We have officially kicked off the holiday season. That means that I begin listening to Christmas music in the car during my extended 2 and one half minute commute to work. I am more than just a little ashamed to admit that I love Christmas music. Judy Garland singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" with all of that 1940's angst, always makes me cry. I smile at Dean Martin working hard to ply his date with alcohol and kisses as she repeatedly says "no" to spending what I'm sure would be a chaste night with him in front of the fire in "Baby it's Cold Outside" Yeah......that song would never fly today.
I sing along with them all.....really badly. To say that I can't sing is an understatement too vast to be easily grasped by the human mind. It would be equal to saying that the great San Francisco earthquake was reeeeeaaally inconvenient. I mean that I seriously can't sing. I discovered to my great amusement this year that my singing "Santa Baby" will cause the dogs to break in to a wrestling match complete with snarling and neck biting. "Santa baby....slip a sable under the tree.....for me"......grrrrrrrr.....snort snort....grrrrr......jingle jingle go the dog tags...."hurry down the chimney tonight" the dogs suddenly rush off for an impromptu lap or two around my tiny townhouse. Sad but true. I am convinced that if I were to actually finish the entire song, the dogs would explode in to a great mushroom cloud of fur.
The music is one of the last great enjoyments I have of the holiday season. I don't put up trees anymore. I discovered that cats are designed by the Gods to remove any and all ornaments and lights in the bottom two thirds of a Christmas tree. My ordinarily stunning tree decorated with a collection of ornaments symbolic of our little family history was reduced to a giant, really sad looking cat toy. Worse......they would climb underneath and pee on the festive Santa tree skirt. I now go to Hilary's house if I need a tree fix. She is the keeper of the ornaments not destroyed or otherwise peed upon by the Godless heathen four-legged freeloaders who occupy my home. Yeah....you know who you are........you there.....sleeping in the sunny spot looking cute and all......bastard animals.
So aside from my ability to induce seizure activity with my lilting and dulcet tones, I do enjoy my Christmas music. For me.......the fun is now...the music.....the lights.......family and friends.....coffee with Vicki......cinnamon rolls with Hilary.....shopping.....pretty paper and bows.....all "It's a Wonderful Life" all the time. The actual event is a bit anticlimactic really. OK.....I know what you're thinking. "Does she buy presents for the freeloaders?" The answer is "No" I figure that as long as I can't deduct them on my tax returns, they're lucky to get freakin' fed. Do I really need to buy a gift for Nickolai who systematically removed the stuffing from all my bed pillows? or Misha who pooped in the bathtub? or Quatro, who stalked, hunted, and then killed an entire 5 pound bag of potatoes? I don't think so.
"Santa baby.....a '54 convertible too, light blue.......I'll wait up for you dear....Santa baby....hurry down the chimney tonight"
Well......that's one way to empty the sunny spot. Nap time!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Black Friday
OK...so Nancy's Goddamned Diet has taken a short holiday siesta to allow for your usual holiday fare and family-like traditions. For me, these include a tremendous amount of forgetting, some cooking, and at least one panic attack because I'm so fucking broke. The forgetting seems to occur mostly at the grocery store at which I spend a freakin' massive amount of my time because I can never remember to get everything at once. Managing to get it all at the store is only half the equation because the rest involves getting it to wherever I'm going. This means at least two trips back to the house........and it's getting worse as I age! As for the panic attacks.....I'm an equal opportunity attacker......I can have them at any time but seem to prefer festive holiday occasions.
This Thanksgiving included my first foray in to the "Black Friday" morass of......what?.....humanity maybe? Hilary talked me into going with her. We headed out to the stores at the un-godly hour of 8:30 a.m. Do real people get up this early on a day off??!....really??? Some obviously mutant forms of human beings actually head out at midnight!!!!All for the acquisition of that must-have holiday item. I have to admit that I actually got in on a doorbuster that was more my speed.....one that lasted from 9:00 a.m. til 1:00 p.m. It required that I walk past the display, read the sign and pay for my purchase at the sales counter. Done and done. Thank-you and goodnight.
Our drive in was about as usual. Hilary fussing at me to stop pressing buttons. "Mother, what are you trying to do!?...would you please stop touching things!" "I was just trying to turn off the radio" "Well, you need to stop because you are just fucking up the bass" "Well how do you turn off the radio!?" "You ask ME to turn it off!" "Mother!! what are you doing now!" "I'm trying to turn the heat down" "You just turned on my freakin' four-way flashers!....ok...ok......STOP!!" We have a great relationship Hilary and I. No really......we do.
Our first stop was Kohls. This was also our first mistake. Kohls is where all the large herds of crazy women go to stampede. The earth rumbles as they scurry past pushing undersized carts full of coffee makers and blenders and bread machines. Their eyes are glazed over as they defy the laws of gravity by balancing 8 feet of towering crapola in their little 2 foot carts. They are on a mission....they are clearly possessed by the dark lord.......and they have the unlimited credit that's only reserved for the wives of short, slope-shouldered, balding men who's only refuge is their work......God bless-em! Purchases secured, they head for the check out. I could actually see cob webs beginning to form on some of the people trapped in a line that wrapped around the store more than once.
What I did not see was a weak-link member of the herd. You know...the one little, sorta scrawny looking lady standing in line with one pair of isotoner gloves. I think the others would have smelled her weakness and devoured her on the spot. She was smart and stayed well hidden. The lines were made up entirely of booty laden herds- women. While Hilary was off checking out the great prices, my job was to take a number and wait at the jewelry counter. I mistakenly took two numbers. This is me we're talking about here after all. Little did I know the pandemonium soon to ensue.
Once our number was called, Hilary went off to look at her choices and I made the rookie mistake of offering my "gunna-be-called-next" number to whomsoever wanted it. Lets just say I was happy to have my hand back because for a split second there, it was touch and go. The lunge for my laughably inexperienced hand caused a ripple effect that could be seen around the store like a tidal surge.......all I could hear was the sound of rushing feet and somewhere off in the distance, a coffee maker falling from a great height. The rest is a blur.
This Thanksgiving included my first foray in to the "Black Friday" morass of......what?.....humanity maybe? Hilary talked me into going with her. We headed out to the stores at the un-godly hour of 8:30 a.m. Do real people get up this early on a day off??!....really??? Some obviously mutant forms of human beings actually head out at midnight!!!!All for the acquisition of that must-have holiday item. I have to admit that I actually got in on a doorbuster that was more my speed.....one that lasted from 9:00 a.m. til 1:00 p.m. It required that I walk past the display, read the sign and pay for my purchase at the sales counter. Done and done. Thank-you and goodnight.
Our drive in was about as usual. Hilary fussing at me to stop pressing buttons. "Mother, what are you trying to do!?...would you please stop touching things!" "I was just trying to turn off the radio" "Well, you need to stop because you are just fucking up the bass" "Well how do you turn off the radio!?" "You ask ME to turn it off!" "Mother!! what are you doing now!" "I'm trying to turn the heat down" "You just turned on my freakin' four-way flashers!....ok...ok......STOP!!" We have a great relationship Hilary and I. No really......we do.
