Monday, May 31, 2010
I was craving a taco on my lunch break at work one day so I drove to a corner where Pedro sells fresh authentic tacos. As I sat on the folding chair he has under a canvas gazebo I asked him, "Pedro, why did you come to America just to sell tacos?"
Pedro said, "Si, tacos. You like?"
"Yes," I said, "Why come all the way to America to sell tacos?"
"America, si. I like," he answered.
"Didn't you like Mexico?" I ask.
"Si, Mexico. I like."
"So why did you come here?" He smiled and nodded. He didn't understand anything other than taco and how many.
This got me to thinking. What if I tried to immigrate to Mexico. I could do an experiment kind of like the book, "Black Like Me" but "Mexican Like Me" with a language barrier.
I drove to Arizona and left my car in a safe neighborhood, well, actually Wal-mart parking lot, since it's always full. I bought some instant tan spray and went into the handicap stall and disrobed. I sprayed away. I then went to a second hand store and bought some Mexican attire. I got me a couple of water bottles and a box of Twinkies (since they never expire) and headed for the border. It was fairly easy except it was like a fish swimming upstream. I was trying to get into Mexico and I had about fifty people keep pushing me back over and shouting something at me. I just smiled and nodded like Pedro. Finally I said, "Amigos, I want to go back to Mehico. Can som wan give me a poosh over de fence?" I tried my hardest to sound like the Taco Bell Chihauhau. Some one's hands sank into my fat little bottom and over I went.
"Grassy-ass," I thanked them.
So I walked and walked and walked for six hours until I reached a little village. People spoke to me in Spanish, I smiled and nodded and said, "Si." Then I remembered all the Spanish I learned on Sesame Street. "Agua," which is water. They pointed to a pump. I showed them my empty water bottles. They looked at me very strangely. It dawned on me they were wondering why this Mexican woman can't speak Spanish. I wiped the sweat from my brow and noticed my tan was running. "Where's your nearest Wal-mart?" I asked.
The small crowd that had gathered laughed. "Wal-mart, ha, cheaper than Wal-mart."
"Taco, burrito, enchilada, holy frijoles," I showed off all the Spanish I knew in one sentence.
They pointed down the road. "Taqueria." It was like a mirage. A corner store that looked like a lean to. I went in, "Diet coke and uno taco - no - dos tacos." He laughed and said something in Spanish. I gave him a five dollar bill. "Pesos." I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. He wasn't amused. "Pesos." I took a Twinkie out of my backpack, ready for negotiation. "America," he said.
"Si," I answered. "Hotel-olio." I said. Sounded Spanish to me. He looked at me like I was crazy. I put my hands together and laid my cheek on them to signal "sleep." He laughed. He signaled me to follow him. He led me to behind the store until I could view a hammock. Did I just immigrate to Gilligan's Island? Desperate for sleep I laid in the hammock until the sun came up the next morning.
I opened my eyes and there was a small crowd gathered, mostly children. And Policio. "Can you show us your passport?" One of them said. "Sure," I said as I turned to get out of the hammock and it rolled over and I was on the ground.....just like Gilligan's Island. My backpack was gone. No Twinkies. No passport. Thieves.
So I spent some time trying to work my way back through the red tape, working with the American Embassy, trying to prove my identity. It would have been easier to take the same trail came from and illegally entered back into my own country. So I have had no access to a computer to update my blog. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I notice it mostly when I'm going to the bathroom, when my abdomen has broken free of the constricting pants that held so much back. Like a prisoner let free and is now sitting on my lap. That's how I measure my waist, whether it is any further down my lap or closer to where it should be.
Little Miss cradled her belly one day and squeezed it all around her belly button and said, "Look, Mommy, I can make a doughnut with my tummy." I said, "Oh, that's nothing, Sweetie. I can make a bundt cake with mine."
