deen and Big Bird (minus the yellow feathers) wrapped up in one. I corresponded with her for years after I left that place of work even. I miss her. She would have hugged me tight and told me I looked fabulous and on and on….if I had let her.

There was no chance of that. I saw her face. Saw that she didn’t see me and I bee-lined it to the next row. I was feet away from a good friend and I couldn’t make myself talk to her. I even told myself it’d be fine…even fun…and that I really, really miss her……but I couldn’t do it.

And I’m not afraid to say I’m pretty disappointed in myself. I have to say what I did shocked me…I thought I had grown more than my reaction proved I did.

After I got home my aunt called. My favorite aunt. I love her to death and have a long history of love with her. She is no one that I am afraid of….though you’d never know that by my actions. She called. Of course – I didn’t pick it up. I knew it was her and handed the phone to Rambo. She was calling to ask for a jewelry book so she could order for my party on Saturday. I heard Rambo say, “Do you want to talk to her?” I said NO in the background and said tell her we’ll bring her a book. I never spoke to her.

See – what’s worse about this story is that my aunt works at a business at the bottom of my driveway. Not only could I not talk to her on the phone but I also did not walk down the driveway and hand her a book and thank her. Rambo did.

What must she have thought of my avoidance? Does she know it’s not personal? Does she know I’m like my dad – her brother? Does she know I don’t want to be that way?

Does she know how sad I am that I couldn’t bring myself to face the anxiety yesterday?

I feel like an addict who has had a relapse. And no – I still haven’t told Rambo the extent of this social crap I deal with. I have to. He keeps asking me to go with him and the Harley riders for supper.

People I don’t know. On a weeknight.

I can’t even begin to tell you how that makes me feel. I told him I’d stay home and watch our girls.

I’m using my role as a mom to not participate in life. He said, “I want YOU to go with me.” Of course he does – but does he know how much mental and physical stamina that requires?

Nope.

I promised a blogger friend that I would tell Rambo how it truly affects me if she tells her husband – because we are both running into obstacles when it comes to trying to heal. I don’t believe we can hide and heal. Hiding makes me feel ashamed and I’m so over guilt and shame these days.

I can’t keep letting life pass me by. I can’t keep making excuses and regretting my weakness later. It might be easier but easy doesn’t make it right.

I heard a saying yesterday that caught me by surprise…just four words but they seem fitting for me and I’m going to keep them in the forefront of my mind as I continue to face my fears.

Though I was almost taught to be this socially fearful and scared and anxious – it doesn’t matter. Though I have felt pain and been through tough times – it doesn’t matter.

The fact is – I need to ask myself –

SO WHAT – NOW WHAT?

Yup – four little words – and a choice. So what? Now what?

If you can think of a fear or an anxiety or some sadness and pain in the past that is holding you back, bitterness, spite, remorse, unforgiveness or hate for someone who has hurt you or a bazillion excuses to tell me about why and how you can’t heal and move on or succeed and do everything you’ve ever dreamed of – and I looked at you after your speech and said, “So what – now what?”

How would you answer? 

Live from Care Bear Land....

This post is coming to you live from Care Bear Land. It’s been a while since I visited here but I’ll also have you know I just finished farting a batch of gumdrops too. I’m taking tomorrow off to clean the abyss of a mess that is the inside of my house and that makes me a jolly good fellow-ette.


I have a few things to report today. First and foremost, I want you all to know I had a shoe-gasm last night. Laura Belle (blogger friend) emailed me an picture of her entire closet and her collection of shoes that it houses. I spent ½ hour trying to explain to Rambo why I was moaning at the computer and licking the screen. And I have decided I will be doing an entire post on my shoe closet now. A before and after of sorts…the heaping pile isn’t doing it for me anymore. I simply must organize.

I have kicked ass diet-wise lately until….enter my mother-in-law. Sweet baby smurfs – the woman can cook. She is from the deep South where no matter what the recipe calls for – you add at least 3 sticks of butter. Well, I got home last night to an entire huge Ziploc bag of scotcheroos. You know – those caramel-y rice krispies with chocolate on top? Yes, someone tell me how I’m not supposed to eat those please? I love my mother-in-law but sometimes she disguises herself as S with a side order of ATAN which equals a full serving of SATAN. Shitballs – did I just type that out loud?

Rambo had his entire back tattoo finished yesterday. And you know what that means right? It means yours truly – Sleeping Beauty – gets awakened at 4am to “Baby doll – I need lotion.” Ugh. For F sake – are you kidding me? Being the good wife that I am, I rub lotion all over his tattoo with my eyes shut in my blind rage. It’s pitch dark. I was dreaming about Little Debbies. Try to picture it and then never ever question how much I love Rambo. I proved it this morning.