Our first stop was Kohls. This was also our first mistake. Kohls is where all the large herds of crazy women go to stampede. The earth rumbles as they scurry past pushing undersized carts full of coffee makers and blenders and bread machines. Their eyes are glazed over as they defy the laws of gravity by balancing 8 feet of towering crapola in their little 2 foot carts. They are on a mission....they are clearly possessed by the dark lord.......and they have the unlimited credit that's only reserved for the wives of short, slope-shouldered, balding men who's only refuge is their work......God bless-em! Purchases secured, they head for the check out. I could actually see cob webs beginning to form on some of the people trapped in a line that wrapped around the store more than once.
What I did not see was a weak-link member of the herd. You know...the one little, sorta scrawny looking lady standing in line with one pair of isotoner gloves. I think the others would have smelled her weakness and devoured her on the spot. She was smart and stayed well hidden. The lines were made up entirely of booty laden herds- women. While Hilary was off checking out the great prices, my job was to take a number and wait at the jewelry counter. I mistakenly took two numbers. This is me we're talking about here after all. Little did I know the pandemonium soon to ensue.
Once our number was called, Hilary went off to look at her choices and I made the rookie mistake of offering my "gunna-be-called-next" number to whomsoever wanted it. Lets just say I was happy to have my hand back because for a split second there, it was touch and go. The lunge for my laughably inexperienced hand caused a ripple effect that could be seen around the store like a tidal surge.......all I could hear was the sound of rushing feet and somewhere off in the distance, a coffee maker falling from a great height. The rest is a blur.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Food Junkie Channel
I have to admit that I am completely captivated by the Thanksgiving cooking shows on the Food Network. I will watch anyone cook a turkey. Sad but True. I'll even watch the annoying hosts cook a Thanksgiving meal, like Giada, who has a smile that makes me want to bitch slap her in the mouth. Must she be so happy all the time? Then theres down home with The Neeleys. Those two seriously need to get a room or something. His "he he he"-ing and her "ting-a-ling-a-ling" ing just drive me to distraction......but they're cooking holiday dishes and I must watch.
I've loved cooking shows for as long as I can remember. One of my early memories was watching Julia Child completely destroy a holiday yule log. By the time she was finished with it, it looked like a brown pile of what used to be cake with little meringue mushrooms stuffed in to it. Even as a child, I remember laughing my ass off at the vastness of her failure. It wasn't funny watching her struggling with this horrible mess of a dessert. It was funny during the parting shot where an obviously different yule log was sitting pristinely on it's bed of spun sugar. Poor Julia.....we love her so. She kept reminding us that it's a log and should look messy. We all knew the truth.
My favorite is "The Barefoot Contessa" I could watch her cook in her gazillion dollar kitchen at her little cottage in The Hamptons til the cows come home. Yes......she has a laugh that can bring on seizures.....and yes, real people don't have sparkly tables with little silver bowls of caper buds and plates of fresh figs. It's glimpse in to the good life that near as I can figure, is populated entirely by middle aged women and gay men,who all have copious amounts of free time at their disposal. I can only imagine real people helping themselves to a pre-dinner caper bud......or actually picking up one of those fresh figs to nosh. I can only smile as Ina encourages me to buy the best lobster meat I can afford. Oh Ina......you wouldn't last a day in my world.
So for those of us who can't eat butter and heavy cream, and who can't whip up a festive holiday flan, and wouldn't know where in the fuck to find a caper bud if our life depended upon it, there are our little TV friends in their perfect little TV worlds. I have to admit that I'm waiting for the moment when Rachel Ray unceremoniously drops her unholy arm load of ingredients. A girl can dream can't she?
I've loved cooking shows for as long as I can remember. One of my early memories was watching Julia Child completely destroy a holiday yule log. By the time she was finished with it, it looked like a brown pile of what used to be cake with little meringue mushrooms stuffed in to it. Even as a child, I remember laughing my ass off at the vastness of her failure. It wasn't funny watching her struggling with this horrible mess of a dessert. It was funny during the parting shot where an obviously different yule log was sitting pristinely on it's bed of spun sugar. Poor Julia.....we love her so. She kept reminding us that it's a log and should look messy. We all knew the truth.
My favorite is "The Barefoot Contessa" I could watch her cook in her gazillion dollar kitchen at her little cottage in The Hamptons til the cows come home. Yes......she has a laugh that can bring on seizures.....and yes, real people don't have sparkly tables with little silver bowls of caper buds and plates of fresh figs. It's glimpse in to the good life that near as I can figure, is populated entirely by middle aged women and gay men,who all have copious amounts of free time at their disposal. I can only imagine real people helping themselves to a pre-dinner caper bud......or actually picking up one of those fresh figs to nosh. I can only smile as Ina encourages me to buy the best lobster meat I can afford. Oh Ina......you wouldn't last a day in my world.
So for those of us who can't eat butter and heavy cream, and who can't whip up a festive holiday flan, and wouldn't know where in the fuck to find a caper bud if our life depended upon it, there are our little TV friends in their perfect little TV worlds. I have to admit that I'm waiting for the moment when Rachel Ray unceremoniously drops her unholy arm load of ingredients. A girl can dream can't she?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
OK.......what was I saying?
Since I have discovered the key to my several week long yo-yo trauma with the 3 pounds from hell, my body has responded by letting go of what seems like an unholy volume of liquid. Who would have known that baked Lays could illicit that kind of fluid retention. Certainly not me........my brain has been misplaced somewhere. I'm not kidding.......I'm brain-less right now. I think that in and amongst all this peeing, I'm losing a few brain cells. They are floating away like so much flotsam to the sea.
To give you an example, I have taken to having conversations with my niece Ellen without the benefit, or in fact, the necessity, of her actual, what?..... presence?. Riding home from the movies today, discussing the basic plot points and emotional punctuations, I leaned back and asked Ellen if she cried when Edward left. The only problem with this little pow-wow was that Ellen was driving home with her husband, traveling at high speed, in the opposite direction. I had said goodbye to her 15 minutes earlier. Somewhere between the restaurant and movie theater, my brain clearly fell... the.... fuck.... out.
OK....what was I saying?
Oh yes......the movies, and my general state of brainlessness. As frightened as I am of losing whats left of my fucking marbles, I am more frightened by the generations coming up behind me, and the vast majority of the public at large who are convinced that looking to the left is simply not necessary when making a right hand turn. At least I have a few brain cells left to lose, I wasn't born without them, and more often than not LOOK IN MY FUCKING REAR VIEW MIRROR when backing up. I'm just sayin' people. You know who you are.
OK....what was I saying?
Oh yes....the movies. So I'm sitting there in the dark. The movie theater is quite full, and despite numerous requests to turn off cell phones and refrain from texting, the theater is full of painfully thin 15 year old girls who periodically light up like clear blue beacons in the night sky. There they are....the whole theater aware of them as they're bathed in blue glow, madly working their thumbs. Now I ask you. These young girls paid to watch this movie just like I did. You know they aren't receiving an emergency text from home saying grandpa had a stroke......they are OMG-ing and WTF-ing and C U L8R-ing their way through the movie they drove to,and paid to see. I fear for this generation, and hopefully I will remember just enough to fling my bedpan at them when I'm in the home and these girls are the food service technicians and custodial staff.