It's amazing that the stomach can stretch so far out with pregnancies and then settle somewhere in between that size and your pre-pregnancy waist size. And we blame pregnancies for it. I'm sure all those doughnuts and required trips to McDonald's while the kids are little have nothing to do with it. The food we are forced to eat so we can have a social life while the kids play in the Playplace. I'm starting to think, the bigger the belly, the better parent you are because we sure did take our kids out for burgers a lot. I've got the collection of toys to prove it!
Another way I measure my waist is the suck in factor. Once it gets past a certain point, there's no sucking in that makes any difference. Though you can still feel your muscles contracting underneath all that waist, it does not make you look slimmer. And then there are those parts that you just can't suck in. Like your chest. Your hips. Your chin. So it just leaves me to use my little nest egg to pay for liposuction, so I can have a few more years of vanity.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
It's nice to be able to go on a vacation every once in awhile, be able to buy a pair of shoes even if I don't need them or go to lunch without worrying if you're dipping too far into the bank account if you do. It's only a worry if your lunch changes your pant size again and you have to buy another entire wardrobe - that's when it gets expensive. But wait, it's not Whiney Wednesday, it's Tootin' Tuesday, so I'm supposed to talk about the positive things about being in my middle years.
Financial stability. It's kind of like your shoe size it gets to a certain point and then it doesn't usually change too much. The one thing you can control is how you wear it. Your foot is your income, your shoes are the expenses. Hopefully, by now, we know our necessary bills and know how much is left over at the end of the month for fun. If you try to squeeze too much foot into a smaller shoe - it's gonna be painful. You may think it looks good on you, but why limp around when you don't have to? Even Cinderella likes a little wiggle room.
I would consider myself middle working class. I work not to provide extra luxuries for my family, but to provide health insurance (there's a Whiney Wed. topic) for my family, since Mr. Fifi likes being his own boss. Plus, it keeps me out of mounds of trouble.
For my younger readers, who only look forward to reaching these wonderful mid-life years, things do get better. You don't always have to live paycheck to paycheck. At mid-life, when your feet hurt - everything hurts, so be wise in choosing shoes (expenses). Some are just not worth crippling your feet over.
Did you know the Chinese used to bind their feet so tightly, the women would have broken deformed feet, all because they thought small feet were attractive? That would be equivalent to crying poor - you've got the income, you just don't want to spend it. Like when the doctor's wife says she can't come to your Tupperware party because she can't afford it. Wouldn't you rather hear, "I'd rather bind my feet than go to a Tupperware party"? Wiggle room, ladies, that's what we need. Being cheap gives you a bad reputation, too. No one likes a cheap friend when it's your birthday.
So the important thing is to find your right size. Not too little, not too much but just right.
Monday, April 19, 2010
I asked Mr. Fifi how he controls his eyes from roving from me. I'm not the most beautiful woman in the world and I have put on some poundage since we've gotten married. But some of the most beautiful women in the world have had men stray so what's the secret? What makes him keep coming home to me?
One good practice when you are in public and you notice a younger, prettier lady, you just whisper to him, "Isn't she cute? Poor thing, Kristie told me all about her. I just wish they could find a cure for her genital herpes. That would suck."
Another hottie on the scene, "Her family is from France and she doesn't believe in shaving her armpits. Imagine that in lingerie, her arms behind her head waiting for you to go in for the kiss. I wonder if all that hair holds in B.O.? You couldn't possibly get deodorant all the way to the skin with all that hair. Oh, wait. They don't use deodorant in France, they just dab on a little eu de toilette."
"Wow, doesn't Bonnie look beautiful, tonight?" you test him.
"Yeah, she must work out, look at those biceps," hubby says, trying not to be overzealous.
"Oh, no, Honey, she has an illness that causes her to lose control of her bowels. She wears one of those discrete Depends. She just can't put on weight no matter how hard she tries."
Pretty soon, he will see beautiful women and an automatic trigger will go off in his mind, "Chlamydia. Diarrhea. Crooked nipples. Halitosis. Bulimia."