Speaking of tattoos – since Rambo finished his – that means my turn is next so I’ve been designing. I’m thinking of getting something on my calf and my tattoo artist told me to come in so she can measure the area. Great. Exciting. Except? Now I have to shave my legs. Damnitall. (totally a word) Anyone got a bushhog I can borrow? Okay fine – it’s only been about a week…or two…..

Today is picture day here so me and my two chins are going to make the best of it. And yes, it’s a complete given that today my hair didn’t work worth a damn. I’m so excited to wear a lanyard with a badge with a picture of me in it EVERY DAY for 9 hours a day! Cripes. I wonder if anyone would notice if I skillfully put in a picture of a supermodel over my face……hmmm….

I have also been reminded this week that I have a fat brain. Not fat brain as in I’m so filled with intelligence that my brain is fat (though I can totally fathom why you would have thought that.) No, no, no…I mean fat brain as in my brain can’t see my body for what it is. I do this all the time and it drives me crazy. I bought two pairs of capris – in a bigger size than usual because right now my brain tells me I’m fat after gaining about 15 pounds this winter. However – after wearing the pants for about an hour – I look down and have DCS (dropped crotch syndrome). And my butt is sagging to the ground. All I need is a huge boombox on my shoulder and a beat and I could be mistaken for a rapper. I don’t need the bigger size – even with the gain. So I returned them. Me and my fat brain gotta get on the same page at some point.

Lastly, people irritate me. Men in particular. I had a board meeting on Monday night and I’m the treasurer for the commission. That means I should just sit silently at meetings and it means I do not get to vote. Well…we all know that “sit silently” thing is like asking Michael Jackson not to do the moonwalk…so you can bet your skinny azzes that I voice my opinions. I mean – come on – they are all men. I’m the only woman – which therefore means I am usually the ONLY voice of reason. If my voice doesn’t work – I kick Rambo under the table and glare daggers at him. The meeting went well except a vote went down that really pisses me off and I’m still mad about it. So yes – people – generally men – irritate me. Big news flash I know.


Oh wait – one last thing. Martha Stewart (co-worker across the hall) was sporting the biggest camel toe I’ve ever seen in my life yesterday. I swear to you – midget aliens could have set up a village in there. How does that not hurt? I mean how is massive chafing avoided? Yes – I spent the day yesterday and now today writing about a co-worker’s vagizzle. I know you want to be me. Try not to hate. My life is grand.

Explosive Man is out on business travel…which means I’ve been peeing in the bathroom outside my office all damn week because poop isn't everywhere in sight. I told you before – my life is grand.

I’m pretty sure everyone wants to be me. Yes, yes…let’s go with that...becasue in Care Bear Land - anything goes!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

The first time "I confess"...

I know it’s “I Wish Wednesday” BUT recently I’ve been following some new blogs and have seen a bunch of people doing an “I confess” blog post and it so looks like fun so I’m stealing joining in on the idea. If I knew whose original idea it was, I’d totally give credit but I haven’t been able to figure that out yet.


So here we go…let’s hope it’s as fun as it looks.

• I confess that my husband is insane. Pervertedly insane. He came to bed last night and scared the crap out of me. He said – in his most alarmed voice – “My God, there’s something wrong with my balls. When I went pee, I found cobwebs around them.” Oh he’s a funny guy isn’t he? I can’t make this crap up people. I refuse to even tell you how long it’s been since he’s had dessert. Suffice it to say – there ain’t cobwebs anywhere in that vicinity. Jebus.

• I confess that I found another P word I hate. I cannot and refuse to type it. Poop and Puke are as far as I can go. I have to draw the line somewhere. I figured out this third P word when Rambo stated the above. He followed it up with…”I found cobwebs around them from lack of _______.” Yes, he used the porn word for my vagizzle. It rhymes with wussy. I am hereby striking the letter P from my alphabet. It has no place in my life. And yes, Rambo is vulgar. He gets a free pass though – he’s surrounded my criminals all day so he can’t help it right?

• I confess that my house is so messy right now that Child Prot*ctive Services could come in and have reason to take my kids away from me. Well, that’s if they could find the children. I’m waiting until Friday to clean everything and letting it go until then because I’m lazy like that. (It’s not that bad…I haven’t spotted mold yet anywhere.)

• I confess I have a list a mile long of things to do before I host my jewelry party Saturday and yet last night, I sat on my azz reading blogs or watching TV. Turns out the TV and computer still work even in all the filth. Rambo says we’re real life trailer trash now cuz our house is a mess and we have a Harley in the garage. I guess those are the two qualifications yes?