I'm home now, and the doors are locked effectively keeping the world out there and not in here. I need to breathe and center and call the restaurant to see if anyone found a brain in the ladies room where I was madly waving my hands in front of the paper towel sensor before realizing there was a fucking button to press. Bastard paper towel dispenser manufacturer bastards. Why must they confound me at every turn. Do they not realize that I'm brain-less and in need of dry hands and not inspired to break in to an impromptu interpretive dance in front of a paper towel dispenser with a misleading red laser eye like button on the front.
OK.....what was I saying?
Oh yes.........the ladies room. I gotta pee.
To give you an example, I have taken to having conversations with my niece Ellen without the benefit, or in fact, the necessity, of her actual, what?..... presence?. Riding home from the movies today, discussing the basic plot points and emotional punctuations, I leaned back and asked Ellen if she cried when Edward left. The only problem with this little pow-wow was that Ellen was driving home with her husband, traveling at high speed, in the opposite direction. I had said goodbye to her 15 minutes earlier. Somewhere between the restaurant and movie theater, my brain clearly fell... the.... fuck.... out.
OK....what was I saying?
Oh yes......the movies, and my general state of brainlessness. As frightened as I am of losing whats left of my fucking marbles, I am more frightened by the generations coming up behind me, and the vast majority of the public at large who are convinced that looking to the left is simply not necessary when making a right hand turn. At least I have a few brain cells left to lose, I wasn't born without them, and more often than not LOOK IN MY FUCKING REAR VIEW MIRROR when backing up. I'm just sayin' people. You know who you are.
OK....what was I saying?
Oh yes....the movies. So I'm sitting there in the dark. The movie theater is quite full, and despite numerous requests to turn off cell phones and refrain from texting, the theater is full of painfully thin 15 year old girls who periodically light up like clear blue beacons in the night sky. There they are....the whole theater aware of them as they're bathed in blue glow, madly working their thumbs. Now I ask you. These young girls paid to watch this movie just like I did. You know they aren't receiving an emergency text from home saying grandpa had a stroke......they are OMG-ing and WTF-ing and C U L8R-ing their way through the movie they drove to,and paid to see. I fear for this generation, and hopefully I will remember just enough to fling my bedpan at them when I'm in the home and these girls are the food service technicians and custodial staff.
I'm home now, and the doors are locked effectively keeping the world out there and not in here. I need to breathe and center and call the restaurant to see if anyone found a brain in the ladies room where I was madly waving my hands in front of the paper towel sensor before realizing there was a fucking button to press. Bastard paper towel dispenser manufacturer bastards. Why must they confound me at every turn. Do they not realize that I'm brain-less and in need of dry hands and not inspired to break in to an impromptu interpretive dance in front of a paper towel dispenser with a misleading red laser eye like button on the front.
OK.....what was I saying?
Oh yes.........the ladies room. I gotta pee.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Are you kidding me??!!
OK...so I've been struggling with unexplained weight gain. The interesting thing about mystery weight gain is that if you sneak a little peek at it when it thinks you're not lookin'..........you'll find that it's quite easily explained. For the last few weeks I've been losing and re gaining the same goddamned three pounds. "What the hell is going on here!!??" To say I've been a little frustrated is a vast understatement. My poor digital scale is suffering the effects of me repeatedly stepping on and off it and damning it to Hell because "that can't be right!"It has, in fact, developed self-esteem issues and will screw with me by throwing out a random "10 pounds heavier than I was a nanosecond ago" number. If it could spell out "fuck you" on it's LCD screen, it most certainly would. As it stands......my dearest digital gets her point across.
I've had a nagging suspicion that it has something to do with the baked potato chips that have replaced my Funyun addiction. I will be the first to stand up and say that I am a complete crunchy salty junkie. To give up real chips and Funyuns and gain weight off of baked fucking Lays has been a concept too horrible to face. In what kind of a just and loving universe is this allowed to take place!? How can I possibly be bundled up in my woolies, huddled under my blankie because the heat is set at 60 degrees, watching "Andy Griffith" episodes (don't judge......I'm also addicted to Barney Fife who never fails to make me laugh) snacking away on my beloved salty crunchy chippeys and gain weight? Reeeeeaaaally easy.
I went out to lunch with Hilary today. We had the salad bar even though I wanted to get chinese. Mmmmmmm chinese......so salty.....so high fat!! After finishing our salads we slipped over to the grocery store so I could pick up some shake-n-bake, and I mentioned my little problem to Hilary. She zeroed in on a bag of baked Lays and said "120 calories" "See!!" I said, then she continued, "for 9 chips" "WHAAAAAT.......are you kidding me??" "On what fucking planet do beings exist that can eat only 9 bloody chips at a time!!??!!" "MOM.........you have to read the labels" My attempt to read the labels did not go well. The ones that I could manage to see even with my bifocals required translation from Hilary. The rest were simply too small to see.
So I've learned valuable lessons today. Number 1: It sucks to get old. Number 2: take Hilary for clarification purposes to the grocery store whenever possible. Number 3: I WILL NOT substitute crunchy carrots for my evening fix......carrots will be consumed only by the guinea pigs. Number 4: The episodes where Barney sings are the best ever. Number 5: I guess I'll switch to pretzels...I can easily only eat 9 of them.
It's Friday in my ridiculous life, and I'm sitting here typing instead of crunching. I've walked the dogs who were more unruly tonight than I would have liked,and my digital clock says "8"....not 8:00 a.m. or 8:00 p.m.........just "8" It started saying "8" sometime yesterday and I've pressed every fucking button repeatedly. Why is everything digital in the house turning against me? My technology karma remains intact and unchanged.
8........really??
What the fuck?!
I've had a nagging suspicion that it has something to do with the baked potato chips that have replaced my Funyun addiction. I will be the first to stand up and say that I am a complete crunchy salty junkie. To give up real chips and Funyuns and gain weight off of baked fucking Lays has been a concept too horrible to face. In what kind of a just and loving universe is this allowed to take place!? How can I possibly be bundled up in my woolies, huddled under my blankie because the heat is set at 60 degrees, watching "Andy Griffith" episodes (don't judge......I'm also addicted to Barney Fife who never fails to make me laugh) snacking away on my beloved salty crunchy chippeys and gain weight? Reeeeeaaaally easy.
I went out to lunch with Hilary today. We had the salad bar even though I wanted to get chinese. Mmmmmmm chinese......so salty.....so high fat!! After finishing our salads we slipped over to the grocery store so I could pick up some shake-n-bake, and I mentioned my little problem to Hilary. She zeroed in on a bag of baked Lays and said "120 calories" "See!!" I said, then she continued, "for 9 chips" "WHAAAAAT.......are you kidding me??" "On what fucking planet do beings exist that can eat only 9 bloody chips at a time!!??!!" "MOM.........you have to read the labels" My attempt to read the labels did not go well. The ones that I could manage to see even with my bifocals required translation from Hilary. The rest were simply too small to see.
So I've learned valuable lessons today. Number 1: It sucks to get old. Number 2: take Hilary for clarification purposes to the grocery store whenever possible. Number 3: I WILL NOT substitute crunchy carrots for my evening fix......carrots will be consumed only by the guinea pigs. Number 4: The episodes where Barney sings are the best ever. Number 5: I guess I'll switch to pretzels...I can easily only eat 9 of them.