So my husband doesn't have a problem looking at other women for that reason. I'd like to believe it's because he thinks I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. I guess when you surpass a certain amount of beauty, it's really bad. I feel sorry for all those models and actresses who have to drug themselves up to cope with all the downfalls of being beautiful.
And, my sweet friends, we know that beauty comes from within. You know how I compared husbands like the best shirt you ever bought? I compare us with the best trophy that he earned. This is why: It is true he may had a few opportunities of marrying someone else. But YOU are the one who won his heart. There is something special about you and me. We are the ones who would put up with his flatulence, spitting out the car window and never getting to our "Honey Do" list. But don't get me wrong - we are not suckers - we are trophy wives. We are the one who he is proud to take to the company barbecue.
Behind every good man is a
woman on Prozac good woman. We need to find little things to compliment our man on. We have to make him feel needed and sometimes be a damsel in distress so he can prove to be our knight in shining armour. When he finally hangs that picture you bought seven months ago - go make him his favorite pie and tell him what a good job he did. This will help his self-esteem for weeks. It's doing little things like that that keep a man.
Another good thing to do is ask to feel his biceps. "Wowee, Honey. You just keep getting stronger and stronger. You're my Hercules, Baby." They just eat that stuff up. That's a good time to ask him to put his good muscles to use and put in that shelf you've been wanting.
Monday, April 12, 2010
It's no secret, that even though I'm past my prime I still make an effort to pretty myself up every day, and I still look pretty good, in a matronly way. I still have men look at me and throw themselves at me. It's usually when I'm walking downtown and wearing my high heels and carrying my Prada bag and they usually ask me for money. "Any spare change, Miss?" Anyone who still considers me a Miss deserves a quarter!
Because I'm a wealth of knowledge and because I've watched Oprah for a long time now, and even some documentaries, I am aware that some people stray. We can't keep our husbands on leashes all the time or vise versa.
It's not uncommon to feel a little something for other people, like Matthew McConaughey, or even an old college boyfriend. I have gone down that path thinking about my high school boyfriend, one in particular and think of his luscious big lips and how they used to feel on mine. His lips have come in handy for climbing the corporate ladder because he's had to kiss a lot of butts with them. Or that's what I hear.
The thing about waking up to the same person morning after morning is they become your safe place. I think we start to take them for granted, like they'll always be there. But like a gorgeous shirt you find on sale and decide to shop around - POOF! It might not be there when you go back. Think of your hubby as your favorite shirt ever, the biggest and best investment you ever got and even when it looks a little worn, it still looks great on you (not that way, pervs!). Surely, I had many, many opportunities but my hubby is my Pierre Cardin, the one that never goes out of style.
One way to avoid having an affair is to keep your relationship alive. You gotta take your favorite shirt out of the closet and take him into town once in awhile. You gotta give him a chance to show off his social skills that you meticulously molded. You tell him to behave himself and not say anything embarrassing and you keep that spark in your marriage. You have to try to remember why you fell in love with him in the first place. And if he doesn't abide by those rules you threaten to take him shopping next time. Because you deserve it. We deserve it, ladies. We deserve fine investments and a happy life.
Another way to avoid having an affair is to not feed your thoughts when your mind wanders to that place. I mean, if your consciously thinking about another guy that's a sign that your heart is wandering, too. But if you're dreaming about him, it's not your fault and there's nothing you can do about it. But consciously.....try a little distraction. Vacuum the floor, clean a toilet, eat another cookie, stick your finger in an electrical outlet, whatever it takes to stop thinking about Matthew McConaughey or who ever.
Another thing - remember that "that other guy" probably farts, lifts his legs so you can vacuum under him, spits out the car window and blows his nose in the shower, too.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug (MicroSafe)
Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well..
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT ! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous).
And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world?
Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
I've been getting heartburn a little more frequently. I haven't usually had intestinal issues - all other issues, but not this one. I've tried Tums, Prevacid, vinegar and my least favorite - Gaviscon chewable tablets. Don't get me wrong - they work really well. It's just that it's like the foaming pipe snake for your drains. You start chewing on it and you think, not too bad, kinda vanilla flavored, gets stuck in your teeth and then it happens. It foams. I actually gagged the first time I took them at my mom's house. I didn't know what to do as the foam was filling my mouth, should I spit it out or gag it down. I washed it down with lots of water. Then picked it out of my teeth with microbursts of foam following. If you haven't thrown up by this point of taking the antacid then it forms a barrier on top of the contents of your stomach and relieves the burning in the back of your throat. It reminds me of a fire extinguisher - but for your throat.
My brother was at my house and asked if I had any Tums or something. I said, "Yeah. I have this stuff, but have a glass of water ready." He looked at me like I was crazy. He took the two large tablets and started chewing on them and he had the same exact reaction I did. He said as if he was afraid to close his mouth, "Uh! It's foaming! Uh!"
"Quick, drink some water to wash it down!" I say, feeling like the experienced heartburn hero.
Yeah, I'm finding I'm having to cut more and more food out of my diet due to cankers, heartburn and diarrhea. I'm a perpetual Pepto Bismol commercial.
Monday, April 5, 2010
My oldest friend is one that I've had since about fifth grade, which is pretty good considering my family moved around a lot. I'm the type of person that will be your friend forever as long as you reciprocate. (Remember the pencil and ink thing?) It took me a long time to figure out it was a waste of time to invest in one way friendships. I also learned not to take it personally. I did in my younger years but some people just don't prioritize socializing with friends. It's the few good friends, who are like treasures that make it worth it. It's worth it when you find friends who also find friends important. Here's a few thoughts on old friends that I got from a book with my updating:
- Old friends know just when to call (or text).
- Old friends don't need an excuse to drop by. (And sorry my house is a mess.)
- Old friends can be trusted with secrets. (Because they can't remember them anyway.)
- Old friends know what you're thinking even before you speak. (Can they hear the crickets chirping in my head, too?)
- Old friends aren't jealous of your successes or pleased with your failures. (This means they tolerate us.)
- Old friends don't have to ask, "What can I do to help?" They just know. (So don't be surprised when you keep receiving Preparation H Suppositories as gifts.)
- When disagreements arise, old friends don't have to be right. (Most of the time they aren't, but just let them believe what they want.)
- Old friends are like antiques, the longer you have them, the more valuable they are. (And no matter how tacky they are, we keep them because they are special to us.)
- Real friends are those who when you make a fool out of yourself, don't feel you've done a permanent job. (Amen.)
- Robert Louis Stevenson, "A friend is a gift you give yourself." (We don't treat ourselves very often, so when we do, let's make it good!)
Most of my followers I have never met but I want to let you know "It is by chance we met and by choice we became friends." Thanks for your friendship!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
"Why can't people with their big damn cars learn to park the damn things?" I usually say to anyone who will listen. I actually drive a mini van, which could be described as a "larger" vehicle. But I know how to park between the lines. Sometimes I've had to do a three point turn to get into a parking space, but at least no one questions my ability to park and my intelligence level.
Seriously, one day I came out to my car from a female clothing store and the car next to me parked two inches away from my driver's side door. My parking was fine, but she had crossed the line! Not even Twiggy could maneuver getting into her car like that. I was freakin' mad. So I did the unthinkable. I got my lipstick out of my purse and I wrote on her windshield, "NICE PARKING." What I meant to write was, "How the hell did you expect me to get into my car, Idiot?" but I didn't want to use up all my lipstick. I had to go in through my passenger's side and crawl across the seats. Lucky I was much less fat and forty back then or I would have had her paged in the store. "Will the idiot driving the small blue car trapping another vehicle please move your car so they can leave now? Paging the idiot who doesn't know how to park."