• I confess that my heart broke watching the wounded soldier come home yesterday – seeing him without legs. He never stopped smiling though and his wife has never left his side. Over 200 Harleys showed up to escort him through town and home. All the schools let the kids make signs and stand on the side of the road to wave to him as he went by. Rambo shook the soldier’s hand and said, “I’m glad you made it home, brother.” The soldier looked at Rambo and said, “No IED is going to stop me.” THAT my friends is bravery at its finest and I’m glad Rambo took part in that moment.

• I confess that this morning at 4am when Rambo got up to go turkey hunting, I said something to him as he left. I also remember him saying, “What?” I then remember saying what I said again. What I don’t remember is what I said. Shitballs. Don’t you hate it when you do that? Converse in your sleep. I have no literal idea what came out of my mouth. I could have said the brown fox pooped in a wheelbarrow for all I know. I confess I cannot wait for Rambo to tell me what I really said…though I’m a little nervous.

• I confess that last night when Rambo went outside for a second and the phone rang and I saw it was his mom I ran into the bathroom to pee suddenly…because everyone knows you can’t answer the phone when you’re peeing right? Right? (Yes, my life is ruled by the effing toilet – at work and at home)

• I confess that last night I bought 6 pairs of shoes online…and justified it by saying “I got free shipping!” Woot! OMG – wedges, nude pumps, leopard pumps...and on and on. I have an addiction. It is evidenced by the fact that this morning I spent 10 minutes on my literal hands and knees diving through my piles of shoes to find a certain one. It is beginning to take longer to find my shoes than it is to get dressed. Is there therapy for shoe addictions? Sure there is – stop buying shoes – just focus on purses.

• I confess that my 5 year old hating soccer secretly makes me want to do cartwheels and shout for joy! It’s one less game we have to go to – so shoot me.

• I confess I am a diet method whore. I ordered yet another diet book yesterday after reading about a blogger’s success on it. I see a pattern here, don’t you?

• I confess I am a full blown calendar/organizing/color coding SLUT. An all around hussy. It’s May – half the year is over so 5 months of a 2011 calendar are already useless - but again – yesterday I ordered the cutest calendar evah…which means I have to retire one I already have. Sick I tell you – sick. Apparently I had a little shopping meltdown yesterday. Jesus, Mary and Joseph right?

• I confess sometimes Rambo’s job scares me. While he works in a Superm@x which houses the worst criminals and prisoners in our state – some inmates do get out. 95% of them are lifers obviously BUT some are not.

Last week an inmate was being released. He made it a known fact that he was going to make the guard’s lives hell for his last two weeks in prison and he did. Rambo doesn’t put up with that crap. The inmate wanted a shower before he got released and asked for it about 3 days in advance.

However, up until his last day he was terrible. By the time he got released he had been put in a seg cell with no clothes, toilet paper restriction and food restriction for safety of the guards. Rambo is a Sgt so it was his job to enforce most of these consequences.

And now he is out. And he knows our last name and he left there hating Rambo…the man who ultimately denied him a shower before he got out. I hate the fact that last names are on Rambo’s uniform. I just hate it.

The only good thing about this guy being released is that it will only be a matter of weeks before he reoffends…and he’ll be back in prison. I understand every human has rights – but when you rape a 2 year old or do something similar – you can go without a shower in my opinion. No – this man did not rape a 2 year old but another man in the prison did…I’m just saying those are the kind of offenses these guys commit…so you don't misunderstand and think Rambo is an intolerant jerk....he just doesn't have the ability to sympathize in many of these situations.  He follows the rules...but that's the extent of it.

• Lastly, I confess this confessing thing is fun. You should totally try it!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

P words, excessive chins, bargaining with Rambo and wounded warriors....

How's that for a blog title? 

Shitballs. Yesterday’s post fostered some amazing comments and I loved reading your insights. Some were heart-warming in that your relationships and love never faltered due to weight gain or loss and some were downright agonizing.

For example, Julie’s friend whose husband married her because she was heavy and he thought that meant no one else would ever love her or take her away from him…and then she got thin…and they divorced because he couldn’t handle his own insecurities.

And I loved my best friend’s comment about how women sometimes settle but the kicker is that the person they married has no idea that they are the settle-ee. Intense thought there that never crossed my mind.

It was a lot to think about and above all – I appreciate your honesty on the subject because it’s a tough topic.


• Remember how I hate the P words? (For my new followers – just because I love you – though it pains me to even type the words – I mean puke and poop) Remember how I used to be able to clean poop out of TV crevices back when my 2 year old discovered diapers come off and poop is kind of like play-doh and it should be smeared on TVs? Remember when I could hear and see vomit and not vomit myself? Ugh – well – we’ve already put it out there that this chica can’t do that anymore. Somewhere along the lines of getting older, I became allergic to poop and puke. Maybe it was Explosive Man exploding in the toilet outside my office that did it. Who knows?