It's Friday in my ridiculous life, and I'm sitting here typing instead of crunching. I've walked the dogs who were more unruly tonight than I would have liked,and my digital clock says "8"....not 8:00 a.m. or 8:00 p.m.........just "8" It started saying "8" sometime yesterday and I've pressed every fucking button repeatedly. Why is everything digital in the house turning against me? My technology karma remains intact and unchanged.
8........really??
What the fuck?!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Pee pee feet
Can I just tell you that there are times in my life where I'd just prefer to be one of those stern looking middle aged women with perfectly clean houses. I'd be involved in church activities and I'd make cakes and cookies and I'd have doilies on the furniture. Instead I'm a veterinary surgical assistant and I have a house full of animals who are mostly assholes. Lovable assholes, but assholes nonetheless. I love what I do for the most part,but I've had my feet peed on twice so far this week and it's only Tuesday. It makes me pause and reflect upon my career choices if not my choice of foot apparel. Crocs are wonderfully comfortable for a busy girl on the go,but do little to deflect spontaneous urination.
I have been on a mission to get my life and my health and my....what?.......finances??....I guess....under something that seems like,if not actually akin to,something possibly resembling control....maybe. It's days like these where I'm dealing with a 3 pound weight GAIN after a weekend that included 2 lunches out,that I seriously wonder what the fuck I'm doing here. Can I just interject that being peed on is only one small part of being bled on and lactated on and managing to catch a forcefully ejected beagle placenta with one ungloved hand.........and it's only Tuesday. So I had an extra half a goddamned cheeseburger!!! did I really need a 3 pound smack upside my head for that!? Can the Gods not cut me a little slack here!!!
Oh.....I'm sorry......do I sound ungrateful?? Just because I was not blessed with all the qualities that I'm sure you're all sick and tired of hearing about, but have been blessed with a terribly high tolerance for grossness of all shapes, varieties and enticing aromas!??. I'm feeling sorry for myself, and discouraged, and I want some Funyuns, but I must be strong and re dedicate myself to my goddamned diet. Let me just tell you that it's not easy tonight. Did I not eat salad!? Did I not pass up the chocolate peanut butter brownies!?! Did I not even touch the sugar cookies!? Do I not have pee pee feet today!?!Did Nickolai not jump in my car after stepping in his own poop!?! Can I have a little amen here people?!?
OK.... breathe Nancy. Tomorrow is another day, and who knows what wonders may be in store if I hold firm and keep a smile on my face. Maybe at the end of my life there will be a bonus for all my good work. Maybe God will look at me and bless me for lending aid and comfort to countless sweet and soulful animals and for making a difference in their little lives. Oh Hell!....who am I kidding!....this is me we're talking about here. He'll probably say "beauty catch on that placenta Nance"
Thanks......'preciate it.
I have been on a mission to get my life and my health and my....what?.......finances??....I guess....under something that seems like,if not actually akin to,something possibly resembling control....maybe. It's days like these where I'm dealing with a 3 pound weight GAIN after a weekend that included 2 lunches out,that I seriously wonder what the fuck I'm doing here. Can I just interject that being peed on is only one small part of being bled on and lactated on and managing to catch a forcefully ejected beagle placenta with one ungloved hand.........and it's only Tuesday. So I had an extra half a goddamned cheeseburger!!! did I really need a 3 pound smack upside my head for that!? Can the Gods not cut me a little slack here!!!
Oh.....I'm sorry......do I sound ungrateful?? Just because I was not blessed with all the qualities that I'm sure you're all sick and tired of hearing about, but have been blessed with a terribly high tolerance for grossness of all shapes, varieties and enticing aromas!??. I'm feeling sorry for myself, and discouraged, and I want some Funyuns, but I must be strong and re dedicate myself to my goddamned diet. Let me just tell you that it's not easy tonight. Did I not eat salad!? Did I not pass up the chocolate peanut butter brownies!?! Did I not even touch the sugar cookies!? Do I not have pee pee feet today!?!Did Nickolai not jump in my car after stepping in his own poop!?! Can I have a little amen here people?!?
OK.... breathe Nancy. Tomorrow is another day, and who knows what wonders may be in store if I hold firm and keep a smile on my face. Maybe at the end of my life there will be a bonus for all my good work. Maybe God will look at me and bless me for lending aid and comfort to countless sweet and soulful animals and for making a difference in their little lives. Oh Hell!....who am I kidding!....this is me we're talking about here. He'll probably say "beauty catch on that placenta Nance"
Thanks......'preciate it.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Q-tip Madness
It's a sad time when I can't walk the dogs because it's raining. It's not that I mind not exercising, but the dogs go slightly stir crazy. We have been house bound for 3 days now and the natives are getting restless. Let me just say for the record that my weight held at 31 pounds lost (or 124 sticks of butter) this week. This is what I get for not stepping up to tackle the dreaded two-headed, fire breathing, leslie Sansone monster. I've been coming home after dark and.......since I have no working mini blinds, have been reluctant to scare the neighbors with a stage lit view of me trying to walk in place.
With that said........and accepting full responsibility for failure to exercise my dogs for 3 straight days......there is no excuse for Nickolai's behavior. Lets just start with the Q-tips shall we? I bought a large box of Q tips for regular ear maintenance on my freakin' zoo animals and set it on the dining room table, where it was left for the night. I found them the next morning scattered all over the living room floor. Nickolai loves to open things and it's not like I don't know that about him. I cleaned up the mess and put them up high. I came home from work that evening and he had gotten to the Q-tips again. "Seriously Nickolai?!" I'm wondering how he managed. I clean up the mess again and stuff the box up on the bookshelf.
So by now you're wondering why I don't just put them in the bathroom cabinet like normal people. I like to keep them handy in the event of a successful kitty ear cleaning hijack mission. Those of you with cats will get my reasoning here. So the Q-tips are on the bookshelf and I find them scattered again on the floor. OK.....this is starting to scare me a little. He has clearly recruited the cats for his evil master plan. So, this morning I stuff them in a large glass vase on the table.......and again.....I came home tonight to scattered Q-tips. I think there may be 10 left in the box. The remaining 8 gazillion are mangled and wet and in the trash. So much for keeping them conveniently located. Nickolai's search and destroy tactics have seen to that.
Tomorrow is Saturday which means off-lead romping at the ponds. Thank God!!! My poor dogs are sorely in need. Last night I saw Nickolai waltzing in to the living room with a 2 quart glass casserole dish in his mouth. I had just finished the last of it and he decided it needed a pre-wash. What can I say?? the boy is multi talented!
With that said........and accepting full responsibility for failure to exercise my dogs for 3 straight days......there is no excuse for Nickolai's behavior. Lets just start with the Q-tips shall we? I bought a large box of Q tips for regular ear maintenance on my freakin' zoo animals and set it on the dining room table, where it was left for the night. I found them the next morning scattered all over the living room floor. Nickolai loves to open things and it's not like I don't know that about him. I cleaned up the mess and put them up high. I came home from work that evening and he had gotten to the Q-tips again. "Seriously Nickolai?!" I'm wondering how he managed. I clean up the mess again and stuff the box up on the bookshelf.