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thank you for sharing this award. I feel honored and it really means a lot to have people appreciate the things we share on our blogs. Blogs are like good friends that are there when you need them. When you finally have a quiet moment (which usually just happens in spurts - as I kicked my dog & 9 year old out three times in just these short sentences) you can go over and read your friends' blogs. Some make me laugh, some make me smile, I have cried with some, some provoke deep thinking and once I threw up. I think everyone has a story to tell - okay. Not everyone does. I've read those kind of blogs, too. Put you right to sleep.
I've met a few friends in the blogging world and feel a connection to some. It's great to find people who are going through the same stage in life and to be able to find humor in it. I mean, it's better than laying around crying and causing more bags under our eyes, right? See, always the optimist. Thank you Linda and one of these days we're going to definitely ink in a lunch date (when I come to your town or you come to mine.)
Saturday, March 27, 2010
I would classify myself as being a little more than curvy, but I'll take it. I look at some people on TV and even in real life that train physically for hours a day and they have very litte body fat. Some look like they've survived the Holocaust. Not that I find that humorous, but those people were suffering. Why do some people suffer on purpose?
I like a little meat on people, too, I've decided. I mean, why have a six pack when you can have a two liter bottle? People who work hard to look chiseled proove two things: 1. They are very disciplined. 2. They are freaks of nature.
I think it's important to have a bit of fat stored on your body in case of disaster. I could survive for a few weeks I think. Those stick figures would start wasting away before our eyes. So, in defense of a little chub, no one likes to get stuck without a spare tire in an emergency. We need to be prepared.
Monday, March 22, 2010
I've decided you have to be careful what you pray for when you're a teenager. I remember being a size zero at age 14 (it's very vague, but I can remember) and my little size A cup bra. My cousin and I would see older teenage girls who were a little more filled out and we wished. Oh, how we wished. My cousin actually got a breast augmentation, which means she had some boob implants for those who aren't familiar with the medical term for hot tatas.
After nursing three kids and a husband my dreams finally came true. But wait, this was the dream that is out of control, kinda like the Willy Wonka girl that kept growing and growing. It gets to a point where they're not hot anymore.....in fact I'm afraid when I hug a small child that somehow they will disappear. How many children on milk cartons are actually lost in a granny's bosoms somewhere?
A friend of mine worked as a nurse in an old folks home and had to help an elderly lady who was very overweight shower. Her family would smuggle in food for her and she would hide things under her breasts. A couple of these items consist of a Twinkie and a sandwich. I thought maybe she invented paninis. Now I wonder if I will be just like that lady, lift up the old saggin' mammaries and behold - a warm four course meal and a piece of cheesecake that resembles a crepe.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
When we had a Japanese night, one couple had lived in Japan for 1 1/2 years and they made some great cabbage pancake kind of stuff. This recipe was a big hit that I got from "About.com."
Pork and Vegetables Stir-Fry
3 Tbsp soy sauce
2 Tbsp mirin (I got this from an Asian grocery store. "Kikkoman Aji-Mirin" sweet cooking rice seasoning.)
2 Tbsp white sesame seeds (I leave these out because I'm allergic to them)
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 tsp finely chopped ginger (I buy minced garlic & ginger in jars)
4 thin boneless pork chops, cut into strips
1 carrot, cut into strips
1 negi, or 1/2 leek, sliced diagonally (I couldn't find these so I used an Asian cabbage like Napa)
salt & pepper to season
Mix mirin, soy sauce, ginger, garlic and sesame seeds in a bowl. Marinate pork in sauce for 15 minutes. Heat 1 Tbsp of oil in the skillet and fry pork on medium heat. When pork is cooked, remove from the skillet to a plate.
Heat 1 Tbsp of oil in the skillet and stir-fry carrot and negi/cabbage until softened. Season with salt & pepper and vegetable for a minute. Serves 4. Serve with rice.