All I know is the latest in my new “biggest wussy woman in the entire world” domain, I have discovered something else I cannot handle. Dead animals on the road. OMG – but then again it’s like seeing Explosive Man come to the office in spandex shorts. You want to run away screaming but you find yourself staring in awe at the audacity – you can’t look away. It’s like that with dead animals on the road. I want to shut my eyes and veer completely off the road into the ditch yet find myself thinking, “Oh, was that a raccoon or a possum. I wonder when that happened. Poor thing.” This morning – dead fox – and I looked and I almost thought I might throw up. I actually panicked thinking where will I throw up in this car while I'm driving?  Who does that?

• Um…we are taking new pictures here at work for new badges we have to wear. Excuse me while I go buy a new face at Walmart. Seriously – my face does NOT photograph well. You can even ask my best friend. When she takes pictures of me, her little fingers can’t help but to try to photoshop my enormous cheeks down to a normal level of chubbiness.

And the double and sometimes triple chin? Honestly, there’s enough room between chin #2 and chin #3 to build a village in there. Sigh. Anywhoozle, I, Chubby McChubbington would love to hear some tips on how to take a great face shot. Rest assured I will also be googling “How to make your face appear wafer thin when it is indeed not…in pictures.” Or “how to look like a supermodel in pictures…when you are um…not a supermodel.”

• Oh oh – I went to my sister’s graduation this weekend and get this? I didn’t even shoot daggers out of my eyes or misbehave or kill anyone. I had a great day and my sister deserved every moment of it. Can I just say though – why do colleges have a knack for picking speakers who literally have no conscious when it comes to the length of their speeches? They ALWAYS pick people who just love to hear their own damn voice. I want to scream “Hey azzhole – there are KIDS in the audience – could you hurry it up?” Jesus, Mary, Joseph AND St. Peter. That’s right – I pulled out the St. Peter. (that sounded strangely dirty didn't it?) I mean at our company Cmas party – we give our speakers a time limit – 3 minutes and that’s it. Take it or leave it. Why can’t colleges do that?

Oh and on a sad note – neither of my brothers attended. It just didn’t work out. Kinda crappy but it is what it is.

I was a complete ass for a few seconds at graduation, I have to admit. Remember the blowup about how we all have to dress up like we’re going to the Oscars and Rambo simply must wear a tie and on and on? Well, against my better judgement, when the moment struck me and I’d see someone in jeans and a plaid shirt and work boots or shorts and flip flops…I’d tap my mom and say, “Mom, don’t you love his tie?” She didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did. So um yes…yours truly is going to Hell. Anyone want to meet me there?

• I’m happy to report that my “make my own perpetual wooden calendar because I refuse to spend $2000 on one” project is going swimmingly. (I’ve always wanted to say “swimmingly” in a sentence. You like?) I only have a little bit left to do after literal countless hours on this thing. Rambo is more of a hindrance than a help if I’m honest.

He’s a bargainer. Meaning when I say, “Can you go downstairs and cut this one straight line on this one board?”…he gets an idiot-like penis spark in his eye and replies with, “Sure…what’s it worth to ya?” And this morning when I said to him – can you drill some holes in these boards today…his response was, “I’ll drill your hole.” See…living with a sex-craving pervert isn’t all it’s cracked up to be folks. Getting anything done takes twice as long.

• Okay, that’s all I got for today. I am on an 18 week “get thin before I attempt to run a marathon” plan and the goal is to lose 1 pound per week. Hold your applause – I know it’s awe-inspiring. Not. But I can report I did it. I lost 1.5 the first week. Just call me an over-achiever or scared to death I’m going to pass out at mile marker #1. Either title will work at this point.

• Lastly, just a request for prayers. Today Rambo has off work and he belongs to a Harley group here and today this particular group is escorting home a wounded warrior. A man from our area had both his legs taken from him over in Iraq and has been really far away recovering for months. Today he gets to come home. The Harley Patriot Riders are giving him a full fledged escort from the airport through town and all the way home to honor him. Many of the Harleys will sport full-sized American flags and people will be out in the streets in support. Rambo will be in that escort and it’s safe to say when he talks about it – his chest puffs up in pride. If you could, keep the wounded soldier in your prayers….

Monday, May 16, 2011

Double standards on fat.

Are you more likely to cheat if you are thin?