So by now you're wondering why I don't just put them in the bathroom cabinet like normal people. I like to keep them handy in the event of a successful kitty ear cleaning hijack mission. Those of you with cats will get my reasoning here. So the Q-tips are on the bookshelf and I find them scattered again on the floor. OK.....this is starting to scare me a little. He has clearly recruited the cats for his evil master plan. So, this morning I stuff them in a large glass vase on the table.......and again.....I came home tonight to scattered Q-tips. I think there may be 10 left in the box. The remaining 8 gazillion are mangled and wet and in the trash. So much for keeping them conveniently located. Nickolai's search and destroy tactics have seen to that.
Tomorrow is Saturday which means off-lead romping at the ponds. Thank God!!! My poor dogs are sorely in need. Last night I saw Nickolai waltzing in to the living room with a 2 quart glass casserole dish in his mouth. I had just finished the last of it and he decided it needed a pre-wash. What can I say?? the boy is multi talented!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
My commute
As commutes go, mine is not too terrible. Those of you who know me well, know I'm being annoyingly sarcastic because I work about 2 1/2 minutes from my house. To those of you who have a real drive to work in the morning, try to refrain from throwing something at my head the next time you see me. Your restraint, as always, is greatly appreciated. Even though my drive is ridiculously short, the universe always manages to show me a potpourri of humanity's hairy under belly. This morning was no exception.
It's raw this morning. The wind is cold and blowing at a brisk pace and the rain is driving. Even a fat girl like me who is new to the chilly sensation, found herself failing to breathe between the front door and car. "cold cold cold cold cold.........DAMN!!!...cold cold cold cold." OK....I'm in the car now and take a moment to revel in my temporary shelter from the elements. I'm pulling out of my neighborhood and see a man on his back deck......poised against the driving wind and rain, hoodie tied tight around his chin and..........wait for it........smoking a cigarette. Yeah.....that's right....smoking a cigarette. How he kept it lit or even remotely dry defies explanation.
I found myself laughing at him not out of a sense of superiority, but a sense of empathy. That was me. I smoked for way more years than I am ready to confess to. As addictions go, mine was fairly mild. I gave it up a few years ago without having to bury my pack in the back yard to be freakin' dug up if I really needed a smoke, or having to plaster myself in nicotine patches. I never chewed nicotine gum. (Ive always felt gum chewing is a filthy habit.) I certainly spent my share of time suffering from exposure while puffing away on a cigarette. The only down side to quitting was that I gained 5 or 10 or 80 pounds. I've had to satisfy myself that it's better to be on a goddamned diet and healthy, than it is to be thinner and wheeling an oxygen tank around. Now theres a sexy look for you.
I stop at Sheetz for a coffee. Theres my girl Linda working her magic with the coffee pots. 100% arabica, special dark roast, breakfast blend, decaf of all kinds, Linda keeps those pots in motion in and among all of us blue collar types and veterinary surgical assistants staggering in half asleep. She pauses a moment to chat with me and tells me that she really has nothing to say but just needs to take a momentary breather from her duties. I laugh. Linda always makes me laugh. I tell her how amazing I think she is. She tells me that she has discovered the secret to happiness on the job......"walk fast and look worried" she says. I almost fall over laughing because shes right!!!....that is the answer!!!.......and I'm not ashamed to say it works!!!!
I pull in to work and it looks like a little country cottage in the early morning glow. I left the house 7 minutes ago and managed to have 2 really satisfying laughs. Our busy little veterinary clinic will soon be awash in animals in varying degrees of need. I'll get several kisses and cuddles from our furry patients and if all goes well, won't be in the path of explosive diarrhea today. We save that particular bit of fun for Dr Brooke. We love you Dr Brooke.
It's raw this morning. The wind is cold and blowing at a brisk pace and the rain is driving. Even a fat girl like me who is new to the chilly sensation, found herself failing to breathe between the front door and car. "cold cold cold cold cold.........DAMN!!!...cold cold cold cold." OK....I'm in the car now and take a moment to revel in my temporary shelter from the elements. I'm pulling out of my neighborhood and see a man on his back deck......poised against the driving wind and rain, hoodie tied tight around his chin and..........wait for it........smoking a cigarette. Yeah.....that's right....smoking a cigarette. How he kept it lit or even remotely dry defies explanation.
I found myself laughing at him not out of a sense of superiority, but a sense of empathy. That was me. I smoked for way more years than I am ready to confess to. As addictions go, mine was fairly mild. I gave it up a few years ago without having to bury my pack in the back yard to be freakin' dug up if I really needed a smoke, or having to plaster myself in nicotine patches. I never chewed nicotine gum. (Ive always felt gum chewing is a filthy habit.) I certainly spent my share of time suffering from exposure while puffing away on a cigarette. The only down side to quitting was that I gained 5 or 10 or 80 pounds. I've had to satisfy myself that it's better to be on a goddamned diet and healthy, than it is to be thinner and wheeling an oxygen tank around. Now theres a sexy look for you.
I stop at Sheetz for a coffee. Theres my girl Linda working her magic with the coffee pots. 100% arabica, special dark roast, breakfast blend, decaf of all kinds, Linda keeps those pots in motion in and among all of us blue collar types and veterinary surgical assistants staggering in half asleep. She pauses a moment to chat with me and tells me that she really has nothing to say but just needs to take a momentary breather from her duties. I laugh. Linda always makes me laugh. I tell her how amazing I think she is. She tells me that she has discovered the secret to happiness on the job......"walk fast and look worried" she says. I almost fall over laughing because shes right!!!....that is the answer!!!.......and I'm not ashamed to say it works!!!!
I pull in to work and it looks like a little country cottage in the early morning glow. I left the house 7 minutes ago and managed to have 2 really satisfying laughs. Our busy little veterinary clinic will soon be awash in animals in varying degrees of need. I'll get several kisses and cuddles from our furry patients and if all goes well, won't be in the path of explosive diarrhea today. We save that particular bit of fun for Dr Brooke. We love you Dr Brooke.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Life at the zoo
I think it's time for an update on my psycho pets. As you all know well by now, my house is a depository for animals with issues. Reasonable people have reasonable pets....they have a cat or a dog or two. They do not have a house full of slightly disturbed felines or dogs with behavioral issues. Using this logic, I have come to understand, if not accept, that I am not at all reasonable or even slightly normal. You might say that Nancy is a person with a large and giving heart and you might be correct. The truth is closer to the large neon "sucker" that flashes across my forehead. I am a pushover of the highest order.
Usually I can maintain a certain degree of denial about the cats because they never congregate all in one place. The exception to the rule is the dreaded feline chain reaction event that always involves blood being drawn and glass breaking. Let me give you an example of this horror. Please be advised that you may find the description graphic in nature.
