Tuesday, May 31, 2005


A conversation with R and I on Sunday:

Me: I'm worried about D-
R: Why?
Me: Because she went on a date and I haven't heard from her.
R: So?
Me: So, she would totally call me after a date to tell me how it went.
R: She's an adult, she doesn't need to check in with you.
Me: But I called her twice yesterday and she hasn't called me back.
R: So?
Me: So the date was on Friday! It's SUNDAY! She was going to see him in some bumble-nowhere town! She could be locked in the trunk of a car somewhere!
R (looking thoughful): Hmmm.... OR she could be having a weekend of great sex and wishing you would quit calling her.
Me (sighing): Honestly.

Just For the Record

Because the lines right after it are, "Where the eagles fly, on a mountain high" I still think the words should be, "The lift goes up where we belong". I mean c'mon, a ski lift will take you up those mountains high. Totally.

The Songster Strikes Again

This time, he choose a ditty by Pink called "Don't Let Me Get Me". You really haven't lived until you've heard him belt out, "Cuz' I'm a hazard to myself."
Sure you are, dear, sure you are.


That I'm paying for the hot dog with cheese, cheeseburger, beer, potato salad, ribs, boston creme pie, stawberry shortcake and "sand pie" I had yesterday. Boy, do I love me a barbeque.

Friday, May 27, 2005


Just for the record, I did (thanks to Christy) see the Tom Cruise interview on Oprah. Does anyone else think he's having a mental breakdown?

The Songster

Ron is quite the singer. No, you won't find him in a choir or men's acapella group. Nor will he sing on command. But, boy, does he ever have a song in his heart. Singing in the shower is common, as is singing as he passes from one room to another. Singing during TV commercial breaks also occurs often.

Sometimes it's a real song. Faith Hill's "This Kiss" and "The Way You Love Me" are both popular options. Sometimes it's made-up lyrics that he puts together with the melody of a real song. Lastly, sometimes he just makes entire songs up, usually about something I'm doing. "My-baby-she's-cooking-dinner-and-it-smells-sooo-gooooood." That sort of stuff.

Really, is it any wonder why I love this man?

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Bluetick Coonhounds

Last night, while I was at Michelle and Christy's, and after we ate her super yummy dinner last night, Michelle and I spend an extrodinary amount of time looking up dingos on the internet and just about every other breed of dog there is. And let me tell you, there are some ugly dogs out there. Not cute-ugly like this guy. I mean ugly-ugly. There are some that are just plain weird looking. Then there are some that look like Rick James.

We all laughed a great deal last night. It was a great time.

Tonight, Ron and I are going to see Dali. I hear it's overwhelming. More on that tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

I Love Miss Manners

It's no secret that I think today's version of weddings is somwhat of an abomination.
Courtesy of the "Washington Post":

Veil of Tears
Sunday, May 1, 2005; Page D02

Weddings still make people cry, Miss Manners has discovered. But not, it seems, for the traditional reasons.

The spectacle of an innocent young couple inspired by love to leave the homes and protection of their respective parents and create an irrevocable bond used to set off the sensitive souls among their guests. When people of experience emerge from their own home to create a negotiable bond subject to cancellation, it may still be touching, but perhaps not to a tear-jerking extent.

However, among the people associated with modern weddings, there are still plenty on the verge of tears:

The bride, because she has spent a year planning this wedding, and has discovered that the flowers for the table are a deeper pink than she ordered and don't match the sashes on the bridesmaids' dresses.

The bridegroom, because he's had a lonely year and is not sure the solution to it is that executive-level event planner who has been ordering him around.

The mother of the bride, because she has been told that she didn't put enough money into the wedding to entitle her to have any opinions about how it should be conducted.

The father of the bride, because he has been told that he couldn't bring his second wife, who is home crying.

The mother of the bridegroom, because she has been forced to wear a dress in a color she hates.

The father of the bridegroom, because he paid for his daughter's wedding in its entirety and has now been told that tradition demands that at his son's wedding, he pay for a dinner party for the entire guest list the night before and for all the liquor being consumed during several days of festivities.

The bridesmaids, because their time, money and patience has been freely consumed for events, clothes and demands to which they never consented.