That’s the question I saw posted on a blog this weekend. I can’t remember which one it was but it got me thinking….because last week a co-worker of mine – who I consider a friend – told me some shocking news.

Let me describe this woman first. For as long as I’ve known her, she has struggled with her weight. Yet – it NEVER affected her confidence here at work. She climbs the corporate ladder, has earned respect and is a great asset here. Outside of work, it didn’t seem to affect her either. She traveled, had many friends and had a great social life.

I always knew she was dieting and working out and striving to be healthier – it was a constant battle. Last year she confided in me that she was going to Mexico to self-pay for the sleeve (I think). I know it wasn’t gastric bypass and it wasn’t the lap band but it did involve surgery. With no fear and no regrets and complete confidence she went ALONE to have the surgery done.

Since the surgery she has lost over 70 lbs. She randomly comes in my office just to twirl and show me her new outfits. It’s a lot of fun to be happy for her.

When she was heavy, before the surgery – she got married to a man with 4 kids. She was ecstatic. She never stopped talking about her husband. Even years after they were married you could hear her talk about how he would wake up every morning and cook her an entire breakfast before she was even out of bed. She seemed blissfully happy. She even loved her new role as step-mother from the beginning.

And last week – she told me they are divorcing. She said he wants to stay together and she does not. I didn’t pry and ask for details – I just told her if she needed me that I was here.

A huge part of me wants to know what happened? Not out of nosy-ness but I suppose curiosity in how you can go from bliss and breakfast in bed and smiling from ear to ear every day – to it being over.

I do remember when she was heavy – though confident – she did always say she thought she’d never get married or meet anyone. She did have that fear. And now I wonder if she settled. Did she fall in love with the first person who loved her back out of fear of never having it otherwise?

Now that she is healthy and thin and even more confident – did she realize what she had done? I mean now she even has the balls to walk away from him. And her stepkids. Again, with no regrets. I’ve never seen her more sure of a decision. I don’t know whether to hug her or cry for her.

Part of me knows she loved him and he was good to her and she needed him to prove to her she was indeed loveable at any weight. Part of me knows I’m happy she knows she can do whatever she wants and reach for the moon on her own if she has to.

I suppose it’s all about self-worth isn’t it? People always say – heavy or thin – I’m the same person at my core.…and I don’t know if I believe that is true anymore. I see it everywhere. A guy in town recently got skinny and started running…and now announced him and his high school sweetheart are divorcing. Everyone was shocked.

I remember when I was in the thick of actively losing weight – I never had the urge to leave or get out….the only thing I noticed was it made me wish Rambo would get healthier with me. Him eating entire plates of nachos and 3 brats irritated me…probably because I was jealous if I’m being honest. LOL

What’s your viewpoint on relationships when people lose weight? Do they get better? Worse? Did you have big discussions with your significant other before surgery or weight loss endeavors about if/how your relationship would change? If you were single – did you wonder if it would change who you would allow yourself to fall in love with?

It makes me wonder if the same happens when we gain weight? Do spouses leave us when we gain? Do they stop loving and look elsewhere? Or does the love and relationship keep going regardless? Do you have that fear? The fear of what your significant other would feel if you gained more weight? Do you fear THEY may gain weight and do you fear how you’ll deal with that or how you’ll feel about them if they do?

I mean don't you think it's seems we've almost made it socially acceptable to see a man or woman get healthy - and leave a marriage or person behind and move on with their new life.  It's like we cheer them on saying, "You go - leave that baggage behind and seize your new life." 

But do you ever hear anyone say, "So and so left his wife because she got fat. Isn't that noble of him?"  We think that's cruel and disgraceful...but the opposite is acceptable almost.

It's one of those lovely double standards.

Interesting thoughts at the very least. I hope some day my friend may enlighten me as to why she left after all this time when I thought she had everything she wanted. In the meantime, I’ll just pray she finds what she is really searching for.

I only hope she knows what that is.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Tricks of "the trade"....

And by “the trade” – I completely and totally mean sex.


Wowser – I have done more posts on sex this month than in my entire blogging life, haven’t I? What the holy hell is up with that?

Okay, okay – focus. This is a very important topic.

I must first admit that this is all my fault. I have to ask a question about “baking dessert” – and again, it’s all my fault. Well, you can’t really blame me – it’s over 90 effing degrees here and the humidity is rampant. I got home last night and put on a shirt…sort of. I mean it has tank straps with a v-neck but it’s kind of a dress because it just covers my hoo-ha with the ruffle that is all along the bottom. It’s technically a real shirt/dress to wear in the outside world but it’s a bit big on me and I have always used it as a nightie type thingy…when it’s hot out – because the coverage is pretty scarce.