It starts with a completely innocent event like the unloading of the dishwasher. Quatro somehow manages to knock the box containing 32 cans of friskies to the floor whereupon in hits the dogs water bowl sending a spray of water across the room landing on Jenna who screams loudly and beats a hasty retreat. Unfortunately Jenna's scream has spooked Jet Black who has a talent for breakage, and he has leaped up on to the counter sending clean glasses clanking and breaking in to the empty sink, which has frightened Diego who has thrown himself off the counter knocking a 2 liter bottle of diet sprite to the floor where it lands with a force that blows the cap off and sends a geyser of carbonated fizz skyward, which sprays Dimitrius who is on top of the fridge, who launches himself off the refrigerator using my head as a launching pad to propel himself to a safe place thereby drawing the necessary blood. All I am immediately aware of is the scurry of kitty toenails and Dimi on my head. When the dust settles........the kitchen is empty and soda is dripping from the ceiling. A nanosecond has elapsed.
Aside from attacking my ass if it brushes the shower curtain, Dimitrius has another talent which I discovered quite by accident. I have learned that it is never safe to allow Dimi in to the bathroom ever. While leaning my head over the tub to wrap my wet hair in a towel, Dimi decided to jump on to my warm, naked back. OK.......now what.....I'm naked....I'm bent over...and Dimi is perched purring on my back.......oh shit. I elephant man over to the sink to encourage him to hop off....he's not having it. He purrs and kneads and holds on tighter....ouch!!!....ouch......OUCH!!!!! OK, this is getting serious. If I have to call someone to take this freakin' cat off my bent over naked ass I'm gonna need some kind of intervention or therapy or something to deal with it. So time is passing and I've decided to reason with Dimi, "honey....mama needs you to get off baby.........Dimi......honey........." Now I'm wondering what the success rate might be for a sudden, quick and forceful upright motion. I'm building up my courage and taking a few cleansing breaths when Dimi decides that my naked ass is no longer warm enough to warrant perching. He hops off and goes in search of a sunny spot. Catastrophe averted. Mental note: always check for Dimi before showering.
This is my life.......honestly..........is it any wonder I sought escape at the bottom of a bag of Funyuns? I think not. Is it any wonder that I medicate occasionally now that I can't eat myself in to a beached whale stupor? I think not. Am I the only one in the world this shit happens to??...oh I think I am.
Usually I can maintain a certain degree of denial about the cats because they never congregate all in one place. The exception to the rule is the dreaded feline chain reaction event that always involves blood being drawn and glass breaking. Let me give you an example of this horror. Please be advised that you may find the description graphic in nature.
It starts with a completely innocent event like the unloading of the dishwasher. Quatro somehow manages to knock the box containing 32 cans of friskies to the floor whereupon in hits the dogs water bowl sending a spray of water across the room landing on Jenna who screams loudly and beats a hasty retreat. Unfortunately Jenna's scream has spooked Jet Black who has a talent for breakage, and he has leaped up on to the counter sending clean glasses clanking and breaking in to the empty sink, which has frightened Diego who has thrown himself off the counter knocking a 2 liter bottle of diet sprite to the floor where it lands with a force that blows the cap off and sends a geyser of carbonated fizz skyward, which sprays Dimitrius who is on top of the fridge, who launches himself off the refrigerator using my head as a launching pad to propel himself to a safe place thereby drawing the necessary blood. All I am immediately aware of is the scurry of kitty toenails and Dimi on my head. When the dust settles........the kitchen is empty and soda is dripping from the ceiling. A nanosecond has elapsed.
Aside from attacking my ass if it brushes the shower curtain, Dimitrius has another talent which I discovered quite by accident. I have learned that it is never safe to allow Dimi in to the bathroom ever. While leaning my head over the tub to wrap my wet hair in a towel, Dimi decided to jump on to my warm, naked back. OK.......now what.....I'm naked....I'm bent over...and Dimi is perched purring on my back.......oh shit. I elephant man over to the sink to encourage him to hop off....he's not having it. He purrs and kneads and holds on tighter....ouch!!!....ouch......OUCH!!!!! OK, this is getting serious. If I have to call someone to take this freakin' cat off my bent over naked ass I'm gonna need some kind of intervention or therapy or something to deal with it. So time is passing and I've decided to reason with Dimi, "honey....mama needs you to get off baby.........Dimi......honey........." Now I'm wondering what the success rate might be for a sudden, quick and forceful upright motion. I'm building up my courage and taking a few cleansing breaths when Dimi decides that my naked ass is no longer warm enough to warrant perching. He hops off and goes in search of a sunny spot. Catastrophe averted. Mental note: always check for Dimi before showering.
This is my life.......honestly..........is it any wonder I sought escape at the bottom of a bag of Funyuns? I think not. Is it any wonder that I medicate occasionally now that I can't eat myself in to a beached whale stupor? I think not. Am I the only one in the world this shit happens to??...oh I think I am.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Lessons learned
So Ive been at this goddamned diet for 5 months now. That's just about 5 months longer than any weight loss program I've managed so far. I've never been much of a dieter but more a proponent of accepting yourself just the way you are, as long as you're very careful never to look closely at who you really are. Did I forget to mention that last part? If it makes you feel any better, I never mentioned it to myself either. I was way too busy fabricating large sand castles of denial and eating Funyuns.
I'm 5 months in and have learned one hell of a lot about myself and the truly idiotic plethora of supposed weight loss and exercise programs and support systems that litter our airwaves. My plan is to blame it all on Valerie Bertinelli.....and her bikini. I am here for all you real ladies out there struggling with your individual weight issues, not for those TV bunnies who write a book because somehow their personal chef staff and nutritionists dropped the ball and allowed them to climb to a size 8 which in TV land makes you a heifer of the highest order. Fortunately, Jenny Craig comes to the rescue with pre packaged, overpriced food for all you size 8's who need to be size 2's in a goddamned hurry. We can't have all you young girls out there thinking that women fill out or get fat as they age.....heavens no!! We need you to crash and burn at 40 so you'll spend tons of money trying to achieve that photoshopped look that we find so appealing.
......but I am not here to rant, as much as I enjoy it. I am here to help, so I'd like to point out a few things that I've learned in these last 5 months. If I am able to help even one of you, my work is well directed and infinitely worth it so here goes:
1) Avoid diet macaroni and cheese at all costs. It is made of a substance that is not of this earth and may even have one of those disclaimers that say "may cause greasy and uncontrolled stool" if you look closely enough. Do yourself a favor and allow the occasional mac and cheese.
2) Exercise is essential. Sorry girls. I can't even tell you how much I regret having to say this. You will simply never lose that fat ass if you don't move that fat ass. The best you can do is find an activity that doesn't completely suck wind in a major way. For me, it's dog walking although right now........that Nickolai just puked up some sort of body part, I'm thinking treadmill. Rotten little bastard.
3) Leslie Sansone is a minion of the dark lord, as are all of those ladies who dance/kick box their way to fitness and operate under the assumption that fat girls are coordinated and enjoy getting their sexy on while exercising. These programs are for size 2's who need to tone that teeny tiny little booty......and those women capable of walking in place which, as we all know too well, I suck at.
4) As my sister Ann has long suspected, farts, in fact, weigh nothing so don't even bother getting the scale out to check. I've tried. Even though your pants suddenly fit better....the numbers go nowhere. Life can be so unfair.
5)After a certain amount of dietary success, you will experience a strange and slightly uncomfortable bodily sensation. After consulting with numerous medical professionals and many Google searches I have come to discover that this sensation is called being "cold" Yeah!!!!.....I know!!...Who would have ever thought it possible. No wonder people complain in the winter and close their windows! Mystery solved......you're welcome.