The groomsmen, because they've had too much beer all week. (The bridesmaids have had just as much, but they hold it better. Or get to the restroom faster.)

The guests, because they realize they have blown their vacation time, as well as great sums of money for transportation, hotels and several rounds of presents, in a place and with a crowd they haven't chosen, only to stand around doing nothing while the wedding pictures are being taken.

The bride's colleagues, because they had to chip in to give her a shower, and they weren't even invited to the wedding.

So who, exactly, is enjoying this ordeal?

Miss Manners still believes in happy weddings, and has been to more than a few. But she is beginning to understand why observers of the wedding scene -- other than those who are there for love or money -- assert that there is an inverse relationship between the elaborateness of the wedding festivities and the success of the marriage. A number of sociologists, divorce lawyers and members of the clergy have been quoted remarking that the more lavish, complicated and prolonged the arrangements, the more likely the marriage is to end in divorce.

Here is what makes her teary: The spectacle of a couple -- perhaps not so young and not so innocent but nevertheless in love -- who feel obliged to devote untold amounts of time and money to producing an elaborate festival that is beyond their experience and capacity and leaves everyone cranky.

New and Improved

If you're a reader of this blog, all 5 of you, you know that lately I've been concentrating on my workouts. Awhile back I decided to build my perfect body. Not "a" perfect body, since there is no such thing, but I wanted to make my body as good as it could be, realizing that of course, there will always be flaws. "Deciding" to get myself fit became an area of focus for me, a hobby, if you will. I've never really had any hobbies other than reading (and art, in my former life).

I've never had much self-discipline. That's part of the reason I loved school: it forced me to take on new things in an organized fashion. I can't believe it's been almost 4 years since I finished grad school. Unfortunately, I feel like I haven't learned much since then. I miss the structure that classes gave me for learning new material. I am happiest when I am busy in a constructive way and when I was working full time and going to graduate school, I was happy.

Then I fell into a slump. Partly because work went bad, real bad, and partly because I had nothing else to focus my attention on, I was content just watching a lot of TV--something I never did before. And eating. There was a lot of eating.

But focusing on eating better and structuring workouts has given me new direction. Maybe it's in combination with the warmer weather (don't we all feel like we have more energy when it gets warmer outside?), but I'm inspired to learn more, to spread this focus out to a broader area. Maybe instead of just building a better body, I should be building better version of myself overall. With that in mind, I'm starting to focus on some of my weaknesses.

I just subscribed to "Money" magazine, because frankly, it's time I started taking my money seriously. Especially since the next job I take will result in a substantial pay cut. I'm terrible at saving. (Case in point: Ron has more in his savings account than I do. He makes half of what I do and has been working for six years less than I have. Ouch.). I know nothing about the stock market. Nothing. Which proves that I really was adopted at birth because my brother works on Stock Exhange. The only thing I'm really doing right in my finances is retirement. I have a really nice retirement account going, as well as a pension plan. I also just ordered this on Amazon, since I can't imagine renting for much longer. Some women yearn for children, I yearn for a renovation project.

Next up, it's time to plan a real budget. Which means I have to confront my biggest demon head-on: shopping. I am a shopoholic. Not a week goes by where I don't buy new clothes. I have a problem. I know this.

Sigh. But it's going to be a new and improved me. Right?

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Gravitational Pull

Did anyone else notice the earth shift off its axis yesterday? If you did, it's because something happened yesterday that hasn't happened since I was 17. I purchased and fit into a bra with a B cup. Granted, every bra style results in different fits, so I can't say that uniformly I can wear a B cup, but in some bras I now can. Just 2 years ago I only wore Ds. This is so exciting.

Now if only the earth's gravitional pull wasn't was great, I'd really be in business.


I dislike Tom Cruise more and more each day. Really, Tom, when was the last time YOU struggled with postpartum depression?

Monday, May 23, 2005

In a Trailer Down By the River

For those who don't know, Ron's family owns a trailer. In a trailer park. And all joking aside, it is on a river. It's a nice trailer park, as far as trailer parks go. None of the trailers have wheels, they're stationary. People don't live there year-round, it's a vacation spot. People are all nice, and as far as I can tell, seem to all possess full sets of teeth. The views of the river (which leads into the Chesapeake Bay) are spectacular. Ron and I are spending a few days down there the beginning of next month. It's actually very relaxing there. Very quiet. Not much to do, but sit on the porch playing cards, drinking beer from a can. I'm looking forward to it. As soon as we get back, I'm going to see a neurologist to see exactly when I had a lobotomy without knowing it, because I said that I'm looking FORWARD to being in a trailer park down by the river.

