Thursday, March 27, 2008

Why does God hate me?

Why did God make me so undertall? If I were taller then my weight would be fine. But I am a short, and I must suffer. Who said losing weight would make you feel better? I feel like shit--I have a constant headache from caffeine deprivation, my stomach is rumbling one hour after I eat, and I am peeing constanly from all this fucking water!!

Why does everything healthy taste like complete crap. I have to choke down my lovely salad with fat-free dressing and my chicken breast with no condiments. Dammit!! And why do all fat-free dressings taste like I am drinking the blood of a three-toed sloth?!

And my family doesn't help either. The kids are driving me crazy with their constant whining--"Mommy, we want breakfast. We want lunch. Are you going to feed us, Mommy?" Why can't they just give it a rest?! And naturally Alan has to piss me off too saying things like, "Honey, I know it's hard, but you'll get through it. You can do it." Instead of being so damn supportive, what would really help me is if he would get his bitch ass in the kitchen and make me a very large fricking cheeseburger. OK?! Do you understand? I am suffering here.

In fact all of you out there eating whatever you want, with your chewing and swallowing, you can all kiss my ass. And do not let me see any skinny ass size 2 bitches today or I will sit on them and break them straight in two. What have I done to deserve this, God?!

Diet day one complete.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The South Park Diet

Well, I got the letter last week. My 20th high school reunion is coming up at the end of June. So that means I only have about 3 months to lose weight. I need to lose 30 pounds but I will settle for 20. My friend said "Oh, don't worry, everyone will be in the same boat as you. Most of them will look just like you." I told her that I want to look better than they do. I want them to think I am more fabulous than I used to be.

I have a great life and I want my body to reflect that too. I know it's unfair but people do judge you on how you look. Even though I have a great husband, wonderful kids, a supportive family, a house and neighborhood I love, and a job I love, I know people will still look at me and think, 'Too bad she's so fat and looks horrible in her clothes and even worse in pictures.'

So now that all of the Girl Scout cookies are gone and I have had my farewell meal at McDonalds, it is time to get started. I really don't care how I lose it, I just want the weight gone. I have considered many diet options--herion, smoking, anorexia, bulimia--anything as long as I don't have to exercise. There are some people that are born loving exercise and I am not one of them.

Well, after careful consideration I have decided on The South Park Diet. Everytime I want to eat something I shouldn't I will think to myself, as they say on South Park, "G#@ DAMN, THAT'S A BIG FAT ASS!!" Hopefully that will motivate me to shut the pie hole! I have also decided that if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by the deadline, that I will post a bathing suit picture on this blog. A healthier me just doesn't cut it, I need the threat of public humiliation to get me going. I will let you know how it goes. And for your sake and mine, let's hope I lose that 20!

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Survival Skills

When a girl sees this video, she will squint her eyes, flap her hands around squealing "Eeeeeeeewwwwww!!" and run away. Leave it to my boy Sage to try and think of a way to work this into a life skill. Sage is very proud of the fact that if he were in some extreme survival situation, he could drink his own pee.

Boys are definitely a different breed!

Monday, March 17, 2008

Chemo Kitty

In the interest of saving money I tried to do a little self-service this past weekend. I attempted to wax my own special purpose. I usually go to the spa and shell out 60 or 70 buck for a good Brazilian. I love the results but I didn't think it lasted long enough to justify spending that much. However, I have managed to prove myself wrong.

I went to the drugstore and picked up some wax made with natural products. I was very proud of myself--saving money and going 'green.' How good of me. So I took it home, stared at it for 3 days and then decided to go for it. My hoo-ha wasn't going to wax itself, now was it?

I followed the directions perfectly, really I did. So how could it have gone so horribly wrong? I started with the left side, applied the wax in the direction of the hair, place the strip on, held the skin taut and pulled in the opposite direction of the hair growth. I screamed in pain for a while. I wasn't lying there in front of Claudia, the Brazilian waxer, so I didn't have to be brave and suffer in silence. When the screaming stopped I looked down at the strip only to find a ton of wax but only about 5 hairs there. Well, I'm not a quitter so I kept trying. Apply, rip, scream, apply, rip, scream and whimper, etc.