6)Even though the makers of Funyuns and the entire dairy industry call and beg you to abandon your goddamned diet because their financial hierarchy is crumbling...hold firm ladies. I have a sneaking suspicion that they do not have your best interests at heart. Moving the Funyun display into the produce aisle was just un called for gentleman! You know who you are.
As of this entry, I have lost 31 pounds or 124 sticks of butter. I feel one hell of a lot better and can now trim my own toenails without losing consciousness. I'm thinking this is probably a good thing. To all my fellow fat girls.........you know I love you. Stay strong......and let me know what the plan is to dispose of Valerie.
I'm 5 months in and have learned one hell of a lot about myself and the truly idiotic plethora of supposed weight loss and exercise programs and support systems that litter our airwaves. My plan is to blame it all on Valerie Bertinelli.....and her bikini. I am here for all you real ladies out there struggling with your individual weight issues, not for those TV bunnies who write a book because somehow their personal chef staff and nutritionists dropped the ball and allowed them to climb to a size 8 which in TV land makes you a heifer of the highest order. Fortunately, Jenny Craig comes to the rescue with pre packaged, overpriced food for all you size 8's who need to be size 2's in a goddamned hurry. We can't have all you young girls out there thinking that women fill out or get fat as they age.....heavens no!! We need you to crash and burn at 40 so you'll spend tons of money trying to achieve that photoshopped look that we find so appealing.
......but I am not here to rant, as much as I enjoy it. I am here to help, so I'd like to point out a few things that I've learned in these last 5 months. If I am able to help even one of you, my work is well directed and infinitely worth it so here goes:
1) Avoid diet macaroni and cheese at all costs. It is made of a substance that is not of this earth and may even have one of those disclaimers that say "may cause greasy and uncontrolled stool" if you look closely enough. Do yourself a favor and allow the occasional mac and cheese.
2) Exercise is essential. Sorry girls. I can't even tell you how much I regret having to say this. You will simply never lose that fat ass if you don't move that fat ass. The best you can do is find an activity that doesn't completely suck wind in a major way. For me, it's dog walking although right now........that Nickolai just puked up some sort of body part, I'm thinking treadmill. Rotten little bastard.
3) Leslie Sansone is a minion of the dark lord, as are all of those ladies who dance/kick box their way to fitness and operate under the assumption that fat girls are coordinated and enjoy getting their sexy on while exercising. These programs are for size 2's who need to tone that teeny tiny little booty......and those women capable of walking in place which, as we all know too well, I suck at.
4) As my sister Ann has long suspected, farts, in fact, weigh nothing so don't even bother getting the scale out to check. I've tried. Even though your pants suddenly fit better....the numbers go nowhere. Life can be so unfair.
5)After a certain amount of dietary success, you will experience a strange and slightly uncomfortable bodily sensation. After consulting with numerous medical professionals and many Google searches I have come to discover that this sensation is called being "cold" Yeah!!!!.....I know!!...Who would have ever thought it possible. No wonder people complain in the winter and close their windows! Mystery solved......you're welcome.
6)Even though the makers of Funyuns and the entire dairy industry call and beg you to abandon your goddamned diet because their financial hierarchy is crumbling...hold firm ladies. I have a sneaking suspicion that they do not have your best interests at heart. Moving the Funyun display into the produce aisle was just un called for gentleman! You know who you are.
As of this entry, I have lost 31 pounds or 124 sticks of butter. I feel one hell of a lot better and can now trim my own toenails without losing consciousness. I'm thinking this is probably a good thing. To all my fellow fat girls.........you know I love you. Stay strong......and let me know what the plan is to dispose of Valerie.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Affluenza
My house is where all second hand furniture goes to die.....kinda like the elephant graveyard without the heartstrings or poetry. It's not like furniture has ever been terribly important to me but just once in my life I'd like a taste of the finer things. I'm talking about those obnoxious twelve year old pop star rappers or skateboard drivers who show up on MTV giving us a tour of their indoor mountain climbing simulator and 3 million dollar jewel encrusted G-string. I just can't watch them pull open their refrigerator to reveal 60 bottles of Dom Perignon and 4 cases of Kabbalah water and a jar of grape jelly. It's just too painful.
I don't begrudge them the spoils of their massive success. I'd just like them to write me a fucking check so I can press my nose to the glass for a few moments. It's not that I need or want an in home movie theater complete with ticket window, I'd just like the occasional new couch or new carpeting or even shower curtain or mini blinds or a new goddamned stove please, but as I said......my house is where all trappings of comfort or affluence go to breathe their last. I have animals....and work in the veterinary industry. That just about sums it up.
I have often said to anyone unfortunate enough to listen, that as I'm breathing my last and preparing to leave this world, I will most likely not be thinking "man...I loved that couch" I will be remembering family, friends, and my beloved psychotic, poo poo impaired pets.....and litters of infant kittens and sweet soulful canine eyes that reach out to you for help and all of those wonderful things that keep me from having cars and cocktail rings and hundred dollar moisturizing creme for my crows feet (I don't do birds). I have to remind myself that I've made my choices and they don't include affluence. They include effluence...and flatulence...and snot rockets. Such is the ridiculous life of my own choosing.
So as I sit here at my second hand computer (thank you Ted) at my second hand computer desk (thank you Jen) the dogs are huddled together with 3 cats on the only space that my body ever occupies on my second hand king size bed. Why do they do that!! I have to remind myself that life is important, and health is important, and everything else is just stuff, and even though the under wire just snapped on my last intact bray-zeir and my tires are balding and the credit card company lowered my limit because I just suck.........tomorrow is another day in my full time, mini blind less, one wobbly burner on the stove, new hole in the second hand couch, cat peed on the laundry encrusted life.
.......and maybe one day, the gods will take pity on my sixteen feet below the poverty level, lower middle class only in my dreams kinda life and grant me a little windfall.....even just for a little while. I can dream right? because the reality includes yet another animal in need and the hope that there are a few people left in the world that will actually still take my phone calls. So come look in my refrigerator little MTV skateboard fella........I'll show you diet sprite and 3 petrified peaches and a jar of pickles that I think may have been left by the previous owner. Come look in my romantic get away bathroom with a cat in the sink and vinyl shower curtain liner that doubles as a shower curtain which is in shreds because Dimitrius attacks my ass when it dares to makes contact. Come visit my parking space since I don't have a garage for my classic car collection and while your at it...I'll make you a nice lunch of lean cuisine lasagna if you promise to let the dogs lick the plastic tray before we put it in the recycle bin.
You'll love it.....really
I don't begrudge them the spoils of their massive success. I'd just like them to write me a fucking check so I can press my nose to the glass for a few moments. It's not that I need or want an in home movie theater complete with ticket window, I'd just like the occasional new couch or new carpeting or even shower curtain or mini blinds or a new goddamned stove please, but as I said......my house is where all trappings of comfort or affluence go to breathe their last. I have animals....and work in the veterinary industry. That just about sums it up.