On Saturday, we went down to the trailer to help his dad lay plywood for the next, higher extension. I learned lots about chalklines and nail guns. And measuring, which has never been my strongpoint. I probably got in the way more than anything else, but I think his dad liked that I wasn't afraid to get dirty. His 65 year old lesbian cousin was there too, wearing her rainbow flag earrings, trying to convince Ron and I to move to Florida. Ron doesn't need any convincing. I'm the one digging my heels in. Not because of her, but because I think of Florida as a place to retire to--or to go to if you're a sex offender.

Later that day, his mom, cousin and I went to church not that far from the trailer. And as I sat there at church, near a trailer park, in between my boyfriend's mother and older cousin, with kite-like flags dangling from her ears, I thought to myself "Does it get any weirder than this?"


For some reason, I'm very excited by the fact the Christy is TiVo-ing the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes interview on Oprah. I need to head over there this week and watch it.


Gather around the campfire, kids, I'm going to tell you a story. A story about an asshole.

The only true jerk I've ever dated was during my freshman year of college. He was also a freshman, living in the dorms with us but he was 2 years older than the rest of us. That's something that should have tipped me off right then and there. But I had a thing for guys I thought I could "fix" and he needed some fixing. He was also the only "tall" guy I ever dated. At about 6'2" and over 200 lbs, I was totally enveloped in his hugs. He was smart, he was funny. I liked him.

Like lots of college students, he partied. During the course of our freshmen year, he turned 21 years old, which made him very popular, as he was able to purchase alcohol. One night that spring, he woke my roommate and I up in the middle of the night. It was during the week and we had something fairly important, like mid-terms, the next morning. He stumbled into the room, totally drunk, causing a ruckus, slurring his words. I had seen him this way before, of course, but since it was the middle of the week and that whole mid-term-the-next-morning thing, I was less than pleased with his state. And I was embarrassed, because not only was he disturbing me, but also my roommate. Not cool. My efforts to help him up and out of the room irritated him for some reason. So much so that my efforts were rewarded by the back of his elbow connecting with my jaw. On purpose.

I broke up with him, of course. But because he begged and pleaded and also because I was a fool, I took him back a couple of weeks later. Nothing like that ever happened again. Well, the hitting part anyway.

I'm not sure that my friends liked him. I don't know that I would have listened to what they had to say. But then I don't remember so much about that year, or the year that would follow it. Repressed memories or selective memory, take your pick. I don't remember much about this jerk at all, other than this incident and couple of defining conversations. I have no idea what we saw in each other or what we talked about or what we did. Did we go out on dates? Maybe, I don't know. What I said earlier about him being so much bigger than me when he hugged me--the only reason I know that is because I've seen pictures of us hugging. I don't remember much firsthand.

My parents didn't like him. They had an uncanny way of knowing a bad seed when they saw it. I thought they were crazy. That summer the jerk boyfriend called me to tell me he was arrested for DUI. Shortly after that, I broke up with him for good. Something just clicked. Perhaps I had known all along that he was wrong for me, but I hadn't been ready to do anything about it. And then all of sudden, it just clicked and he was kicked to the curb. We dated for 9 months and I broke up with him 9 months after I should have. I was so naive, it never occurred to me that someone my age could be an alcoholic, which he was.

He and I still talked into our sophomore year. It was then that he told me he had cheated on me--I don't remember with who, or why he told me or any of the details. But I remember that he told me on the phone and I said, "I lost my family because of you" and hung up. I never spoke to him again. It was a small campus, so we ran into each other, but he could never look me in the eye after that.

That last sentence I ever told him wasn't entirely true. Regret would have driven me mad a long time ago if I allowed myself to believe that was true. My parents and I would have fallen apart over something else, if it hadn't been over him. We were like an explosive device waiting to detonate. Okay, fine, I was an explosive device waiting to detonate. I made a series of bad choices. I hurt a lot of people who loved me. But if you look strictly at cause and effect; he was the cause, the thing that set the entire chain of events in motion regarding my family. And the effect, well, I still live with the effect. In the aftermath, I picked up the pieces of my broken family and their broken hearts and just looked at them. I didn't know how to put it all back together. So they healed themselves and insulated themselves from me. I don't blame them. That was 11 years ago.