The great thing with stir fries is you can exchange vegetables or meats. I'm not a huge fan of pork so when I find a good recipe like this one it's a good change from chicken and beef. The marinade is very yummy. I think you could almost classify this as a healthy dinner. Just make sure you have dessert ready or your family might think something is up.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I have a cell phone and I use it mostly for emergencies. One of my friends said her child's cell phone was her leash so she could know where her daughter was and could use it for a leveraging point. I didn't get my teen son a cell phone at all - he paid for it himself. The bad thing is we couldn't use it for a leveraging point but we know all of his friends and where they live. But the good thing is, he takes care of it. Our daughter didn't get one until she was in high school. She felt like she was ostracized from society. But then she had to get a job to help pay for it. Isn't that our purpose in life, to prepare our children for the future? A cell phone is a priviledge not a necessity. Social outcast she thought she was. Now she is 17 and socially accepted once again.
When someone calls my cell phone and I'm with another person, I make the conversation short stating, "I'm with Katie right now, will you be home later on?" I have certain friends who talk on and on.....and on as if you are not even there. I find that insulting. I have certain friends who's teenagers text or call every ten minutes. My kids know better than to disturb me when I'm with friends. If they need to call they can and they do. But we don't have a co-dependant relationship where I can't be gone for two hours without interruption.
Monday, March 15, 2010
I'm wondering if it's that feeling like a toddler gets like, "I don't know what I want but I want it now." I guess I'm experiencing that right now another symptom I can check off. I'm trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I was actually hoping to not grow up but since I have to....I guess this is how crazy old ladies are made.
I don't have any college behind me. I have a friend who is about 50 and she is going to college to become a Physicians Assistant. They wouldn't give her any college credit from when she was young and she was so disappointed because she was close to finishing when she got married. I think that's a little unfair to not get credit for college you completed when you were young. That's when our memories were at their peak. I can remember stuff from my early twenties. It's what I did yesterday that I can't remember.
I finally decided I would get some schooling in and try and sharpen my senses. I hope to start in the next couple of weeks. From what I heard I probably won't be the oldest person there. It's just when I was young, I was an aspiring rich housewife. Well, like a rock star wannabe, I finally decided I should probably have a back up plan. Though I was a housewife and doing okay, I haven't been the "rich" housewife. What's the use of staying at home if you can't afford to go to lunch and shop all day?
I was really hoping to be at a more comfortable place financially at my age. And I guess we are. We upgraded neighborhoods a couple of years ago and plan on dying in this house unless we decide to move to Phoenix when we retire. There are a lot of people our age in this neighborhood, so it's perfect. Our whole neighborhood will be dropping like flies at the same time. Maybe we can get a group rate for the funeral costs.
Anyway, back to dreams and goals and being undefined. It's not that I've never had any, there's just so many to choose from. But I guess it's kind of like marriage, you eventually have to choose just one. And then you gotta get pretty good at it, knowing all the idiosyncracies to make it work and be successful. Nothing like investing time into a career to only find out it picks his nose and has flatulence.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
I didn't take a picture of this because it looks like a bowl of - never mind.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
So, my slightly gray-haired friends, I will refer to our hair as frosted. The flake part is next. I'm talking about flaky people who cancel plans on you with poor excuses. I have made plans as couples and they usually don't cancel. Very rarely. But I have made plans for lunch or something and I have actually gone to the meeting place only to receive a phone call while waiting saying they're not coming. Is that so rude?
And usually it is not an emergency situation. "Oh, I forgot my nephew had a soccer game" or "my child has homework and I need to help them." Pu-leez! I know it's important to be "Aunt of the Year", but you have just ruined my plans for the day. And come on - your seventh grader's life will not be doomed (and shouldn't they be doing their homework and not you?) if you go to lunch with your friend!
Do people not respect your time enough to not cancel at the last minute? Really, my thoughts are "they're probably just not in the mood to go out", "they spent their lunch money" or "what a flake". It's hurtful when so called friends do that.