The hair seemed to be coming out one at a time--I might as well have been using tweezers. I decided to lie down on the bathroom floor and try it. But that was no more successful than standing. I was so afraid my screams would bring the kids running. I kept imagining being caught lying on the floor with both my legs in the air, wax everywhere and only waxing strips to cover my goods--not a memory I want burned in their brains. With visions of therepist bills dancing in my head, I decided it was time to give up. I am sorry to say my results were not good. There was redness, bumps, some bald spots, and some patchy spots. My crotch looked like a chemo patient.

So this was the scene as we were in the bathroom preparing for bed that night...

Alan, "What is this sticky stuff I just stepped in?"

Me, "Oh, that's just snatch wax. Don't worry, It's organic."

Alan, "You waxed? OK, let's see it."

So I lifted up my nightgown for him to take a peek. First he burst out laughing, then when he saw my glare said, "Oh, poor thing."

Me, "So what do you think? Do you want to do it?"

Alan, "Ummm, sure. Can we turn the lights out?"

I called the spa, I have an appointment next month.

Friday, March 07, 2008

The Fairy Exposed

Alan calls me into our room last night saying, "Come in here, Sage has made a discovery!" So I happily walk toward my room thinking that Sage has done something great--he's found a lost item or made an exciting intellectual breakthrough. I walk into the room to find Alan with a blank stare and Sage holding the small gray ring box that I use to save his teeth after 'The Tooth Fairy' spirits them away. With a sly smile and a sing song voice Sage says, "Mommy, I know your secret!"

Thoughts are flying through my head--How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I hide them better? Wait a minute, they were under a false bottom of a gray ring box that was hidden under tons of junk in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. How did he find that? He's been riffling through my personal stuff, the little terrorist! Crap, how am I going to explain this, should I deny any knowledge of the box or should I tell him the truth? Hell To the NO! I am not going to outsmarted by a little 7 year old snooper. This Fairy will not be outed until I am damn well ready to be outed! This is WAR!!!!

So after going from shocked and speechless to angry, locked and loaded in 3 point 2 seconds, I tell him, "Those are not your teeth. They were my teeth when I was little that I saved." He counters, "But Mommy, there are 5 teeth in here and I have lost 5 teeth." Here's my brilliant comeback...wait for it, wait for it...."SO?!"

"Look Sage, I don't care how many teeth you've lost, those are my teeth. You can ask Grandma if you want and she will tell you that I saved some of my teeth in a gray box when I was little." (Note to self: Call my mom and get her on board with Operation Enduring Fairy.) Giving me a suspicious and reluctant stare, he turns starts walking away and muttering "I can't wait to tell my friends." Oh no he didn't! I was forced to pull out my last weapon and I called after him, "You know, boys who don't believe in The Tooth Fairy don't get any more money!"

Naturally my fury turns toward Alan. "Thanks for the blindside and how could you have let him go through my stuff?!" Alan sputters, "I didn't know what to do! I was in the closet I didn't know he was going through your drawers!" I say, "I guess we better watch where we hide stuff from now on." And I see the color drain from his face when he thinks about the contents of his bedside table, or more specifically 'The Naughty Drawer.' I can imagine the scene he is thinking---Daddy, what's this thing?...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I suggest to him that maybe he should get a Naughty safe or bury the stuff in the back yard.

I know one thing, Santa and The Easter Bunny better watch their backs. Sage will be gunning for them. Alan and I have had our wake up call. We need better communication, better planning, and most importantly, better hiding places. From now on we must think 2 steps ahead of him at all times. This is serious. We have a clear and present danger, people--He's going to be 8 soon!

Monday, March 03, 2008

Parenting is so rewarding!

Sage had a homework assignment in which he had to pick an adjective and illustrate it. Here is what he came up with...

Isn't it cute how he put me in UVA colors? How thoughtful. I also love how my eyes are huge black holes like they are the pits of hell. I seem to have the biggest and most menacing pitchfork. I kind of like that part.