When I see kids today making bad choices, I want to shake sense into them. But I know that they are probably just like I was at that age and anything I say wouldn't make any difference. I heard a woman on TV once say that she tried not to tell her teenage kids what not to do. Instead she told them, "make good choices." It's good advice, except I think when you're lost, it's hard to tell the good choices from the bad ones. Eventually, each one of us knows, instinctively, what the right thing to do is. Sometimes it takes a lot of bad choices before you start making the good ones.

Make good choices.

Friday, May 20, 2005


Okay, who else thinks this Cruise/Holmes relationship is a big publicity stunt?

Song of the Day

Because it's stuck in my head is "One Word" by Kelly Osbourne. Your guess is as good as mine as to why.

Thursday, May 19, 2005


As is his custom when he works nights, when no one "important" sees him, Ron is sporting a goatee. Normally, I'm not a huge fan of facial hair, but he looks so adorable, I just want to give him smooches.

Happy Birthday, Sweetcheeks!

There was a guy I went to college with who used to call everyone "sweetcheeks". It always cracked me up.

Anyway, a big, ol' HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Christy! Knit on, my friend. Knit on.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Wishing for 22

I'm a reasonable person. Really. I have reasonable expections. I have a healthy perception about my body. I don't obsess about it. I'm an ideal weight for my height. Overall I'm happy with it. I know others struggle with weight loss and gain and that comparatively, I'm very lucky.

Bear all this in mind during this rant:

I work out every freakin day. I watch what I eat. I mean, I don't deprive myself, but I have freakin' YOGURT most days for lunch. So I like ice cream--I have it many nights after dinner. Not a whole pint, just some in a bowl. SO WHAT?!?! I think the freakin yogurt and whole grain shit cereal I have everyday should make up for that. And the fruit and vegetables. I can't bring myself to really "diet". No way I'm starving myself. I GRILL chicken though. And the working out every day. I bumped my workouts up from 30 minutes to 50 minutes most days. I lift weights. I do pilates. I've lost 18 pounds in the last year and a half. Okay, that's not alot, but I didn't have alot to lose to begin with. I know I'm thinner. I know I'm thinner because conversations like the following occur:
Me: Remember those capri jeans I love?
Ron: Um, no?
Me: You know the ones I've worn the last two summers? (picking up said jeans) These ones.
Ron: Oh yeah.
Me: They're too big. I need to get new ones.
Ron: You do not need to buy new ones.
At which point, I proceed to put said jeans on, and then slide them back off. Without unbuttoning or unzipping them.
Ron: New jeans it is then.

So why is it that despite weight loss, despite getting in shape, that NO BATHING SUITS FIT MY BODY???? It's like you hit 30 and all of a sudden there's just cellulite and rolls and sagging THAT JUST SHOULDN'T EXIST. My skin just doesn't fit on my body right anymore. I look fine in clothes, but put me in a bathing suit and it's like a freak show. I'm having a moment where I'm realizing the cold hard truth: no matter what I do, I'm never going to have the body of a 22 year old again. AND I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD KIDS! I shudder to think.

The moment is over. Thanks for listening.


How did I miss this on TV last night? I had heard rumors of such a show but didn't realize it had aired until this morning during CNN's "90 second Pop." According to the CNN, the concept of "Can you handle my truth?" is a bit ironic as the show totally evades the truth that K-Fed was engaged to another woman who was pregnant with his second child when he and Britney met.

This is going to be so trashy, it should be illegal. I love it.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

It Didn't Rain

Last Saturday wound up being a completely glorious day, despite every weather forecaster calling for rain. I decided to take the opportunity to explore. There's a path that starts about 5 blocks from where I live. Ron said it goes up to the Art Museum and Boathouse Row, and he knows this because he runs it 2-3 times a week. Of course, I didn't believe him until I did the path myself. Because I'm just like that.