I knew I was going to go downstairs and tan later on so the lack of clothing was prep for that later. Again – did I mention it’s also hotter than Satan’s house? Hence reason #2 for being so ahem…not conservative.

Yesterday I bought some words and new plates to put around the top wall of my new kitchen so of course – I was hanging those up – in my “not so much a shirt” shirt.

Not smart folks. Not smart.

Small piece of clothing. Standing on a stool. Reaching up. Multiple times.

It’s just too much for Rambo. But God – it’s fun to pretend I have no idea why this would drive him crazy. I could have hung those plates MUCH faster had he not been in the house for God’s sake.

Okay – so moving on – it’s bedtime. Rambo goes to bed really early since he gets up at 4am. Lately it’s been still light out when he goes to bed. The girls go to bed at the same time because they need their sleep. Sometimes I go to bed too and other times I stay up a while.

Last night I went to bed.

Mistake.

Let me first say that Rambo is funny. I mean I fully realize to someone else he might not be funny but to me – I laugh my ass off nearly every moment I’m with him.

Let it be known that I have every intention of going to sleep. Rambo does not share that intention.

I tell him he’s acting like a puberty-stricken 12 year old in the back seat of a car putting the moves on a virgin. So he proceeds with:

You have pretty eyes. I like your shoulders. I swear I’ll still love you tomorrow. I’ll be gentle. I won’t tell anyone. – and any other lame come on line he can think of.

Freaking idiot. I’m cracking up as I lay there and I keep saying, “Dude – the birds are still chirping, it’s light out, our kids are awake.”

He proceeds with, “Awww, when are we gonna do it again? It’s been like weeks.”

WEEKS? WEEKS? Are you effing kidding me? Dude – it’s been two damn days. TWO – days. Like as in 48 hours. Wow.

More laughing loudly and then yup – you guessed it. A five year old at the end of the bed with the cutest smile ever and the most angelic voice and she says, “What’s so funny mama?”

Oh nothing – your dad is being an idiot AGAIN. Go back to bed.

She leaves and I say – “See – what would you have done if your ass was in the air and your balls were swinging?”

THAT is why this ain’t happening for you tonight buddy.

Which got me to thinking – how do people do it with children who are awake – just rooms away? I mean yes, we could have been quiet BUT that doesn’t mean our kids won’t come in. They come in randomly for all different reasons all the time…and I love that they know they can do that because as a child I was scared to death to enter my parent’s room – ever.

And yes – we do have a door BUT the door makes me nervous. The 5 yr. wouldn’t give a damn if it was shut but the 10 yr. old is old enough to wonder what the hell is going on and why and ask a million questions. And I don’t want those questions asked.

Yes I understand it’s normal for children to know their parents need or have “closed-door discussions” BUT that’s a childhood memory for me I hate. My parents closed the door A LOT on weekend mornings and before we knew what it meant – it only represented to me that my parents were unavailable. I couldn’t talk to them if my leg was falling off – it was off limits. I never understood why they’d shut me out as a child.

When I was older and understood what it meant it grossed me out and I hated it and I felt shut out again even though I understood it.

If “things” were happening at night – my parents NEVER shut the door and I guess always assumed we’d sleep through “things”. I’m here to tell you I never slept through anything. Their room was in plain sight of mine. (My kids are rooms away from us thank God) I think my parents thought “it’s my house, I’ll do what I want when I want because you’re supposed to be sleeping and I’m an adult”. I refuse to do that to my kids.

I don’t want my kids to feel any of that – the morning or the night crap that goes with parents baking dessert. I want them not to know or see or wonder…for now.

It got me to thinking – how do other couples deal with this? Do you care? Do you not do it because of your kids presence – even if it’s a couple rooms away? Do you choose to take the risk? Shut the door? And if so – how do you explain the shut door? As your kids get older do you become a couple that only does it when your kids aren’t home?

Yes, for realz. I’m asking. I need some “tricks of the trade”. Because I’m pretty sure Rambo will die if he has to wait THREE days.

Oh, the horror right? How he survives I’ll never know. Jesus frick.

Just Foolin' Blog Designs & Ice Queen.

I have two very important shout-outs this morning before I post.

The first is big news! We all know that my best friend Jenny is the Gayle to my Oprah. She is everything I could ever want to be and more. Beyond being the perfect best friend, mother, wife, and professional – she is now a full blown blog designer. Jenny has taken her passion for designing blogs and turned it into a business so everyone in blogland can benefit from her services. (oh that last part sounded dirty didn’t it - “her services”)

If you get a chance, please follow her new design blog (she puts up valuable free info and tutorials) and if you want a rocking new, personalized blog design – just shoot her an email. I’m sure you’ve seen her designs out in blogland…or check out her portfolio to see what she’s done so far.