I made plans with two friends for lunch one day. One I thought I could "ink" in and the other was definitely graphite. Sure enough, as I'm getting ready to go to lunch with high school girlfriends, Ms. Inky calls and said Ms. Pencil couldn't make it, so let's plan it for another day when Ms. Pencil could come. I wanted to say, "Ms. Pencil will never come, so let's just go out without her," but I wasn't sure that Ms. Ink knew that about Ms. Pencil, or even if Ms. Pencil was only "Ms. Pencil" with me. When I caught up with Ms. Pencil her lame-o excuse was, "I'm sorry. I forgot that I had plans with my husband to clean out the garage." ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? Don't you have to eat lunch anyway? PU-LEEZ! I have not attempted to go to lunch with Ms. Pencil since (though she suggests it "Let's go to lunch sometime), and you know, I don't think she misses me. Ms. Ink of course, has been a lot more reliable.
I had a visitor coming up to stay the weekend with her daughters and I knew she was definitely a pencil. Sure enough, she called that Friday, "I'm so sorry. I can't come, I have so much to do." If I make plans with someone, it's not because I don't have anything to do. There will always be toilets to clean, floors to vacuum, dishes to do but if I've made plans - they are in stone unless an emergency comes up. I respect that the other person has also made plans and they were with me. I'm not going to look for excuses to get out of it or I wouldn't have made the plans in the first place.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
You get together with some old friends that you haven't seen since the last time you were skinny. At 40, we think - "How am I going to lose 20 lbs before we get together. Oh my gosh, I've got bags under my eyes! I need to get my roots touched up. I better drive my hubby's car instead of the mini-van. I better order a salad so they think I'm healthier than them and I just don't know why I'm fat!"
So you get together with your friends and you are feeling insecure, you wear all black and suck in your gut, order the salad, get gas because your waistband is too tight and causing a blockage in your intestines. You're feeling uncomfortable and notice they too have a little extra poundage, new hair cuts & color which you comment, "I just LOVE your hair!" "Oh - but I love yours!" So your haircuts & color look like your last attempt to keep up with the times. But you don't have to worry about what they're thinking about you because they are thinking about what you think of them. And they measure their age progression by what you look like. "Hmmm. Fifi's looking a little tired. Yep, that's how we look in our 40's. Tired." Let me tell ya, Honey, no nap can get this look off my face. Not for the lack of trying though.
And people in their 50's think - how should I know what they think? Maybe I'll call one of my 50-ish friends. Well, I would imagine them to get together with their old friends if you can still remember them by then. And we know we've all got gray hair by then, so no use of hiding it. What waistline? It's unnatural at 50+ to have a waistline. Grandmas are supposed to be a little plump. They are supposed to have droopy bossoms.
Where was I? Caring what other people think - I'm getting a little more outspoken in my 40's, but I tended to let people walk all over me in my 20's & 30's. No more. It is a lot easier to say "No" now. So, enough of me - lets talk about YOU......and what YOU think of me.
Monday, March 8, 2010
My husband likes to give my butt a smack while walking past me sometimes and I usually flip my lid. It's not cute. I'm left there jiggling for three minutes. I know you think I could just exercise and lose some of this excess weight. I think, I could always go on walk, but I think there is just too much bouncing for my neighbors to see. I could get hurt if I jogged - not only from the excess weight on my knees and ankles, but I would end up with black eyes. And maybe some innocent bystander could get hurt from a stray boob bouncing. It's not pretty.
So I thought the best way to control my weight would be my diet. I'm starting a new diet tomorrow. I thought maybe the cheesecake diet. It could work - I'm lactose intolerant and I thought it wouldn't stay in my body long enough to absorb any calories. You know that cartoon that says, "If I put a crouton on my sundae can I call it a salad?" I made my famous cheesecake (last week's recipe) and put some "All Bran" in the crust because
I ran out of Graham Crackers so it would be a little healthier. I've been like the human whoopie cushion all day. I wouldn't recommend it.
Because I'm starting my diet tomorrow, I've stored some cheesecake on my butt for reserves. I don't want to feel deprived. I've also stored some in my chest and stomach. Some people have tight abs that you can actually see the muscles under the skin. They call that a six pack. Well, that's nothing. I actually have a two liter bottle. Ha! A six pack!