Indeed, the path does go up to the museum and over to Boathouse Row. It was one of those days when the city just seemed...beautiful. There was brilliance around every turn of the path. I wanted to soak in the sun for hours.

The Dad Vail Regatta was taking place so I didn't wander too far down Boathouse Row; it was quite crowded. Instead, I walked through the Azeala Garden behind the museum. There were 3 brides getting their pictures taken. It was a picture perfect day in a picture perfect setting.

Against my better judgement, I hiked up some rickety stone steps to an area behind the museum. When I eventually circled the building, I found myself at the bottom of the museum steps. I couldn't help myself; I was like a woman possessed. I took off, running up the steps while humming the theme to "Rocky". Hey, I never claimed to be cool.

It was an active day. I thought of my friend, Michelle. I used to take my ability to be active for granted. In fact, I was inactive often. Lazy, really. I like to think I'm not anymore. I don't take any of that for granted anymore. I learned that from Michelle, whether or not she knows it. She's one of the strongest people I know.

It didn't rain Sunday either. Damn weather people. Ron and I took in a Phillies game. I got a free Phillies blanket, which Ron has since taken as his own. I love the Phillies' stadium. Well, more correctly, I love the food at the stadium.


Well, you were just asking for death, weren't you?


Last week, I watched "Valmont". Recently, I also watched "Love Actually". Within the last few months, I tuned into "Pride and Prejudice" and "Girl With a Pearl Earring". All this from a girl who hardly ever watches movies.

Sunday night I watched "What a Girl Wants" and it finally hit me. I have a huge crush on Colin Firth! Because there's no other explanation on why anyone over the age of 15 would watch that movie.


Monday, May 16, 2005

The Gift

Periodically, I write about my ex boyfriend, whom I call Guy. I have no idea why I've renamed him for purposes of this blog. Perhaps it was to protect his identity, but honestly, few people read this and it's not like he robbed banks or anything, so why protect his identity?

Anyway, "Guy" and I dated for awhile and he generously bestowed upon me gifts for all sorts of occasions and sometimes for no occasion at all. Which, normally, is a good thing, except Guy was the WORST at picking out gifts. It's the thought that counts? Yeah, screw that, because no one could quite figure out what his thought process was, exactly. You think your husband or boyfriend or significant other gives the worst gifts, sorry, I've got you beat.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I've never been angry with Guy, because the poor sap was so misguided. He always meant well, but that didn't always manifest itself in normal ways.

Some of the gifts:
a toaster oven
Eye Doctor by Origins
a Philadelphia coffee mug

But the one that stands out more than any other gift, was the Confederate flag I received for my 24th birthday. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I received a Confederate flag as a birthday gift. Now let's be clear, I live in Philadelphia, my entire family has been here in the U.S. for generations and hails from New York and New Hampshire. We're all Yankees. Every single last one of us.

What on earth would I do with, of all things, a Confederate flag?

Now, here's the thought process: I had hinted that a hard-cover copy of "Gone With the Wind" would be great for my birthday, to replace my paperback version, which was well-read and falling apart. I have a great interest in the Civil War era, and enjoy reading many things about that time period. While "Gone With the Wind" is a fictional work, I believe it does accurately represent many of the sentiments of that time. Anyway, somehow my hint for that book got twisted in Guy's brain as "she likes Civil War era stuff, and Gone With the Wind is set in the South, I know! I'll get her a Confederate flag."


I should have realized right then and there that the relationship wouldn't work, but sadly, I did not. I wound up giving the flag to a friend of his who was indeed from the South, and I have every reason to believe that that Confederate flag now proudly waves in the back of a pick-up truck in Missouri.

Honestly, what the worst present you've ever received?


I took that stretching class at my gym again, and it KICKED MY ASS. All day yesterday, my legs felt like they would give way beneath me. I kept on telling Ron that the class kicked my ass and he kept responding, "But it was a stretching class," in a tone that clearly indicated that he doubted the difficulty of this class. Do I not go to the gym 6 days a week? Do I not teach self defense? Am I not in shape? Indeed I am. If I say the stretching class kicked my ass, thou shalt RESPECT the stretching class!

I mean, c'mon, who can comfortably maintain different squatting positions for 20 minutes straight? I totally plan on going again this weekend.