Her talent is bursting at the seams and she’s passionate about perfection when it comes to her clients.

I’m so proud of Jenny – she’s an entrepreneur now! She found a passion, perfected it and has turned it into a business – isn’t that something we all wish we could do? She never ceases to amaze me.

Her new design blog is called Just Foolin’ Blog Designs! Go check it out…pretty please.  You will not be sorry!! 

(P.S. I love you Jenny)

******************************************************

My second shout out is for a dear blogger friend. Her blog name is Fat Like Me and her alias is Ice Queen. Another strong-willed woman who never ceases to amaze me. Like the rest of us, pound by pound she is fighting the good fight and getting healthier….and amidst that she still finds the time to leave comments for me that have given me chills, made me smile and made me cry. I consider her a real friend…and she cares deeply about her followers.

Recently, her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and IQ decided ultimately to blog about it…to try to heal and cope and deal with this devastating news. I haven’t had time to comment for her yet but IQ – I want you to know I read the post…and your comment is coming. For now – I want to pass on some fellow blogging support. Many bloggers have been in your shoes and may know some words that can help you more than I can right now. The only thing I want to do is hug you...and take away all the heartache.

It is my hope that extra prayers and blog support will help you during this difficult time….so if you would….please check out Ice Queen’s blog and lend some thoughts, prayers and support.

Thank you.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

An open and shut case.

I have a dress on today. It’s just a straight cotton blue shift dress. Gold headband, long gold necklace, gold earrings and gold flip flops. It ain’t nothing spectactular friends…but you’d think it was. People keep asking why I’m so dressed up and I, being the ass that I am….reply with, “I have an interview later.” It throws them off. You either get a stammered “good luck” or a jaw dropped in horror. It makes for a fun day.


What I wish they knew was that I feel super uncomfortable in this dress. It’s as casual as shorts and a tank but it is in fact a dress. And a dress around here where we all dress very casual (jeans every day) takes a little balls to pull off. A certain attitude you know?

Which brings me to the point of my post today – attitude.

Either I’ve become hyper-aware of my surroundings or my facing my social anxiety fears is showing itself in real life. It’s all about perception. I mean – the dress – I’ll walk around today and not a single soul here will know I’d rather be in pajamas. No one will know I want to crawl under a rock rather than be looked at or noticed. No one will know that I feel limited because the underneath slip thingy feels too tight. No one will know that with every step I take I’m pissed beyond belief because my thighs rub together when one year ago they didn’t. No one will know that I picked this dress specifically to hide the fact that I am 15 pounds heavier than I was a year ago. No one will know that under this dress lies a self image I probably wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

They will only know what I project. Confidence. Sex appeal. And worthiness. With my little courageous balls squeezed tightly in my hands.

I will force myself to remain open to being noticed and being complimented. I will not cringe. I will be open to – just plain people. It’s what I’ve been doing all week. Like a little game I’ve been playing just to see how life will unfold. If indeed life is different if I dare to let people in.

For example, I went to my eye appt last night – without Rambo. I rarely go anywhere alone – without Rambo. I don’t believe in myself enough to do so and I’m scared of people. I even went shopping afterwards – alone. Again – something I don’t usually do. But I went. In five inch wedges and my aviator sunglasses….and a smile. Instead of projecting a “leave me the hell alone or I’ll come at you like a rabid raccoon” vibe – I decided to not stare at the floor, notice people and make myself open.

Funny things happen. People talk back. They smile at me. They say they love my shoes. The lady at the craft store wanted to know what I was making. In Old Navy, 4 sales girls approached me. People in the stores strike up random conversations with me – about nothing and everything – and I talk back. My nail lady called my cell – GASP – and I freaking answered. Like a normal person does. Without even thinking about it.

What the holy hell?

It just proves me to how closed off I usually am. I smile – but it’s not an inviting, talk to me, I’ll talk back to you smile. I have an invisible wall up that most people can’t penetrate. Why would they want to? Life is hard enough without being responsible for breaking down other people’s walls.

Life can be a whole different ball of wax based on your open-ness and attitude and the perception you give off. I might not believe I look and feel like a million bucks but dammit I can project that I feel that way. It helps. It’s not pretending…because it’s where I factually want to feel and be some day. It’s faking it until I make it.

How do people perceive you? Do you attract smiles, people, conversations – life? Or do you walk around in walls?

Is your door open....or shut?

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

For a moment....I mattered.

I report that I have nothing to report. You’d think that’d be fun – cuz no news is good news - except it doesn’t make for very good blog writing you know?