I have often said to anyone unfortunate enough to listen, that as I'm breathing my last and preparing to leave this world, I will most likely not be thinking "man...I loved that couch" I will be remembering family, friends, and my beloved psychotic, poo poo impaired pets.....and litters of infant kittens and sweet soulful canine eyes that reach out to you for help and all of those wonderful things that keep me from having cars and cocktail rings and hundred dollar moisturizing creme for my crows feet (I don't do birds). I have to remind myself that I've made my choices and they don't include affluence. They include effluence...and flatulence...and snot rockets. Such is the ridiculous life of my own choosing.
So as I sit here at my second hand computer (thank you Ted) at my second hand computer desk (thank you Jen) the dogs are huddled together with 3 cats on the only space that my body ever occupies on my second hand king size bed. Why do they do that!! I have to remind myself that life is important, and health is important, and everything else is just stuff, and even though the under wire just snapped on my last intact bray-zeir and my tires are balding and the credit card company lowered my limit because I just suck.........tomorrow is another day in my full time, mini blind less, one wobbly burner on the stove, new hole in the second hand couch, cat peed on the laundry encrusted life.
.......and maybe one day, the gods will take pity on my sixteen feet below the poverty level, lower middle class only in my dreams kinda life and grant me a little windfall.....even just for a little while. I can dream right? because the reality includes yet another animal in need and the hope that there are a few people left in the world that will actually still take my phone calls. So come look in my refrigerator little MTV skateboard fella........I'll show you diet sprite and 3 petrified peaches and a jar of pickles that I think may have been left by the previous owner. Come look in my romantic get away bathroom with a cat in the sink and vinyl shower curtain liner that doubles as a shower curtain which is in shreds because Dimitrius attacks my ass when it dares to makes contact. Come visit my parking space since I don't have a garage for my classic car collection and while your at it...I'll make you a nice lunch of lean cuisine lasagna if you promise to let the dogs lick the plastic tray before we put it in the recycle bin.
You'll love it.....really
Monday, November 2, 2009
Halloween update
Can I just tell you that I'm freakin freezing here. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've really been cold. As we all know, fat girls do need to be refrigerated and I'm right there baby. I definitely still qualify in that area even after a 29 pound or 116 sticks of butter loss. My heat stays at 60 degrees and I'm usually quite comfortable. I almost never even need a coat until January. It's November and I'm cranky and frozen. What the hell do you skinny bitches do in the winter??? electric undies??glove warmers in your bra?? what???I have resorted to hot showers in the evening......my skin is drying up like a large hunk of cream cheese left uncovered in the fridge. I can hear it now: "Man, Nancy looks great after losing all that weight but shes gotten so old!
Halloween was this past weekend and for the first time in 25 years, I didn't hand out candy. I felt really guilty about it for about 10 minutes which is my maximum time allowed for guilt, but to all you kids who didn't get a snickers bar from me this year, here's how it goes......listen and be afraid: 1 month prior to Halloween: "I need to pick up some candy for the kids while theres still a good selection (like there is ever a crappy selection of candy) 6 bags ought to do it. 2 weeks prior to Halloween: "Hmmmmmm....3 bags of candy....I should pick up a few more bags. 1 week prior to Halloween: "Wow....I'm gonna need more than 2 bags of candy....I need to pick up some more". Halloween night: "I'll just help myself to a few pieces....it's Halloween! The day after Halloween: I need to give the rest of this candy away so I won't be tempted to eat it" Lets just pause right here for a moment and soak in all the subtle levels of denial at work in my life shall we?
My apologies kids but for the first time in 25 years, I'm not using you as an excuse to gorge myself on candy. If it makes you feel any better guys, I'm really beginning to get in touch with my inner thin person. HEY....WHO THREW THAT!!!.....ungrateful little bastards. Maybe I'll give out toothbrushes next year you little wretches.
So anyway.......I'm suddenly freezing all the time and I've had no chocolate. Do I feel good about my goddamned diet? Yes....I still do. It's better to be thinner than to be warm and although I'm not nearly as popular with the neighborhood children, I'm really enjoying being able to put on my underwear without stepping on the crotch and falling forward. I'm enjoying not spilling food on my shirt front, and I really like not always having to sit in the front seat because I'm the fattest one. I'll just suck it up and buy one of those blankie things....Snuggies or Huggies or some such fucking thing whatever it's called. I can manage.
With the passing of Halloween also comes daylight savings. That means it's too dark to walk the dogs in the evenings. OK....so that's no excuse. I'll either have to walk the dogs or do Leslie Sansones walk-fit and we all know how much I love to walk in place. Since I have made it mandatory that one or the other must be done.....I'm moving heaven and earth to get off in time to walk the dogs. I wonder if Leslie will ever fully understand the impact my hatred of her program has had on my level of fitness. I'll wait til shes on QVC and call her crying about what a difference shes made in my life. "seriously...*sniff* I hate you so much...*sniff*.....you saved me from a life of obesity *sob* anything to keep from looking at your fucking sweaty smiling face...*sob sob*
Such is my ridiculous life
Halloween was this past weekend and for the first time in 25 years, I didn't hand out candy. I felt really guilty about it for about 10 minutes which is my maximum time allowed for guilt, but to all you kids who didn't get a snickers bar from me this year, here's how it goes......listen and be afraid: 1 month prior to Halloween: "I need to pick up some candy for the kids while theres still a good selection (like there is ever a crappy selection of candy) 6 bags ought to do it. 2 weeks prior to Halloween: "Hmmmmmm....3 bags of candy....I should pick up a few more bags. 1 week prior to Halloween: "Wow....I'm gonna need more than 2 bags of candy....I need to pick up some more". Halloween night: "I'll just help myself to a few pieces....it's Halloween! The day after Halloween: I need to give the rest of this candy away so I won't be tempted to eat it" Lets just pause right here for a moment and soak in all the subtle levels of denial at work in my life shall we?
My apologies kids but for the first time in 25 years, I'm not using you as an excuse to gorge myself on candy. If it makes you feel any better guys, I'm really beginning to get in touch with my inner thin person. HEY....WHO THREW THAT!!!.....ungrateful little bastards. Maybe I'll give out toothbrushes next year you little wretches.
So anyway.......I'm suddenly freezing all the time and I've had no chocolate. Do I feel good about my goddamned diet? Yes....I still do. It's better to be thinner than to be warm and although I'm not nearly as popular with the neighborhood children, I'm really enjoying being able to put on my underwear without stepping on the crotch and falling forward. I'm enjoying not spilling food on my shirt front, and I really like not always having to sit in the front seat because I'm the fattest one. I'll just suck it up and buy one of those blankie things....Snuggies or Huggies or some such fucking thing whatever it's called. I can manage.
With the passing of Halloween also comes daylight savings. That means it's too dark to walk the dogs in the evenings. OK....so that's no excuse. I'll either have to walk the dogs or do Leslie Sansones walk-fit and we all know how much I love to walk in place. Since I have made it mandatory that one or the other must be done.....I'm moving heaven and earth to get off in time to walk the dogs. I wonder if Leslie will ever fully understand the impact my hatred of her program has had on my level of fitness. I'll wait til shes on QVC and call her crying about what a difference shes made in my life. "seriously...*sniff* I hate you so much...*sniff*.....you saved me from a life of obesity *sob* anything to keep from looking at your fucking sweaty smiling face...*sob sob*
Such is my ridiculous life
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