Friday, May 13, 2005

An Open Letter to Bruce Springsteen

Dear Bruce,

When we tune into VH1's "Storytellers" we want to hear you sing your songs, as well as tell us a little ditty about the inspiration for them. Singing one line of a song, then explaining it, then singing another line, then explaining it, so on and so forth, is a bit of overkill. We're not THAT dumb.

We tune in to hear you sing, not your wife. "Brilliant Disguise" is not a duet. Plus, the way she looks at you while you're singing is creepy. Please refrain from bringing her onstage.


P.S. Has anyone mentioned that you're starting to look a lot like Bob Dylan?

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

The Morning Routine

My daily weekday morning routine goes something like this:

Depending on whether I'm going to the gym that morning or have early morning meetings, the alarm goes off at either 5:45 a.m. or 6:45 a.m.

Hit the snooze button at least once, while growling at my alarm clock.

If it's a day that I'm going to the gym, I get dressed, tripping over at least 3 items in my apartment, because WHY GOD, am I up this early? Then I do about 50 minutes of aerobic activity at the gym.

Each day proceeds pretty similiarly from this point on.

Start running water in the shower. While the water's heating up, I put coffee in the coffee machine and switch the "on" button.

Take a shower. Towel off, wrap towel around head. Pretend I'm an Arab shiek. Or a showgirl.

Look in mirror. Inspect face for new wrinkles. Pluck any stray eyebrow hair.

Now comes the good part: makeup. I LOVE putting on my face. I actually wear a fair amount of make up, but am fanatical about it looking natural. I wear eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush, sometimes a bit of bronzer. It takes all of 4 minutes. I have it down to a science.

Remove turban from head. Comb hair, apply gel.

Pour myself a glass of water and a bowl of cereal. Add in extra cranberries and almonds.

Watch CNN. Get bored, flip to the Weather Channel for "Local on the 8s". Flip to VH1. Get bored, flip back to CNN.

Wash cereal bowl and water glass. Pour cup of coffee. Pack my lunch.

Wander to my closet and ponder about what to wear.

Do 50 crunches and 30 push ups.

Plug in iron. Take several outfits out of closet and ponder some more. Do some ironing. Try a few things on.

Finish coffee.

Wash coffee cup.

Put lunch, shoes, wallet, etc. into work bag.

Watch more CNN and VH1. Get very excited when video for a song I like comes on. Do a little dance.

Get dressed. Watch more TV. After much mental debate, turn off TV.

Contemplate eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream in the freezer.

Check my work voicemails.

Put on my walk-to-work sneakers.

Grab my bag and I'm out the door.

Go back inside to turn off iron, and then I'm out the door.

Can't find keys: search the apartment.

Locate keys, I'm out the door, lock door, head downstairs.

Run back upstairs, unlock door, shut off coffeemaker.

I'm out the door. Really this time.

Conditional Love

Everyone talks about unconditional love, but do you really think there's such a thing? Think of your girlfriend, husband, partner, whatever. Do you love that person unconditionally? What if that person, who up until this point, was perfect began hurting you over and over again, betraying you over and over again? What then? Not so unconditional, is it?

I'm not talking about my situation. I'm pretty lucky.

I'm thinking of spouses, or of parents and children, who are pushed to their limits. Sometimes people take the unconditional love they receive and abuse it. They think it makes them powerful. They think they can hurt the people around them and there will be no consequences. They use the love they receive as a whip to control those they receive it from. But everyone has limits. You can push people too far.

Me, I knew that when I left home. I wasn't so foolish as to think that I could walk out on my parents and think they would just accept it. That they would love me regardless. I knew I was pushing them too far. I've lived with the consequences since then. But I knew all this before I left. Some people have no idea that they can only push so much. I see kids today push their parents, thinking that their parents will take whatever their kids put out there. That sort of attitude can be poison for a family. It can be poison for any relationship.

So if the love you have in your life, whether it be parental or romantic, is good to you, shout it from the rooftops. If it's not, don't be afraid to draw the line.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Bikini Season

I'm okay with my weight. I've never obsessed about it. Sure, I try to stay fit and wouldn't mind if I was a few pounds lighter, but whatever. I'm about 8 pounds away from my dream weight and I'm okay with that.