Hmm, let’s see. Oh I could report that I have dutifully prepared my breakfasts, snacks and lunches for the entire week just like a real health nut would. I mapped out a fun little spreadsheet to remain accountable on - as there are now only 18 weeks until the ½ marathon. That means training begins sooner than I think but as of right now I plan to remain in denial about that fact.

I planned to work out when I got home last night but I did the walk in the house, get undressed and lay in bed waiting for Rambo to come cuddle me thing and the next thing I know, his arms are wrapped around me and I can tell he’s fallen asleep…so I did too. For five minutes at a time because that’s how often our girls would keep coming in. Ah, bliss. And um, no workout.  Shitballs.

Ah and yes, I’m also still mother of the year. Soccer started for my girls yesterday and I didn’t even know it. Yes, me – the woman with three calendars and binders mapping out my entire life down to when I pee or fart a gumdrop – didn’t know her effing kids started soccer. Holy panic Batman. They made it there safe and sound. In fact, Rambo took them while I did PT work at home and tanned. (I told Rambo I might look and feel like hell at graduation but damn it - I'll be tan.  Ha!)  Good times.

Today I get a new contact put in my left un-surgeried eye. I’m a little nervous about it coming out and how that will feel but it’ll get me through another two weeks and that’s 2 weeks closer to ultimately fixing my eye.

After the appointment, I find myself making plans to shop for something to wear to my sister’s graduation though I have enough clothes for the entire Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders team to wear. It’s ree-dick-ulous to say the least. No one gives a damn what I’ll be wearing so I’m not sure why I care. I bought the girls new dresses and shoes to wear so they’ll be the center of attention with all their cute-ness!

Oh and here’s a question from Rambo. First let me say that I have a myriad of underwear. From your snazzy zebra ones, to the thongs, to the general cotton ones to the ultimate granny panties to women’s boxers. I wear them all – according to my mood and what I’m wearing. Rambo however, has a different theory.

A couple of days last week I wore pants that in my mind – required a thong. He, of course, can sniff out a thong like a coonhound smells blood – and always knows when I have a thong on – and then attacks me all night. And in his penis head – he says my wearing a thong means – I want “it”. That I want to jump his bones.

I tell him – no you idiot – the pants require it. This has nothing to do with you. He says, “No way – ask your blog friends.” So I am. Do you wear underwear based on your sexual needs or how you feel or is it simply a matter of logistics? I hate to say it but Rambo is sort of right – if I feel frumpy and not dressed up or in a bad mood – there is no way I’m going to wear a thong or wear anything that requires a thong. BUT that doesn’t necessarily lead to how I feel about dessert. Kind of a funny topic. My moods dictate my underwear….who knew?

Lastly, I hope you all had a great Mother’s Day. Rambo had to work like always so my day was pretty normal. Jenny and I chatted late into the night before Mother’s Day so that started things out great. The girls made me cards and were angels all day and when Rambo got home he had a Harley tank (you should see it – the back of the tank is a skull that is cut out so your back shows through) wrapped up for me. I have no idea when/how he went and bought that but it was sweet and every other word out of his mouth was “Happy Mothers Day baby”.

My sister got me a beautiful plant.

And get this….my little brother called. Like on the phone. And I picked it up because in my entire life I have probably only spoken to him on the phone maybe 5 times so when I saw his number I thought someone was dying. He said, “I’m calling to say Happy Mother’s Day.”

Um yes, I'm pooping my pants.  I choked back tears and replied a soft “thank you” – and made small talk for 60 seconds and we hung up.

Shortly thereafter, I got a text. Went over and picked up my phone and it was a fellow blogger wishing me a great day...so sweet. Then I got another “Happy Mother’s Day” text from my woman tattoo artist. Some Facebook well wishes too.

And then another text – from my older brother. He said he hoped I was doing something fun today and Happy Mother’s Day. Again – choking back tears…I simply replied “thank you”.

So yah, people thought of me and that’s what matters. Men – grown men, my brothers – people in my life I rarely speak to, don’t spend time with, have nothing in common with, go months without seeing – thought of me and made an effort. I’m not their mother. They didn’t have to do it. I am the mother of their nieces and their sister and their friend…and they remembered. And it made my heart soar.

It’s the little things folks. Never forget that.

It would have been just as easy for my brothers to not have taken the few seconds to text or call….but they did it anyway….and I’ll never forget it. That’s not to say the wishes I got from the women who contacted me aren’t as special. It’s just to say that things like this from the men in my family are rare and virtually unheard of. We find it easy to stay away or spit venom or be completely emotionally unavailable to each other for much of our lives…except when it matters.

And Sunday – for little moments in time – I mattered to them…and I knew it.