That being said, few things make me want to pitch myself off the top of an office building like trying on bathing suits. Sweet Jesus, what is that about? I can feel totally okay about my figure even in underwear, but as soon as I try on a bathing suit (which is strangely similiar to underwear and sometimes more revealing) there are all sorts of folds and dimples and rolls where there shouldn't be.

I spent part of my weekend trying on these torture devices. NOT A HAPPY TIME. Off to the gym I go. Also, off to the fridge to have some Ben & Jerry's for moral support.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Oh, the Yankee in Me

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English
40% Yankee
5% Dixie
0% Midwestern
0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Are my math skills off or does this only add up to 95% of my linguist profile? I want my other 5 percent!


Let me just say, in case I haven't said it before, than I love Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey. I loved that they got married young. I love that she waited until they were married to have sex (yes, I do believe that and if you try to tell me otherwise I will cover my ears and yell 'nahnahnahnah' until you shut up). I love that she's a ditz, because she's a ditz who's laughing all the way to the bank. I love that he puts up with her ditziness. I love them. I will be sad if they break up.

Annnoying Me

Last night, after I finished work and before he went to work, I had a Ron-sighting. He asked me, "What weeks should I pick for vacation next year?"

Hmmm. "Next year" starts July 1st. I ask when his selections were due. "Tomorrow." Oh, of course. I would love to plan my vacation for the next 12 months within the NEXT TEN MINUTES. I tell him that I don't care what weeks he picks, but generally, anytime between late May and July isn't good for me to take a whole week off, which is why Ron has the first two weeks of June off already for this year. Anyway, his response is, "well I thought you'd want to plan when the honeymoon is."

I think this is what they call putting the cart before the horse.

Here's the normal timeline of wedding planning: 1. couple gets engaged 2. couple decides on a wedding date 3. couple makes all necessary wedding/reception arrangements 4. couple plans honeymoon 5. couple gets married and then goes on honeymoon.

If you notice, they do NOT pick the dates of the honeymoon BEFORE they're engaged.

You know those women? The ones that cry and beg and threaten and totally lose their minds, all in an attempt to "persuade" their boyfriends to propose? Yeah, I'm not one of those women. But I swear some days it surprises me that I'm not.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Culinary Genius

Are you a foodie? Take the quiz and find out. I scored a 7. Foodie, I am. Maybe I should go to culinary school. Or maybe I'm just a good guesser.

Christmas in May

At long last, Ron and I bought our Christmas present. It's tiny.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005


I find this very interesting.

Another Open Letter

Dear John Mason,

Yesterday I wrote you a letter of apology, because I jumped the gun and assumed you had some part in your fiancee's disappearance. I was wrong. The country rallied behind you and sympathized with you that your fiancee would do such a thing to you, to humiliate you like that.

But now I'm hearing that you say that the wedding's still on, as far as you're concerned. With all due respect, sir, you're a glutton for punishment. If you're set on marrying this self-absorbed creature, I have one word for you: elope.


Speaking of...

Speaking of people shouldn't have children, do you know who I think shouldn't have children? Crazy people who are in volatile relationships. THAT'S who shouldn't have children. Do all of us a favor, and please do not reproduce.


What's your favorite sleep position? I think everyone has one. I, for one, cannot sleep on my stomach at all. I had a roommate in college that could only sleep on her stomach. She said that the position you were most comfortable in related to the position you were in back in the womb. I doubt there's any scientific evidence to back that up. My roommate was a bit of a quack.

Anyway, we had a galley kitchen in the house I grew up in. I remember standing by the window in the kitchen eating cookies at the counter, when my father walked in and told me I looked like a flamingo. He said that because I was standing on one leg, my left leg, with my right leg bent outward so that my foot was pressing against the inside of my left leg. Nowadays in yoga, that's called tree pose. I didn't know that then.

I have great balance. Unconsciously, I revert to standing on one leg often. I have no idea why. Stranger still, I sleep in the same position, only lying down. I almost always sleep on my back, with one leg straight, the other bent, so my foot rests on the opposite leg's inner knee area.

Tree is one of my favorite yoga positions, by the way. I am part flamingo.

Monday, May 02, 2005

A Letter of Apology

Dear John Mason,

I'm sorry that I thought you were some sort of axe murderer. It turns out that your almost wife is a nut.


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